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  “Fine,” I said. “You wanna talk here, that’s where we’ll talk.”

  “That wasn’t my point,” she argued. “And it’s pretty damn convenient that you only wanna pipe up now, after I’ve lost my job. You could’ve spoken out back there, could’ve said something to Joe. Instead you just… stood around, and let me take all the blame.” She crossed her arms over her chest.

  Finally, a chance to explain. “I’m sorry. You’re right,” I agreed, “I didn’t do anything, and that was the moment when I should’ve stepped up. It was because of the whole Instagram thing—”

  She stopped me dead in my tracks, saying, “Are you serious? After everything we’ve shared, you’re worried about some social media mistake I made? It had nothing to do with you! Literally! God, I can’t believe I’m still hearing about this post, it was an accident, why doesn’t anybody understand that?!”

  “No, I’m not saying—”

  “You’re saying you don’t believe me. You’re saying, I’d guess, that from what Joe said about it, you think I’m seeing someone else. Isn’t that right?”

  I couldn’t do more than nod.

  She shook her head with shock. “How could you? How could we have shared everything we did and still you think… wow. No, I am not seeing anyone. Not now, not then. You were the last man I dated. You shattered me and it has taken a long time to get over you. Anyway, I don’t even know anymore, Jacob. Like, I don’t know you. I thought I did, for just a few days there, but evidently, that trust was one-sided.”

  “I know,” I said, hanging my head in shame, the feeling of disappointment in myself overwhelming.

  Suddenly, it was like all of Sierra’s anger, from now but also from years ago, rose out of her throat and formed words. “You should have treated me better!” she shouted, certainly loud enough to wake up the hallway, maybe loud enough to wake up the whole house. “I deserve better!”

  I heard a door open down the hall, but no one came out, but I didn’t budge from the doorway. Screw decorum.

  “You needed to fight for me, Jacob,” she said, this time in a low voice, her eyes blazing. “And you didn’t. So now it’s over, we’re over. Which means you need to get the fuck away from my door.”

  She slammed the thick oak in my face, and I was left alone in the suddenly quiet hall, my breathing heavy and my mind racing.

  At the very least, I needed to get out of this public space. I strode a couple feet away from Sierra’s room, a place I knew would forever be seared in my memory, and into my own. I just manage to shut my door before collapsing in a nearby armchair and doubling over at the waist, scrunching my fingers against my eyes, hoping I could rub the image of Sierra’s devastated face from my brain.

  And then, in a moment of desperation, I reached out to the only lifeline I had left — I picked up my phone, and dialed a number.

  After a couple of seemingly infinite rings, the line picked up. “Hello?”

  “Hi, Dad,” I said in a ragged voice.

  “Jacob, what’s wrong?” he asked immediately, with the sixth sense only a parent can have for their child’s distress.

  “I’ve fucked up. Big time.”

  I proceeded to tell him the whole story — Sierra, Joe, Pillers, Charles… the whole thing. In the back of my mind, it occurred to me that Sierra might be able to hear through our walls, but I didn’t care. At least she would hear me laying my heart bare. After a long time, I drew to close.

  “So… yeah. That’s what happened. And I feel like shit. I’ve never hated myself so much. Dad, what do I do? Is it time to just, I dunno, move on? I really like her, but I don’t think she’ll ever forgive me.”

  My dad had been listening quietly the entire time, making the occasional noise to let me know he was paying attention. He took another few seconds of silence before at last speaking up. “You say you like this girl.”

  “Yes.”

  “Could you love her?”

  I didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”

  “Then the answer is simple. You can’t let her go, at least not like this.”

  “But—”

  “Jacob, I know what happened between your mother and I messed with your head,” he sighed. “And for that, I’m sorry. The divorce was messy, and you shouldn’t have been put through that, especially not at such a young age. But not all relationships go that way. And if I’d fought for her just a little bit harder… who knows. Maybe you’d still have a mom in your life.”

