Page 9 of Lovesick

I huffed a quiet laugh. “Right now, I think the universe is just dragging me.”

Leann laughed softly, then tilted her head. “Is it someone? Or…something?”

I hesitated. My fingers tightened around the cup, then loosened again. “It’s someone. But it’s complicated.”

“Oof. Complicated how? Like…off-limits complicated or messy history complicated?”

I met her gaze, and something in my expression must’ve shown her something because her voice softened. “Okay, never mind. You don’t have to answer that.”

“I wish I could,” I said quietly, surprised at how much I meant it. “But I don’t even know what I’d say.”

Leann reached for the sugar packets and absently began stacking them, giving me a minute. “You ever think about starting fresh somewhere else?” she asked, not looking at me. “I mean, I don’t know what you’re dealing with, but sometimes it helps to change your surroundings. Not that I want you to leave—you fit in here perfectly and I just know Dean appreciates everything you do. But maybe some change might help you.”

The thought of leaving had crossed my mind before. More than once. But every time I pictured it, I saw Dean. His hands, his voice, the way he looked at me when no one else was watching. The idea of never seeing him again made my chest ache in a way that felt both pathetic and unshakable.

“Yeah,” I whispered. “I think about it all the time.”

Leann looked up, her expression softening again. “Then maybe that’s your sign. Or maybe…some time off could also be helpful. When’s the last time you had a vacation somewhere far away?”

I pursed my lips. “Three summers ago. I went to Japan to visit my mom’s side of the family, then flew to Ghana to visit dad’s side. It was amazing,” I told her, smiling at the memories of spending time with family members I mostly only talked to through FaceTime.

“Gosh, that sounds wonderful. And you don’t have plans to go back and revisit?” Leann asked, looking intrigued.

“No, not yet. Someday,” I replied with a tight smile.

Leann’s expression softened. “Well, maybe a simple drive outside of Montreal could do the trick. You could take a week off. That sometimes helps.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

Or maybe I was already too far in this mess to help myself back out.

Just then, the break room door opened and someone from accounting walked in, laughing into their phone. The spell broke. Leann reached out to squeeze my hand with a sympathetic smile.

“Hang in there, okay? I’m here if you need to talk,” she said.

“Thank you, Leann.”

She nodded and got up to rinse her mug in the sink before leaving the room. I stared at the glass wall in front of me, ignoring the man talking loudly on the phone, and wondering how much longer I could live with a heart that felt this heavy.

***

I was checking flights to Tokyo that same night, hunched over my laptop in the dim light of my apartment, still wearing my work clothes as if I hadn’t fully given myself permission to unwind. I’d been aimlessly scrolling through flight options for the past thirty minutes, not really planning anything, just…browsing. Dreaming.

A round trip to Tokyo was expensive, but not impossible. I wasn’t poor, and I did get paid more than other people I knew. I also wasn’t a big spender, but the idea of going to Tokyo felt like an escape, not a vacation. I didn’t want to spend my money on a trip just to get away from a man I’d see again a week later. It felt wrong. Irrational. But that’s exactly what I had been the past year, letting Dean take control over me whenever he wanted to.

Even thinking about him made my stomach twist.

I clicked through dates, my mind unable to resist running away, while my heart ached for me to stay and always be close to him. My cursor hovered over a week in late April of next year. I had enough vacation days stored up to disappear for a while, and God, didn’t I deserve that? After everything I’d given him—my time, my loyalty, my damn heart. I didn’t even get the decency of clarity in return. Dean didn’t do “clarity.” He did control. He did power. He never needed to say much to get what he wanted.

The worst part was how good he was at pretending it hadn’t meant anything. In meetings, in passing, in the briefest glances where no one could tell what lived under the surface. He was stone.

Untouchable to women. Ruthless, always. And I let that version of him undo me all over again.

My mind was urging me to click on the little blue box which would lead me to putting in my card information, but an email notification caught my attention, and I looked at the corner of my screen.

From: Dean Rockwell

Subject: (no subject)

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