Page 23 of The Rookie

The words hit like a slap, and for a moment, I can’t speak.

“Selfish,” I repeat quietly, the word sharp and bitter on my tongue.

“You said it, not me,” he says, and I can hear the smugness in his tone, like he thinks he’s won.

That’s when it hits me—he doesn’t see me. Not really. He never has.

It’s selfish in his eyes…for me to follow my dream?

The blood rushes out of my heart.

“Gavin,” I say, my voice cold and steady, “I’m breaking up with you.”

The silence on the other end is deafening.

“What?” he says finally, his voice cracking.

“You don’t support me,” I say, my grip tightening on the phone. “Based on not only this conversation—but other red flags, too—you don’t even respect me. So, no. I’m not going to throw away my dreams for you. We’re done.”

“Avery, wait?—”

I hang up before he can finish, my hand trembling as I set the phone down.

The room is quiet, except for the sound of my own breathing.

I feel a strange mix of emotions—relief, anger, sadness—but one thought rises above the rest.

I deserve more than this. Way more.

seven

. . .

Griffin

The hotel is quiet,the kind of quiet that only happens late at night when everyone else has finally gone to bed. I’m not tired, though, and I don’t see Avery anywhere, so I head out to the balcony, hoping the warm breeze will clear my head.

It’s peaceful out here—stars scattered across the dark sky, waves crashing softly in the distance. But as I step out, I spot a figure sitting at the far end of the balcony, curled up on one of the lounge chairs.

Avery.

Her knees are tucked to her chest, her hair falling loose around her shoulders, and there’s something about the way she’s staring out at the ocean that makes me pause.

She looks...lost. Sad. Way different than normal. Her eyes don’t have the bright glow that I’ve come to know and love going back years.

I should probably go back inside. Leave her alone.

But instead, my feet move before I can think better of it.

“Hey,” I say, leaning casually against the railing. “Couldn’t sleep either?”

She startles slightly, glancing up at me. Her eyes are red, like she’s been crying, but she quickly looks away. “What are you doing out here?” she asks, her voice wary.

“Getting some air,” I reply, watching her carefully. “You?”

“Same.”

Her tone is short, clipped—a clear attempt to put up a wall between us.

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