Page 99 of Play Dirty

“I thinkI’m going to move back to New York.”

Saylor and I have been on the flight for two hours, sitting in almost complete silence as she works on her laptop and I stare off at nothing.

Thinking.

Wishing things could be different.

Hoping I’m doing the right thing.

“You’re what?” Saylor looks up in confusion.

“I think it’s best for everyone.”

“I disagree.” She closes her laptop and stares at me. “What’s going on, Stevie?”

I haven’t told her what I’ve done. Haven’t told anyone really. Chey and Ivan think this is a normal business trip with Saylor. That I’ll be back in a week or so, but I brought three suitcases worth of clothes with me, and I’ve booked a suite at a new boutique hotel that has kitchenettes and a separate living area.

Since I have the money to buy something, it’s just a matter of figuring out where exactly I want to live and how big of a place to get.

“I’m causing Marty problems with his custody hearing, and the nightmares have come back full force, which means my own mental health is at risk. Both of those things are bad.”

“Have you talked to your therapist?”

“Almost every day.”

“And what does she say?”

“All the usual shit. Meditation. Journaling. Exercise. None of it is helping.”

“Why do you think that is?”

“Because I love him but it’s never going to work.”

She sighs. “You know, not six months ago I thought the same thing about me and Canyon. He needed to focus on Ally, make sure he stepped into the role of being her dad, uncle, and all the other roles because she has no one else. Turns out, we’re stronger together.”

“Yes, but there was no one fighting him for custody of her. It’s different.”

“What does he say?”

“He sounded shocked and hurt.”

“Did you explain all of this?”

“Maybe not as articulately as I could have, but yes. I told him my mental health was suffering and that it would be better for both of us if we took…a break.”

She grimaces. “That’s a horrible word.”

“I know.”

“It’s right up there with ‘it’s not you, it’s me.’”

“Thanks,” I say dryly. “Super helpful.”

“I’m sorry.” She reaches for my hand. “Come on—you know you don’t want to do this. Talk to him. There has to be a solution. Or at least a work around.”

“I can’t,” I whisper, shaking my head as tears form in my eyes. “I don’t have it in me to get into another relationship that’s already impacting me so negatively. I thought I was, because he’s so wonderful, but the truth is that I’m not ready.” A tear leaks from one eye, and I swipe at it angrily. “I love him. So much. But I can’t do something that could potentially break me. I’m already so broken.”

“You’re not,” she whispers harshly, squeezing my hand. “You are not broken, dammit! Don’t ever say that. Injured. Maybe a little fragile. But not broken!” Her voice is quiet but vehement, and I can’t help but love her for her support.

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