  He paused, and I waited for him to find the words to go on.

  Eventually, he did. “Don’t let my mistakes become yours. Decisions aren’t genetic. The only thing I’ve ever wanted to pass onto you is the lessons I had to learn the hard way, so that you wouldn’t have to feel that pain. I realize now that was stupid — we all have to learn the hard way. But please, please, let this be one teaching I can just give you — chase love.”

  I wanted to listen to him, I really did. I wanted to run after Sierra in the dead of night, stop her in the airport, profess my devotion.

  But, conversely, I knew that she didn’t want me around. And that to go after her, despite knowing as much, would be unfair, and a violation. Really, she’d made it clear from day one here she didn’t like me or want to be with me. I suppose that, if I’d just listened to that, and not tried to fight it, I might’ve ended up in a very different position. At least, a more peaceful one.

  “Thanks for listening, Dad.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means I appreciate the advice, but I can’t follow it. I don’t want to chase her. Or rather, I do, but I care more about her feelings than my own. I can’t hurt Sierra more than I already have — it would be cruel.”

  He sighed in the way that only parents can — with a disappointment that makes your toes curl. I shifted further back into the armchair, until it felt like my ass was slipping off the edge of the seat. It reminded me of how I used to sit as a petulant teenager at dinner, nearly horizontal. Funny how we seemed to be right back in those old roles, even after all these years I’d spent taking care of my father.

  “You’re making a mistake,” he insisted.

  “Maybe.”

  “Definitely.”

  I considered his words again, but knew that I’d already resolved my heart. “Definitely,” I agreed at last. “Doesn’t change anything.”

  There was a long pause as we both seemed to ruminate over my truth.

  “You gotta lotta love in you,” my dad finally said. “I hope it don’t eat you alive.”

  “I hope so too,” I murmured.

  Chapter 22

  Sierra

  TURNS OUT, packing’s pretty fast when you abandon your usual type-A leanings and just… throw all your shit in a bag.

  “Fuck—”

  In went a shirt.

  “This—”

  Then a dress.

  “Fucking—”

  A pair of shoes.

  “Asshole!”

  My toothbrush.

  I collapsed on my bed in tears, feeling a momentary sap in my strength. I’d been doing so good at being angry, had gone so far as to kick the wall and consider throwing a glass — I decided against it. Anger was rewarding, anger was an end in itself. But it wasn’t what I wanted to let myself feel.

  Instead, I wanted to curl on the couch in my living room, turn off all the lights, click on to some baking show, grab a container of shortbread cookies and a box of Kleenex, and weep to my heart’s content. I wanted to let the sadness pound through my system like an intoxicant. I wanted to wring my experiences for all their pain. It was perverse, but it would lessen the throbbing ache in my heart.

  How could he?

  That was the question that rang over and over in my ears. How could Jacob do this to me?

  No, you know what? That wasn’t the right question — the right question was, how could I let him do this to me, and for a second time?

  Some people never learn, my inner voice tsked.

 
But that wasn’t me. I learned all my lessons, heeded every piece of advice. I made good decisions, it was hardwired into me. So why Jacob? Why had I, against all odds, given this guy a second shot? Had I sensed someone better in him, or had I been blinded by all that body?

  Either way, I’d let myself get played. I didn’t think Jacob had set me up with Joe, had intended for us to be found — he’s not a psychopath — but I should’ve known that if the choice ever arose between me and the job, he’d choose the job, choose the less bumpy road.

  I’d done so well when I first arrived and realized I was to be set up with him, you know? I think that’s what really irks me. I’d taken our new “partnership” in stride, even though I’d been rattled to the very core. I treated him like shit, which is what he deserved, and held him at arm’s length, constantly reminding myself that his charms were a show, that he’d hurt me before and wouldn’t pass up a chance to do it again.

  So then, why had I let him back in? Probably some kind of death drive, a need to find the most painful shit possible and let it batter me.

