Page 19 of Words We Didn't Say

“Then I’m right behind you.”

We shared a sad but familiar smile. The simple exchange mirrored the one we’d had sixteen years ago when we’d stood shell-shocked in Andie’s bedroom. Her mother had wailed while her father had torn apart the living room, hitting walls, demanding to know from his God why he was being punished with a daughterlike that.Andie had to stop me from flying out there to plough my fist into his fat jaw, but I would’ve done anything to erase the evil words she’d heard that afternoon. Andie wasn’t broken. She was perfect. And when she’d decided to stuff a backpack full of clothes and run from their disapproval, she hadn’t done it alone. We’d done it together.

Now, it was my turn to run.

The two of us were like a team of well-trained professionals, removing every scrap of evidence I’d ever lived in Zach’s apartment. The photos on the fridge—reminders of brief moments of happiness between his broken promises—were ripped up and tossed in the rubbish bin.

The rest of my belongings were stuffed into whatever bags I could find. There was a mix of suitcases, duffels, and reusable shopping bags for Andie to lug down to the rust bucket parkedillegally out front. When we ran out of space in the back, Andie secured the leftover boxes to the roof racks, and I pretended to be useful by tugging on the straps when she barked instructions down to me.

It’s really over.

My steps were silent as I drifted around the apartment, casting one last look over the life I was leaving behind. White, sterile walls. Modern and cold. A house, not a home. I’d convinced myself the colour and warmth would flood in if I just loved Zach enough. We’d be happy. We’d get married, maybe even start a family. We’d grow old together. A sharp jab dug under my ribs. Yeah, that dream was the hardest to let go.

I was successful. I’dmade itdespite the odds stacked against me. But every achievement was a smokescreen to protect the tiny girl who’d lost a mother she barely remembered and the teenager who’d run away at sixteen, got a job, and a grown-up life way before her time. The celebrity scene had been fun, but Zach had shown me the possibility of a lifeI’d never dared to hope for. I’d been right to keep my heart locked up tight. Those dreams weren’t for women like me.

Andie cleared her throat.

I appreciated her warning. It gave me enough time to take a deep breath and brush the tears off my lashes. All traces of weakness were hidden under a fake smile when I turned around.

“Wanna torch the place before we go?” Andie scanned the living room. “Too much? We should break something. What does the suit love more than anything?”

Not me. “Work.”

Andie snorted her acknowledgement. “Want to add to the collection of shit you’ve thrown off the balcony?” She nodded to the flatscreen on the back wall. “We could convert that bad boy to a few hundred Lego bricks.”

“I doubt he’d even notice.” Zach was never at home. He probably didn’t even remember he owned a TV. He’d missed every movie night I’d planned with some sorry excuse about losing track of the time.

Andie swallowed. “You’re going to be okay, Ed.” She reserved the softness in her voice only for moments like this. “You’re too good for some jerk who can’t see past his own dick to understand your worth.”

“I know.”

Buried feelings of never being enough had erupted through the clumsily patched cracks in my heart, but I meant my words. Zach was out of the picture. My first proper relationship had ended in disaster. So what? I still had my friends and my business. I’d lived a fantastic life before him, and I’d make damn sure I lived an even better life now that I was kicking his sorry booty to the kerb.

I locked in the promise to myself with a nod.

I dropped my fluffy cat keychain on the kitchen counter, and I didn’t look back before slamming the door shut behind me.

5

He didn’t say, “I’m in over my head.”

Zach

My head throbbed, atight band squeezing around my skull. Words on the computer screen blurred. Two aspirins hadn’t helped. I was never shaking this headache…or my damn desk.

How had Chris talked me into taking on another contract? I’d stood up for myself—my team—and yet, somehow, I was sitting in front of a mountain of new work, about ready to gnaw my own arm off because I was that hungry, and the finish line was further away than ever.

Hunching over the laptop, I massaged the pain spearing through my temple and scrolled to the next page of the contract.

A tap against my shoe dragged my attention from where it needed to be. Frowning, I glanced down. The tip of a black stiletto. Rapid blinks made my office flicker back into focus.

Michaela’s hip was propped against my desk, her head tilted.

She’sstillhere?

I flexed my hand, stretching stiff fingers that had been clawed over the computer too long, careful to school my frustration under a blank expression. The coffee was a nice gesture, I suppose. It’d been a long day of too much work and too many meetings—and far too much Michaela.

She’d been hovering around me all day. She’d been put on notice that she’d been relegated to one of the many women Chris had on the side instead of being his main event—if the quips I’d heard in the men’s room were true.

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