"Then why are you going back?"
I look up at her, searching for the words to explain something I barely understand myself. "What if I'm making the same mistakes my mom's friend made? What if Phoenix is just like his father?"
"Is he?"
The question hangs in the air. I think about everything I know about Phoenix, everything I've seen, everything we've been through together.
"I don't know," I admit finally. "He's intense. Possessive. But he also saved me. He'd do anything for me. When he looks at me, I feel like the most important person in the world."
"That's either romantic or terrifying." Chloe takes a sip of her coffee.
"Maybe both.”
She's quiet for a moment, studying me with those sharp eyes that always see too much. "You love him."
It's not a question, but I answer anyway. "Yes."
"And your mom gave you an ultimatum."
"Yes."
"And you're choosing him."
I close my eyes, feeling the weight of the choice pressing down on my chest. "I'm choosing to try. I'm choosing to find out if what we have is real. Is that so wrong?"
Chloe sets down her coffee cup and leans forward, her expression softening. "Jade, you're my best friend. I've watched you play it safe your entire life. You dated the boring guys, never took a single risk that might blow up in your face. And now you're telling me you've found something that makes you feel alive, even if it's messy and complicated and a little bit terrifying."
"That's one way to put it."
"I'm not going to tell you what to do. You're a grown woman, and you know this situation better than I do." She reaches over and takes my hand. "But I will say this. If Phoenix Crawford hurts you, if he turns out to be anything like his father, I will personally fly to California and cut off his balls."
I laugh again, and this time it doesn't feel so strange. "I'll hold you to that."
"You better." She squeezes my hand. "Now. When's your flight?"
CHAPTER 17- PHOENIX
The doorbell rings at nine in the morning, and I know before I even check the camera who it is.
My father doesn't call ahead. He never has. Nicholas Crawford operates on the assumption that his time is more valuable than everyone else's, and that his presence is always welcome. Usually, he's right. Today, I'm not so sure.
I've been awake for hours, showered and dressed in slacks and a button-down despite having nowhere to go. The house is clean, the bottles hidden, the evidence of my multi-day spiral carefully erased. Whatever happens next, I refuse to let my father see me weak.
I open the door and find him standing on the threshold in an understated charcoal suit. His silver hair is swept back from his face, his face freshly shaved, his eyes sharp and assessing as they sweep over me. Looking for cracks. Looking for weakness.
He won't find any. Not today.
"Father." I step aside to let him in. "I wasn't expecting you."
"Clearly." He walks past me into the living room, his shoes clicking against the hardwood floors. The smell of his cologne follows him, something expensive and woodsy that I'veassociated with power and control since I was a child. "You look better than I expected."
"Sorry to disappoint."
He doesn't smile. Nicholas Crawford rarely smiles, and when he does, it's never a good sign. He settles onto my leather couch like he owns the place, which, technically, he does. The property is in my name, but the money that bought it came from him. Everything I have came from him, one way or another.
"Can I get you something? Coffee? Water?"
"This isn't a social visit, Phoenix."