  Or… maybe I’d actually seen the trace of a better guy. Or imagined one, anyways. Probably the latter.

  Definitely the latter, I thought. I always try too hard to think better of people.

  Well, I was done being a patsy. From now on, I was throwing up even thicker walls, ones so impenetrable you could shoot at them with emotional cannons and they wouldn’t even get a scratch.

  The thought revitalized me — or so I convinced myself.

  I bounced off the bed, a woman with a new defense system. Don’t open up, never get hurt. That would be my motto.

  My bags were packed, I was ready to go. I’d never be back, not to this mansion, this town, or this company. Permanent goodbyes felt strange, like a conscious subtraction.

  I pulled my phone out, and texted Flo:

  Omw home. Will xplain when I see u. Got fired, hate Jacob. Kiss Ginger for me. Ugh.

  Probably should’ve made the message just a touch less depressing, but oh well. I was busy wallowing. I turned off my cell to save the battery — it’s not like I could sit around in the mansion and wait for it to charge — and tucked it in my pocket. With a heave-ho, I yanked the suitcase off my bed and tromped down the stairs, hand trailing the banister as my eyes fell on the rich artwork of the foyer. I would never be anywhere this nice again. I had to suck it all in, store the wealth in my bones to revisit for a later day.

  At the door, I whispered, “Goodbye.” To who, I don’t know.

  I arrived at the airport in record time as one of Charles’ security members was outside working on one of the cars and offered to drive me, probably because it was the dead of night and I had obviously been crying, and the roads were free from other cars. Flights between Fort Myers and Jacksonville were frequent, so I selected the first available one and made my way to the gate, stopping only to buy an enormous iced tea, a pack of Kleenex and a box of assorted chocolates. I already pitied my seat partner.

  By the time we all boarded the flight itself about half an hour later, I was inconsolable. My fiery rage that I’d carefully stoked in the mansion had backslid once again into despair. The Kleenex and chocolate came in handy, and the man next to me scooted as far away as possible, as though my sadness were some kind of airborne toxin. Not that I blamed him. I’m the first to admit that my snot output was borderline concerning.

  Finally, the plane touched down in Fort Myers. Not a second too soon, either, as I’d just polished off the entire packet of Kleenex. My seatmate shoved his way off the plane and I waved him a morose farewell that went pretty ostentatiously unreturned.

  The taxi ride back was spent trying to steel myself to see Flo, to prepare for her the confident, even-keeled personality she knew best. ‘Trying’ being the key word — in practice, I cried some more. At a point, it felt so good I stopped pretending to even hide it. The taxi driver turned up the Dolly Parton station louder, which I thought was decent of him.

  When I arrived home, Florence was already sitting on my porch with Ginger and a bottle of vodka.

  “Sierra!” she cried, running up to the taxi and pulling out my bag, then pulling me into a hug. Ginger toddled after her, anxious to be a part of the action. As she squeezed me tightly and paid the driver, Ginger licked my ankle.

  As the taxi sped off, she moved back a few inches to look at my face. “Have you been crying? You look like you’ve been crying.”

  I managed to say, “Yeah, I’ve been crying,” before bursting out into another chorus of tears.

  “Oh, you poor thing,” she murmured. “Let’s get you inside.”

  I nodded, and she led me to the door, her arm wrapped protectively around me, her long curly black hair spilling over my shoulder and the skirts of her airy, floral dress whipping around my legs. Florence looks like a witch, which is to say, she looks like exactly the kind of woman you want comforting you after a man stomps all over your little heart.

  Just as I’d hoped, the three of us curled up on the couch, Flo holding me and Ginger nestled in my lap. I pet her silky head and played with her soft ears as Flo reached over my shoulder to pour some vodka.

  “Now,” she said. “It’s time you explained that text message.”

  Reluctantly at first, then all at once, my story came out. Jacob, Joe, the whole thing. Flo listened attentively, nodding and gasping in all the right places. Some half an hour later, I drew to a close.

