I laugh bitterly. "You really believe that?"
He doesn't answer. Just stares at me with that stubborn, infuriating certainty.
I turn away, my chest tight, my breath uneven.
"That was plain stupid," I mutter. "So incredibly stupid."
"Maybe," Reeves says quietly. "But I'd do it again."
I needed to get out of Cumberland before I completely unravelled. Caine's and Jenna's penthouse in Portland feels like a different universe—one where Daniel doesn't exist.
It was Jenna's idea. She has a full house tonight; her son, her man, her friend Clara from out of town and Clara's son. Yet, when she heard me cry on the phone, she told me to come and see her. Now. With an overnight bag.
That's Jenna for you. She knows what I need, even when I don't even know it myself.
The place is ridiculous—all sleek black floors and industrial chic, exposed pipes and designer chairs that probably cost more than my yearly salary. Plants everywhere, guitars hanging on walls like art. The kind of space that knows it's too cool for you.
But tonight, it's exactly what I need.
"More sangria?" Jenna waves the pitcher at me, her pregnant belly brushing the edge of the kitchen island.
"God, yes."
She pours generously. Clara's curled up on the grey leather sectional, her son Christian asleep in her lap, his dark hair sticking up at odd angles. Little Liam's playing on the floor nearby, one arm flung over a stuffed dinosaur. I'm not sure what kind of game he's playing, but he's certainly having fun.
"Lightweight," Clara quips, nodding at Christian.
"He's young," I point out.
"So's Liam. Different breed."
And then there's their gorgeous cats, giant long-haired, Ron Pearlman-faced silver tabbies. They are stunning, majestic even. And they seem to know it. They both study me with an unnerving intensity—they are actually making me slightly uncomfortable—I've never felt judged by an animal like I do today. Their intense green eyes fix me, as if to say: "Who are you, madam? And why do you seem so perturbed? What has you so bothered? Perhaps we could help. "
Caine emerges from the kitchen carrying another pizza box—this one topped with prosciutto and arugula, because of course it is. "Round two. Who's in?"
I grab a slice even though I'm stuffed. Anything to keep my hands busy, my mind occupied.
We play charades. Caine acts outThe Godfatherwith way too much commitment. Jenna guessesFrozenfor everything. Clara nailsTitanicin three seconds flat.
I laugh until my sides hurt, drain another sangria, and try desperately to drown the image of Daniel's face in the parking lot.
It doesn't work.
"You okay?" Jenna whispers when Caine's acting out something involving a lot of arm flailing.
"Fine."
"Liza…”
"I said I'm fine."
She doesn't push. Just squeezes my hand.
Later, when the pizza's gone and the kids are tucked into Liam's room, we sprawl across the sectional. Clara's scrolling her phone. Jenna's feet are propped on Caine's lap while he massages them absentmindedly.
I stare at the city lights beyond the massive windows, my head buzzing pleasantly from the sangria.
But even here—surrounded by friends, miles from Cumberland—I can't shake the feeling that Daniel's watching.
