As if she were waiting for me to admit defeat, she replies, “Already done. Have a nice day, Ms. Stansbury.”
My face begins to cool despite the shame that overwhelms me as I walk to the elevator. I keep thinking I have things under control, but then something new hits me sideways. Should I have expected this to happen? Yes. But how did they find out I was gone for good?
Gregory. The betrayer.
The elevator opens, and a bellman enters with me. It’s still tempting to cry and get it out of my system, but tears won’t wash away the shame that’s settling inside. What am I supposed to do? Where am I supposed to go? How do I tell Keats that it’s only day three and I failed? I take a deep breath, but a stifled sob catches in my throat.
The man tugs a tissue from a new pack and hands it to me. “It will be okay. You’re young, and you’ll recover, and whatever happened back there will just be a story you tell or not, and nobody has to know but yourself.”
“I can only hope.”
“Well,” he says just as the elevator comes to a stop. I step off and turn back. “You’re lucky. They usually cut the cards in half.”
“Oh no.” I gasp just as the doors shut.
CHAPTER 28
SOSIE
Iwas buzzed into his apartment building like a pizza delivery person.
Like a stranger.
Not at all like someone about to have to ask her boyfriend—oh my goodness, I have a boyfriend. My cheeks crease because even when distracted with a million other problems, I can’t restrain my smile. The nerves return from the momentary reprieve of what I’m about to have to tell him. Am I telling or asking?Ask him?Can I ask him for a place to stay until the apartment is ready? My thoughts are all over the place as I drag my suitcases down the hallway in shame. And I thought the scene at the hotel was bad, humiliation in real time with each swipe of the card. This is worse. I feel like a failure.
The door opens, and an unfamiliar face stands there expectantly. I bend backward to catch the number beside it to make sure I knocked on the right door. The bronze number matches Keats’s.M’kay. It’s the right apartment. “Hello?” I say,debating whether I need to barge in and save Keats, or if this is some sort of ruse?
“You must be Sosie.” The man’s smile is welcoming, highlighted by his brighter green eyes and receding hairline. He opens the door wider, then waves me in like he lives here.
I stay right where I am with my suitcases parked at my side, a pair of black stilettos anchored onto the front of my coat by the heels, and multiple bags wrapped around me because I was packing my crap as fast as I could on borrowed time. “Um.”
“I’m Michael. Professor Johns,” he says, nodding behind him. “An old mentor of Keats’s.” He’s not that old. Not as old as I imagined when Keats mentioned him in the past. “Let me help you with that.” He reaches for the handles.
“They roll,” I say as if he doesn’t know how suitcases work. As if I didn’t feel enough shame, I continue piling it on for a second, third, and fourth helping. The man will think I’m an idiot if I keep this up. The last thing I want to do is embarrass Keats as well. “Is Keats here?”
“Sosie?” Keats calls ahead in the living room. His being out of bed is a surprise, but I’m glad he’s not being attacked in his apartment.
“Hey, it’s me.” I follow Michael as he pulls my cases and parks them just inside by the door. I add the shoes and handbags in a pile on top before taking my coat off and hanging it on a hook I’ve already claimed as mine. Glancing to the side, I see Keats propped up on the couch. Coming from the shadows of the hallway, I hurry to his side, bending down to kiss him before sitting on the coffee table beside him. Selfishly, I prefer him in bed where I can cuddle in, but it’s good to see him in a new environment. There’s an effortless comfort that comes over me just from the proximity to him again that I gulp down, wishing I could bathe in it. In his eyes, I’m seen in a better light than how others see me. I don’t feel like such a failure, though that mythis about to be dispelled when he hears what happened. There’s time for that, and that time doesn’t involve blurting it all out when his favorite professor is visiting. “How are you feeling?” I ask, reaching to cover his hand with mine. “Any pain?”
“I’m good. Meds kicked in shortly after you left. They’re still working. This is Professor Johns?—”
“The one you called an asshole back at NYU?”
The professor laughs as he sits in a chair beside the couch. “I wouldn’t be surprised.”
Keats chuckles. “I didn’t say that.”
I nod and silently mouth, “He totally did.” But I can’t hold a straight face, especially when Keats finally has a healthy color returning to his face. “Fine, he didn’t.” I wink at Keats. “I can still nail the comedy, though.”
“You can, and it doesn’t hurt as much when I laugh.” Reaching over the small divide, he rubs my knee. “This is Sosie. I told you she’s quite something.”
I’m fascinated that they were talking about me. Wonder what the two of them had to say about me?
Michael says, “I can see the resemblance.”
The remark has me raising a brow as I look at him. “Resemblance to what?” I ask, not liking the idea of being compared to another woman.
“Scarlet,” replies Michael.
