I zoom in on one image—their interlaced fingers, his thumb resting casually against her palm. It’s a small thing. Probably meaningless. But my brain won’t stop analyzing it.
I pivot to find a woman standing behind me in line. Without thinking, I flash my phone screen at her. “Sorry, weird question—in your opinion, does this look like genuine affection or just a publicity stunt?”
She leans closer than necessary, perfume cloud invading my space as her gaze flicks between my face and the photo. “Charlie and Grayson?” Her lips curve into a knowing smile. “Oh, they’re the real deal. Total relationship goals.”
My expression sours instantly. “Right. Thanks for the input,” I mutter, turning away before her lingering look can develop into something I have zero bandwidth to handle.
I pocket my phone.
All this time, my jealousy was just a low simmer, something I could easily rationalize away.
Now, standing in the security line with my father’s betrayal fresh in my mind and Charlie’s voicemail greeting still ringing in my ears, the simmer is starting to boil.
I make it through the checkpoint and head for my gate, trying her number again.
Ringing. Ringing. Voicemail.
“Charlie, it’s me again. I’m about to board. I’ll be landing in a couple hours. I really need to talk to you. It’s important.”
Still nothing.
I check Instagram. Nothing new from Charlie. But Grayson’s account?—
My thumb floats, indecisive, above his profile picture. I shouldn’t do it. I know I shouldn’t. This is digital masochism, thefinger-pick at a scab I can’t leave alone, the old itch demanding fresh pain.
I tap it anyway.
His latest story is a boomerang of the Atlanta skyline, posted twenty minutes ago. The caption reads:In ATL with my girl. City of love or whatever.
My girl?Who the fuck does he think he is? He’s sitting next tomy girl.
The next slide is a photo of two coffee cups on a hotel room table. His hand is visible at the edge of the frame, reaching for one of them. The implication is clear. Intimate morning. Shared space.
I know.
I know it’s fake. Charlie laid it all out, swore on her life it’s just business. She chose me. Wants me. Called me “babe” and confessed she’s falling so hard it terrifies her. Her fingers dug into my skin when I was the one making her come. I can still feel the marks.
I know all of that.
But Grayson is there and I’m not. Grayson is posting possessive captions while I’m stuck in an airport. Grayson gets to have breakfast with her, be photographed with her, call her his girl to millions of followers while I leave voicemails that go unanswered.
I sprint to my gate as the announcement crackle over the speakers. First class, now boarding.
I snag my sad little carry-on, full of dirty laundry. I don’t even know where I’m headed. If she doesn’t reach out before we land, I’ll tear through every Hatcher-owned property in Atlanta until I find her. That’s where she retreats when the world gets too close—wrapped in her father’s empire like bulletproof glass. He’s the only other man I’ll allow near her now. The only other shield I can tolerate between her and the chaos my father just unleashed.
Charlie needs to know what my father did. She needs to prepare for the statement, the scrutiny, the inevitable headlines. But more than that—she needs to know that I’m here. That I choose her. That I’ll fight for her in ways Grayson never would because he doesn’t actually love her.
I could. Maybe I already do.
Only love could free me from the trap I’ve been in, right?
The realization settles over me like a truth that’s been waiting to be acknowledged. This is the big one. The second chance I always secretly hoped for. My own happily-ever-after, living outside the pages. That’s what I want, at least.
And I’m going to tell her. Tonight. In person. No more waiting.
I board the plane, settle into my first-class seat, and watch New York shrink beneath me as we climb into the clouds.
Atlanta is two hours away.
