I dropped my bag on the floor, paced three steps one way, turned, and paced back. I did that for … honestly, I didn’t know. Minutes. An hour. Time stretched weirdly when your future was circling the drain.
Finally, something inside me just snapped into place.
I grabbed my keys and walked out, not wanting to give myself time to reconsider.
If I thought too long, I wouldn’t go.
And if I didn’t go, I’d lose everything.
Her building was two blocks over, and I got there in record time thanks to my speed walking. I climbed the stairs two at a time, adrenaline burning in my bloodstream.
The hall was quiet, and thankfully there was no one around to see me. Not that they would know what I was here for, but I already felt humiliated enough just thinking about this, let alone being here.
I knocked.
I waited for a beat, and then another.
Maybe she wasn’t home? Maybe then I could say I tried but it didn’t work out.
The sound of footsteps approaching had my heart beating faster.
The lock clicked.
And then Roxie stood in the doorway, barefoot, wearing shorts (that I tried not to let my eyes linger on for too long but failed) and an oversized sweater, curls piled on top of her head in a messy knot.
Her eyes widened when she saw me, surprise flickering into something else. Concern, maybe, or dread. Hard to tell with her.
“Ledger?” she said softly. “Are you okay?”
“No,” I said, before I could think better of it. “We need to talk.”
Her expression shifted—sharpened, wheels turning—like she’d just been handed a media scandal she had thirty seconds to spin.
“Come in.” She stepped aside.
I walked into her apartment, trying not to notice the faint citrus-vanilla smell that hung in the air or the way everything inside looked like her. A structured mess, warm colors, and a thousand little things that shouldn’t matter to me.
“Livvi isn’t here,” she said quickly, closing the door. “She’s at Talon’s.”
Good. I didn’t think I could handle an audience for this train wreck.
I stayed standing. Sitting felt too vulnerable. Too settled. I wasn’t settled. I was the opposite of settled.
Roxie crossed her arms, a defensive posture, her trademark move, and waited.
I dug the folded paper out of my pocket and held it up.
“Twelve days.” My voice sounded rough, like gravel in a blender.
Her brows pulled tight. “Ledger …”
“I’m not here to … whatever.” I waved a vague hand between us. “I’m not here to make this emotional.”
Her lips twitched. “You realize everything about this is emotional, right?”
“Yeah, well,” I muttered, “I’m trying not to die inside, so work with me.”
She snorted—actually snorted—and something inmy chest loosened a fraction. Not relief. Not comfort. Just a breath I didn’t have to fight for.
