Page 33 of Ranger's Secret

The second one comes an hour later.

I love you. That doesn't change just because everything else went to shit.

Delete.

By evening, my phone is buzzing constantly. Texts, calls, voicemails, I don't listen to. I finally turn it off and shove it in a drawer, but that doesn't stop the flowers from arriving.

Tuesday: White roses with a note that saysI'm not giving up on us.

Wednesday: Pink roses.Just talk to me.

Thursday: A mixed bouquet that probably cost more than my weekly grocery budget.Let me fix this. Let me take care of you.

I throw the notes away, but not before reading every one. Not before pressing my face into the petals and breathing in thescent. Not before hating myself for the way my heart races every time he reaches out.

Maya texts me Thursday night:Haven't heard from you since you got back. Everything okay?

I stare at the message for twenty minutes before typing back:Just tired. Busy catching up at work.

The lie sits in my stomach like a stone. This is what I've become. Someone who lies to her best friend. Someone who destroys everything she touches.

Friday morning, Maya shows up at my apartment unannounced.

"I brought pumpkin lattes," she announces, pushing past me into the living room. "And I'm not leaving until you tell me why you look like someone died."

She's wearing yoga pants and an oversized sweatshirt, her hair in a messy bun, just like the college roommate who used to force me to eat actual food and not candy during finals week. The familiarity of it makes my chest tight with guilt.

"I'm fine," I lie, accepting the latte gratefully. "Just a rough week at work."

"Bullshit." She settles onto my couch, pulling her legs up under her. "You've been weird since you got back from that ranger program thing with my brother."

My heart stutters at the mention of him, but I keep my expression chill. "The program was intense. I'm still recovering."

"That's it? Just tired from two weeks of camping?"

I nod, not trusting my voice.

Maya studies my face with the kind of laser focus that made her a good psychology major. "Did something happen out there? With the client?"

The opening is right there. The perfect opportunity to tell her about losing the account, about getting fired, about howspectacularly I've fucked up my entire life. But I can't make the words come out.

Because telling her about the job means explaining why I lost it. And explaining why I lost it means telling her about Jagger. And telling her about Jagger means watching our friendship die in real time.

"The client went with the other agency," I say instead.

"Oh, babe." Maya's face crumples with sympathy. "I'm so sorry."

Her kindness makes everything worse. She's being the perfect friend. Supportive, caring, completely unaware that I've been lying to her.

My phone buzzes on the coffee table, lighting up with a new text message. I reach to silence it, but Maya's faster.

"Why is my brother texting you?" she asks, reading the name on the screen.

My blood turns to ice. "Maya, don't…"

But she's already reading the message, her expression shifting from curiosity to confusion to something that looks like horror.

I can't sleep without you next to me. I love you. Please don't shut me out.

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