  “So,” I finished, “I have no job, no romance… nothing. I’m back to square one. Actually, I’m back to exactly where I was two years ago.”

  “Damn,” Flo said under her breath.

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, first of all, fuck that guy.”

  “Which guy?” I asked.

  “Jacob. Joe. Both of them. All men.”

  I nodded, understanding what she meant. “Fuck ‘em all,” I agreed.

  “What are you going to do about it?” Flo asked gently.

  I considered this for a moment, hands playing with Ginger’s neck rolls, before replying, “Nothing. I’m done fighting. What I’m gonna do is sit here and be sad and angry and have lots of other feelings and then pick myself back up again and try something different. Make a new life.”

  “Okay, sweetie. Whatever you need, I’m here.”

  “Thanks,” I whispered, leaning back on her chest. “Love you.”

  “Love you too.”

  Within minutes, the three of us were asleep and snoring on the couch.

  Chapter 23

  Jacob

  I AWOKE, bleary-eyed, to the sound of my alarm clock blaring like a steamer ship.

  I went back to sleep, having hardly slept the night before, pounding the alarm clock into ‘snooze’ mode.

  I awoke again, this time to the alarm clock practically jumping off the desk.

  Shit.

  Of course I’d overslept on the day of the most important pitch of my life. That just figured.

  As I raced around my room, trying to put on some semblance of a business suit while also brushing my teeth, I found that, despite all the things that needed taking care of, my brain still managed to find time to punish me with thoughts of Sierra. How nice.

  While shoving my arms into sleeves and wrapping a loose tie around my neck, I wondered where she was. Had she already landed back home? Was she still here? Wherever she was… did she hate me?

  That was a stupid question. I knew the answer.

  Should I text her? I didn’t have much time, but maybe enough to fire off a quick one, just a Hey, thinking of you. Was that a good idea?

  Uh, no, my inner voice asserted. Not a good idea.

  Sage advice. After all, Sierra and I had some baggage around texts. Me breaking up with her via one. Plus, I didn’t have time to carefully draft and revise an emotionally intelligent message. If I did send her something later, it’d have to be perfect. Perfection can’t be rushed.

  As I raced down to the conference room, feet slapping on t
he stairwell, I wondered what I’d even say. Hey, sorry I got you fired. Will you be my girlfriend again? What was there to say that could begin to earn Sierra’s forgiveness?

  Probably nothing.

  So it was for the best that I didn’t send a text, right? Anything I sent would be a mistake. Which explains why Sierra never heard from me two years ago. Once again, there was no right way to apologize. The only halfway decent choice was radio silence.

  Besides, I’d already arrived at the meeting room. Even if I changed my mind, it was too late to do anything about it.

  “Hey,” I said as I opened the door. “Sorry for being—”

  I looked around, and realized that the entire company was already gathered. I didn’t want to look down at my watch and risk further social idiocy, but was I really that late?

  Yeah, my inner voice said helpfully. You are.

  Charles drily replied, “Good of you to join us. Please, take a seat.”

  I took one of the two last seats available in the room, which appeared to be not just a meeting space but an actual conference room. Did Charles host entire companies so often that he needed a room for that express purpose? It was a question for another time.

  “And where’s your lovely partner?” he asked. “I assumed she’d be with you.”

  My eyes darted to Joe, who gave me the faintness shake of his head, as if to say: Don’t tell him.

  Gulp. That was probably the right choice, in terms of business — it would be, uh, difficult to explain why Sierra had been fired, and would probably require me to mention that we’d been fucking in his ornately upholstered room. Nah, I’d pass on that particular conversation, though I hated to be made a liar.

  “Sierra is indisposed,” I said carefully, selecting the fancy, catchall word for ‘don’t ask.’

  Charles, who spoke ‘fancy,’ nodded with understanding. “I see. Pity. That must be why you were late.”

  Well, in a way, yes. So I felt only slightly less bad in replying, “Yup.”