Page 355 of Mad Girl

“Where?” Nic demanded.

“Back Bay—in a building you don’t own.”

“I’ll fucking buy it, then,” Nic snapped.

“I’ll go somewhere else,” John said.

Nic’s eyes drifted closed as John’s threat settled over him. He stood there, hands flexing, silent for a long time. “Do what you have to do,” he said at last, “because I can’t, John. Not right now.”

With a regretful look tossed my way, Nic walked out the door, taking the coward’s way out. As always.

Michael swore under his breath.

“Why can’t you tell me?” I asked John.

“Because it’s not my place,” he said, staring after Nic. John had the sunken look of a man who’d just given up everything.

“Then I guess I’ll never know.”

“He’ll come around,” John said, hands flexing between his knees. “He’ll do what’s right.”

“I don’t believe that,” I said, pushing up from the couch.

John rose, too. “Don’t go. You shouldn’t be alone right now.”

But I was already halfway across the room, grabbing my bag.

Before he could stop me, I bolted—out the door, into the hall, into the waiting car with Hal—where I didn’t stop shaking until we pulled up to the house twenty minutes later.

I stayed in bed for hours, drifting in and out of consciousness, ignoring the multiple pings from my phone. John and Michael, both checking on me. One from my dad, too. It said only: I’m sorry.

That night, I ventured downstairs for food but found you instead, sitting by the fireplace with a book, absently stroking the page with your thumb as you stared into space.

I hovered in the doorway. “Are you really leaving? Are you moving back to England?”

You shrugged. “There’s no point in me staying here.”

“There are three.”

You removed your glasses. Took your time folding them. Looked at me. “I’ll keep in touch. I’ll visit—few times a year, probably. I won’t drop from their lives completely.”

I could barely push the words out. “And what about my life?”

You shrugged again. Like that part didn’t matter. Didn’t even warrant a response.

“My dad won’t let you leave.”

“He can’t stop me.”

“He will.”

“I’m grateful to Nic, and I’ll work tirelessly to pay off the debt I owe him, but he can’t force me to do anything.”

“What about college?”

“I’ll apply to one in London. Finish my education there.”

I walked forward, arms crossed, fingers digging into the fabric of my sweater. “Tell me what to do,” I said, voice breaking on the words. “Tell me what to do to make you stay.”