Locked.
I suck in a breath, forcing it down, forcing my face smooth because someone is walking past and I can feel their glance snagon the orange paper. Devil’s Peak is small enough that sympathy is a spectator sport.
My phone buzzes.
A text lights up the screen like a slap.
Graham:
Don’t make this ugly, Ellie. I tried to handle it quietly. You’re welcome.
My fingers curl around the phone until my knuckles ache.
Graham. Of course.
My ex-boyfriend. The banker. The man who smiled when he offered me the loan that made my dream possible and smiled again when he made it clear the dream belonged to him.
I type back before I can stop myself.
Me:
What did you do?
Three dots appear. Disappear. Reappear.
He takes his time. He always takes his time.
Graham:
I’m doing you a favor. You’re drowning. I’m throwing you a rope.
My jaw clenches so hard it hurts.
Me:
You changed the locks. That’s illegal.
Graham:
It’s not illegal when you signed your life away.
Heat crawls up my neck, into my cheeks.
Me:
This is because I left you.
Graham:
This is because you never learn. You could have had it all if you’d stopped pretending you didn’t need me.
I stare at that line until it blurs.
Because that’s what he’s really saying:come back.
Come beg.
Come let him decide what I deserve.
