I trail him upstairs. A few pairs of eyes follow us. My face burns.
Samuel closes the door behind me and moves to stand at his desk. I stay put by the door. Not wanting to stay but not wanting to go, either.
“I’ve resigned,” he says.
I startle, my heart falling. “But you can’t!”
“I did. Effective immediately. You’re my replacement.”
Dizzy, my hand moves to my stomach. I try to breathe through the shock roiling my gut. “I can’t replace you if I’ve resigned too.”
“You said one of us has to go. It’s not gonna be you. I have no idea what the fuck is going on with Hank, and quite frankly, I don’t care. So that leaves me.” His eyes soften. “We need you, Emma. The farm’s gotta move forward, and you’re the only one who’s up to the task. That much has become clear.”
I’m blinking back tears, wondering what in the world is happening. Wondering when the hell I’m going to stop crying. I was so good at managing my emotions before I met Samuel. I had control over the people in my life and how they made me feel.
But ever since he came into my life, my feelings are a runaway train. It’s terrifying.
“But the staff,” I say. “Our reputation—”
“If I’m gone, they’ll forget. Out of sight, out of mind kind of thing. Y’all can work together to push this program to heights even Beau hasn’t dreamed of. Em, this job—it was meant for you. You love it. It lights you up. It gives you what you want, so take it. I’m begging you.”
I close my eyes and just breathe. Because that’s all I can manage at the moment.
“But what will you do?” I say.
“Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine. No, that’s a lie, I won’t be fine. Not until I know you’re okay.” He curls his hand into a fist and sets it, knuckles down, on the desk. “Right now, I’m not going to ask you to take me back. That’s not what this conversation is about. But I meant it when I said I’m going to fight for you. Being in my bed alone without you—I couldn’t sleep. I can’t eat.”
Opening my eyes, I draw a trembling breath. “Sounds familiar. But how are you going to put your family back together if I’m here?”
“Let me figure that out. It may take some time, but my family and I have been through tough shit before. We made it out alive, and we can do it again.”
“Have you spoken to Hank since—”
“I haven’t.” His expression falls. “I’m not ready yet. You said you need time, and maybe I need that too. Time to let my relationship with my brother heal.”
I shake my head. I’m watching the damage to Samuel’s family happen in real time. I’ve already caused too much hurt. The sooner I leave, the sooner Samuel and Hank can reconcile, and the sooner they can all move on.
“I’m sorry. I can’t accept your offer.”
Then I turn and go before Samuel can convince me to stay.
I walk into my apartment and immediately stop in my tracks.
Lindsey is spread out on my sofa, an enormous, half-eaten pepperoni pizza in a box on the coffee table in front of her. She’s got a glass of white wine in one hand and the remains of a slice in the other. Her hair is in a messy knot at the top of her head, and she’s wearing leggings with one of my oversized sweatshirts. Mascara is smeared in blue-black halos around her eyes, making them look like two burn holes in a sheet.
Paul Hollywood is eviscerating some poor redhead’s raspberry pavlova on TV. The Great British Bakeoff? Really? Last we talked, Linds and Palmer “don’t have time to watch TV.” Much less something light and fluffy like GBB.
“Lindsey?” I say slowly, my heart beginning to pound. “What’s going on?”
She doesn’t look at me. Just rips off a chunk of pizza and says, “Tried to cook. Couldn’t. Sorry.”
“I mean what’s going on with you?” I gesture at her disheveled person. “I’ve never seen you wear a sweatshirt. I’ve never seen you eat carbs. Did someone die?”
I mean it as a joke, but the hurt I see in Lindsey’s eyes when she finally meets my gaze makes me want to die.
“How’d it go today?” she asks.
“It sucked. Tell me what’s wrong, Lindsey, or I’m going to call Palmer and have him explain why you’re having a mental breakdown on my couch.”
Lindsey’s face crumples. Panic unfurls inside my stomach.
“Palmer is leaving me,” she says. She leans forward and drops what’s left of her slice back into the box. Then she covers her face with her hand and starts to sob, shoulders shaking.
“Linds.” I sink onto the sofa and wrap an arm around her shoulders. “Oh my God. I’m so sorry.”
“He”—sob—“fell in love with our CrossFit coach.”
I blink in shock and reach for a napkin on the coffee table, offering it to her. “Fucking CrossFit.”
“I know,” she scoffs, and takes the napkin and wipes her nose with it. “Came out of nowhere. I was totally blindsided.”
“What in the world happened?”
Lindsey folds the napkin in half, then in quarters. Her face crumples again. “Shit, that’s a lie. I’m lying, Em, I don’t know why, I just…I’m sorry. Let me start over.” She takes a deep breath. “Things with Palmer haven’t been great for a while now. If I’m being honest, our marriage was off to a rocky start from the beginning. We were so perfect on paper, but in reality, we didn’t have a lot to connect over, you know?”
I grab a napkin for myself. I’m crying now too. It’s the surprise. The pain of seeing my sister hurt so much.
“I don’t know, actually,” I say, carefully picking my words. “Y’all were a picture of perfection from the second y’all met. You were both successful. Beautiful. You took these incredible trips and had this, like, insane wedding that was the most fun party I’ve ever been to. When I saw the two of you together, you seemed to always be smiling and happy. You were definitely always smiling for the camera, even when you were doing your workout of the day together. Hashtag WOD, hashtag the couple that slays together stays together.”
“Hey. I work hard in the gym. There’s nothing wrong with being proud of that.”
I squeeze her shoulder. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I don’t mean to poke fun. Guess a part of me is jealous you have the time and money to do that stuff.”
“No, you’re right.” She takes another breath. “The hashtags were obnoxious. Hell, my whole feed is obnoxious. But what was I supposed to post? ‘Hey, Palmer and I are at a five-star resort in Vietnam, but we haven’t talked in two days’? Or, ‘hey, Palmer and I just burned eight hundred calories at the gym, but no matter how hard I try, he never looks at me the way he looks at Coach Cindy’?”
“Aw.” I hand Lindsey another napkin. “Aw, Linds, that’s fucking awful.”
She puts her elbows on her knees and leans forward, nodding. “It’s such a cliché, showing the world a highlight reel when the reality is a total dumpster fire. But the pressure to be perfect, and to be happy—it’s real, Emma. I mean, don’t you feel like there’s no space for the messy parts of life? To show them and to actually live them? It’s like, hey, shit’s not great in my life right now, but I’m gonna sweep it under the rug and paste on a smile and snap a picture, and maybe if I keep doing that, the reality will finally start to look like the highlight.”