Page 105 of The Trade

I need time. Time to mend, to regain balance, to process.

And now, Shannon is another thorny issue I need to address. I told her that I don’t blame her for falling into Mica’s well-laid trap. After all, he’s a football superstar in his prime, effortlessly charming, and unfairly handsome. How could I hold that against her?

But in a way, I still do. There’s a simmering resentment there, an unpleasant undercurrent to the hurt. She should’ve known better. We’re roommates, close friends. She should’ve realized that getting involved with my brother crosses an invisible line for me. It wasn’t just about them—it was about the trust we had, the mutual respect. And now, that’s been irrevocably shattered, leaving me to pick up the pieces.

It seems that everyone is hell-bent on crossing my boundaries, on spinning my life into chaos. The painful reminders are everywhere, forcing me to constantly reevaluate my relationships—with my brother, with Shannon, and especially with West.

Still, I have my professional duties to fulfill. My unfinished article on the banquet demands attention, and thanks to my impulsive midnight chat with Garrett, I’ve secured coverage of all of next season’s football games. It should be thrilling, but instead, it holds the promise of constant, painful reminders of West’s betrayal.

To make things easier on everyone, I’ve decided to conduct only two interviews about the banquet. One with Noah Elliot, the starting quarterback, and the other with Vance Donahue, the other mastermind behind the event. I simply can’t bring myself to stomach an interview with Cam or anyone else from the football team. But life and, more importantly, my job have to go on.

Over the following week and a half, I skillfully navigate around any potential confrontations with Shannon or West. I exchange the library for the newsroom, immersing myself in my assignments.

Garrett and I work in harmony, laboring long hours to devise a fairer, more balanced system. The effort is significant, but he willingly agrees to all my suggestions as long as I spearhead the changes.

As a team, Garrett and I click in a way that’s undeniable. We complement each other’s strengths and work seamlessly together. A part of me can’t help but wonder what could’ve been if we had found this rhythm years ago. But dwelling on what-ifs won’t change the present circumstances.

One morning, after another late-night working session, I decide to break away from the routine and pick up some coffee. It’s high time I return the favor to Garrett for all the in-office lattes he’s made for me.

Stepping into the bustling café, I join the line, ready to place our orders.

As I wait, the distinct sound of a throat clearing behind me sends a shiver down my spine. It’s a sound I know all too well. I turn around slowly, my heart pounding a frenzied beat against my ribs.

Of course, it’s West. A mix of emotions courses through me—fear, longing, resentment—all jumbled into a chaotic mess. His presence catches me off guard, reopening a wound that I’m trying desperately to heal.

He’s breathtaking, as always, with his dark, tousled hair and deep caramel eyes. But upon closer inspection, there’s an unmistakable hint of exhaustion etched into his features—dark circles under his eyes and a furrow to his brow. He looks worn, fragmented, and still, somehow, absolutely captivating.

The silence stretches on until it’s West who breaks it. His murmured “Hey” falls between us, landing like honey on my bruised heart.

“Hi,” I murmur.

A slight twitch of his lips produces a smile that’s too gentle, too sweet. “I haven’t seen you at the library in a while.”

“Yeah,” I breathe out. “I’ve been studying in the newsroom.”

His expression shifts. There’s an unspoken grief in his eyes, a flicker of regret as he asks, “Spending all your time with Garrett these days?”

I take a step back, creating some space between us. “Let’s not go there,”

His gaze drops, and he audibly swallows. “Right. Of course.”

I chew on the inside of my cheek, my heart pounding wildly in my chest. This encounter has stirred up emotions I thought I had buried. I need to regain control of the situation before it spirals out of hand. “Alright,” I say, my tone guarded. “Well, this has been fun, but I’ve got to—”

“Can I just ask you one question?” he cuts me off, a nervous quirk in his brow.

“What?”

“Does he make you feel the way that I did?” he asks, voice low, an uncertain tone I’ve never heard from West before.

My heart fractures, splintering into the pieces I hastily patched together. “You mean used, lied to, and manipulated? No, I can’t say that he does.”

A flicker of sadness passes across his face, and the tiny flame in his eyes goes out. “Okay,” he murmurs softly. “I’m glad you’re happy, then.”

And with that, he turns and walks away, leaving me standing there, my heart heavy with a bittersweet ache.

You know what? Fuck you, West. Because I’m not happy. Not without you.

Why did he have to go and ruin everything we had? Why did he have to betray my trust? For a fleeting moment, I allowed myself to believe that it was possible to have everything I ever wanted in a relationship.

---