“They know what we are—were to each other.” I find a bench and sit, still reeling from everything that occurred over the last thirty minutes. “They’re trying to play some angle.”
“That is some seriously fucked up shit,” Gabe states.
“She thought I came for her.” I feel the anger dissipate, a sense of longing and despair taking its place. “After all this time, after everything I did, she still wanted me to find her.”
“I’m sorry, Andrew.” Gabe’s voice softens, and I lean back with a sigh.
My instincts are telling me Phoebe’s telling the truth, and she had no idea about her bosses’ plan, but my instincts have failed me before, and I can’t help but wonder what her insistence to keep working for Teller, Hirsch and Berger means.
“This is so messed up.” My head drops and I press the heel of my hand onto my eye, willing the tension away without much success.
“What’s next?” Gabe asks, and I don’t know if he’s referring to the case or to Phoebe, but I only know the answer to the former.
“She’s going to contest the Will, just like you said.” A movement to my right catches my attention, and I look up to see Phoebe storm out to the street and jump into a cab, her face contorted in a mix of anger and misery.
“Okay, I’m booking a flight.” Gabe pulls me back to reality. “Phoebe or not, we promised Claire to take care of the inn, and I, for one, am not about to let her down.”
“Neither am I.”
“You sure you can handle it?” Gabe asks, and I hear the worried edge in his voice.
“No,” I admit. “But I can’t let those assholes win.”
“Were you always this competitive?”
“I used to be worse.” A grin tugs at the corners of my lips. “How do you think the new kid managed to get the cheer-queen to go on a date?”
“Your boyish charm?” The sarcasm is oozing out of him.
“Fuck you,” I retort, but end up bursting into laughter despite myself. “And I used to have plenty of boyish charm, just so you know.”
“We’ll see,” Gabe replies cryptically, and I frown.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing. I’ll see you in a couple of days.” He still sounds amused at his own private joke. “Don’t do anything stupid.”
“Like what?” I stand and start walking in the direction of my hotel, pulling off my tie.
“Like fuck the other party’s lawyer and get her kicked off the case.”
“If I even try something like that, you’re going to have to pack a shovel and dig me out of the shallow grave Phoebe buried me in.”
“That bad?” He sighs, and I shove my free hand into my pocket, looking up at the clouds reflecting off the tinted windows of the skyscrapers.
“Worse,” I finally answer.
“It’ll be okay, Atkins,” Gabe tries to reassure me, but my pit of despair seems to deepen.
“Yep, sure it will.” I sound about as convincing as I feel.
“Andrew—”
“I’m a big boy, Gabe.” I cut him off. “And whatever happens with Phoebe, I earned it fair and square. Actions and consequence.”
“I think you’ve more than paid your dues.”
“No,” I flat out state. “Not even close, not with her.”
“Well, I guess it’s time to pull on your big-boy panties, then, jock-strap included.” Gabe tries to joke, but he can’t mask the worry in his tone.
I sigh my goodbye and hang up, staring at my phone for a few seconds longer before resuming my walk back to the hotel.
So many thoughts are racing through my head as I go; weirdly enough, most aren’t even about Phoebe. I’m sure she was texting Trista and Zoe when she rushed out of the firm.
Who do I have to turn to? My mom has been carrying the weight of mine and my dad’s service for so long it’s already taken a toll on her health, I can’t keep piling it up on her. And Gabe… He’s a good guy, but we only just met when I was discharged less than a year ago.
There’s always Jonah, and not a day goes by that I’m not thankful to still have him, but even the man who ran into battle with me doesn’t know me as well as they do—Phoebe, the girls, Brian—they were my family. I yearn for that more than I yearn for her right now, to have those people who I cared about so deeply envelop me with a sense of belonging.
The knowledge that I don’t deserve it, that I won’t ever earn their forgiveness, won’t ever have a place in their family again, has been chipping away at my sanity since Phoebe walked into that room.
“Relax, Andy.” I inhale and almost choke when I start to slowly exhale. I just referred to myself as Andy, and that hasn’t happened since the day I left Phoebe. “Fuck,” I mutter.
She’s already getting under my skin. This is going to be harder than I thought.
Phoebe
“Babe?” I hear Zoe’s concerned voice as the door to my apartment opens.
“In here,” I call out, not even flinching when Zoe and Mac walk into my living room to find me sprawled on the couch, face down, with a bottle of bourbon in my hand. Yeah, I ditched the lowball at a certain point, got tired of refilling it.
“We’ve been knocking for a while.” She crouches on the floor next to me, stroking my arm.
“I heard,” I slur out. “It’s why you have a key, though.”
“I’m going to the store to get something for you to eat,” Mac says from somewhere behind me, and a few seconds later, I hear my apartment door closing.
“How much of this have you had?” Zoe asks me, and I scrunch my nose.
“Not enough.” I raise the bottle to my lips, but Zoe snatches it out of my hand and swiftly gets up and away from me. “No!”
“Yes, Phoebe,” she replies in her soft, compassionate voice as I stagger off the sofa and stumble onto my knees, the tears bursting out.
“It’s all I have left,” I sob, and Zoe discards the bottle rushing to sit on the floor next to me.
“What are you talking about?”
“I erased all our photos,” I bawl and bury my face in my hands, “but it didn’t work. He’s still in my head, and now I have nothing left, everything we had, Zo, it’s all gone.”
“Oh, babe.” She pulls me into a hug and lets me cry in the comfort of her arms.
“I don’t feel so good,” I mumble into her chest and let Zoe help me up and navigate me to the bathroom, seating me next to the toilet and pulling my hair into a bun, waiting with me until the ungodly amounts of bourbon catch up with me and I empty the contents of my stomach into the bowl.
“Better?” Zoe rubs my back, and I nod, wiping my mouth with toilet paper and flushing before standing on wobbly knees, a sting in my eyes, and burn in my throat. “You need help undressing?”
I nod again, and Zoe runs the water in the shower, helping me out of my suit and under the cool stream, pulling the scrunchy off my hair and handing me a toothbrush.
“You need me to stay?” she asks, and I shake my head, managing a small smile.