As we drive, I share more details of my arrival home and discovery that I’m locked out. “He says I can pick up all my stuff tomorrow at noon,” I tell him. “Is he going to be there, though? Cat will be at school.” I choke on a tiny sob. “When am I going to see her?”
Owen curses under his breath.
“Vince says I can move home when I break up with you.”
“What?” His head whips around, then jerks back to focus on the road.
“Yeah. And then…” Should I tell him about Roman? I have a feeling this won’t be good, but…I have to be honest. “Roman was waiting for me outside the building.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Owen bellows.
Eeek. I knew this would be bad.
“I know. This is too much. I can’t believe Vince is doing this.”
Owen zigzags over to Fifth Avenue and enters Central Park. I’m talking non-stop, twisting my fingers together. We pass the carousel, then Tavern on the Green, and then leave the park. Owen keeps going straight toward the river.
“I’m sorry to dump all this on you.”
He takes a deep breath. “It’s okay, Em. I got you.”
Warmth balloons in my chest.
He parks in underground parking at his building, and we take the elevator to the seventeenth floor.
“How long have you lived here?” I ask.
“A few years. It’s a good location. Easy to get to the arena on game days, and to the practice facility in Yonkers. There are a few guys who live in this building.”
On his floor, he unlocks the door and motions for me to go in ahead of him. I walk into a bright foyer with light wood floors and white walls. He hangs my outwear in a spacious closet and leads me into the living room, leaving my suitcase near the door.
I check the space out. Big windows look out over the river. A chunky sectional upholstered in stone-colored twill sits against one wall, facing a couple of squarish chairs with black metal frames and taupe leather seats and back. Between them sit two low tables, similar in style and shape to the chairs with black metal frames topped with cream tiles.
I step onto the thick black and cream rug to survey the art on the walls—a big framed watercolor in shades of taupe, mocha, gray, and black; a few handwoven baskets; and a collection of mixed-sized prints in white frames that look like neutral color seascapes.
“This is lovely.” I turn to face him. “Did you decorate this?”
“Ha, no. I went to Pottery Barn and told them to put together rooms that looked good.”
I grin. “At least you’re honest.”
“I like it to look nice, but I have no clue how to do it. Mostly I just want it comfortable.”
“It feels comfortable.” I sit on the sectional, shifting a couple of toss cushions aside, and run my hand over a chenille throw draped over the arm. I sink back into the couch and let out a huge sigh. “I’m okay,” I say, seeing his look. “I’m just releasing tension.” I do another inhale and exhale.
His lips twitch. “Gotcha.”
“I still can’t believe this is real. Vince is nuts.”
“I have no comment on that matter.”
I sit up straight, stiffening. “Oh my God, Owen. You still have to deal with him.” I cover my mouth with my hand. “If he did this to me, what could he do to you?”
“He won’t do anything to me. Want something to drink?”
“I’m okay, thanks.” I jump up and follow him into the small but nicely appointed kitchen, all white cabinets, stainless steel appliances, and gleaming black counters. “Are you sure?”
His shoulders are tense as he grabs a bottle of water from his fridge. “I think I need to have a word with Roman Moretti.”
“No!” I clasp my hands. “Don’t do that.”
He gives me a fierce look that should be as scary as Roman’s was, but with Owen I don’t feel scared. I feel safe. “He can’t do this.”
My insides twist painfully. “I’ll leave.”
“No.” His tone is sharp.
“I’ll tell them we broke up. Then they’ll leave you alone.”
He stares at me. “You want to break up?”
“No!” Tears sting my eyes. “No, I don’t, but I don’t know what else to do.”
“Stay here, Emerie. I want to know you’re safe.”
I blink rapidly, his concern for me so sweet, so unfamiliar to me. “What about Cat?”
His head drops forward.
I’m putting him through this. This is all my fault. “I’m sorry.”
He shakes his head and turns to face me. “Don’t apologize. Tell Cat the truth.”
I swallow. “Okay.”
I find my phone, my stomach in knots. How am I going to tell her about this? I’ve always been so careful to avoid phrases like “your father is an asshole.”
I dig my phone out of my purse and call Cat. She answers quickly. “Hi! Where are you?”
I swallow. “Hi, Kit Cat! I’m at Owen’s.”
“Oh, okay. When will you be home? Did you bring me a present?”
Her deliberately cheeky tone makes me smile. “Maybe I did. Um, listen. I’m not coming home tonight.”
She’s silent. “Why not?”
I can’t lie to her. I suck in a big breath. “Vince doesn’t want me to live there anymore.”
“What? Why?”
“You need to ask him that. I’m sorry, honey. I’m going to talk to him tomorrow. I hope he’ll change his mind, but I don’t know.”
“That’s crazy, Em!”
“I don’t like it.” I keep my voice calm. “But I’m okay. And you’ll be okay. I’ll come take you to school in the morning like usual, I’ll just wait in the lobby for you. And I’ll pick you up.”
“Um. Okay. So I’ll see you tomorrow?”
“Right. For sure.”
After a few seconds of heavy silence, she says, “I don’t understand this.”
“I know. I’m sorry. And listen…I doubt your dad will ask, but if he wants to know where I am, tell him you don’t know.” I squeeze my eyes closed. I hate this.
Silence. “Em. I don’t understand what’s going on.”
“I’ll explain it to you. Don’t worry, everything will be fine.”
I try to chat a bit more with her about school and friends, but she’s clearly unhappy. I worry about what she’ll say to Vince. She’s pretty good at speaking her mind with him. Better than I was.
When I end the call, I call Klara and give her a similar update. I don’t know what Vince has told her or not told her, but I have to make sure Cat’s going to be cared for. I just tell her I’m staying with a friend until I have a chance to talk to Vince. Then I drop my phone on the coffee table and lower my head into my hands. I feel Owen approach, his weight sinking into the couch next to me, and his hand lands on my back in a gentle, comforting gesture. “I’m sorry,” he says in a low voice.
I nod. “This sucks.”
18
Owen