“Shut up!” I grind out, shaking. “You don’t get it. You’re...you’re going to kill her when she finds out, Mag, and I’m not having it.”
Amazing.
He’s quiet for ten whole seconds before he starts again slowly. “Brina. Has it ever occurred to you that maybe your mom’s books don’t suck? She never needed you to buy them. She needed you to market them, but then you wouldn’t be the unsung hero.”
I gasp. “I’ve always taken care of my parents, you dick.”
“Exactly. That’s why I did it,” he says, his voice that thick, sultry velvet that used to make me so wet I’d ache.
Right now, it makes me want to punch him.
“Why?” I throw back. “Why the hell would you—”
“You’ve always taken care of your folks. My behavior forced you out of your job—and my life—” His voice dips on those last two words. “I decided to rectify one wrong even if I can’t fix the other. You don’t have to support your parents anymore. You’re free.”
Hot tears stream down my cheeks, and my lip quivers.
“You’re making this worse, so much worse.” I break into sobs I can’t hide, blown to smithereens.
“You’re crying again?” His voice sounds urgent, strained. “Sabrina...forgive me. I thought I was helping. I wanted to get the burden of supporting them off your shoulders so you’d—”
“No!” I scream. He’s not finishing that sentence. “If you really want to help me, just stay the fuck out of my life and away from my family.”
Pause.
“Can we talk please? Just hear me out, and then if you’re still through with me, I’ll stay out of your life forever. I give you my word, Brina,” he says, his voice this brick wall.
You will anyway, I tell myself.
Then I hang up and block his number again. I stay in the car crying into my hands until Mom comes outside looking for me.
Just awesome.
She taps on the passenger window and I unlock the door.
She opens it, slides in, and leaves the door open and props her feet up on my window. “What’s wrong?”
I shake my head, wiping at my eyes. “Nothing.”
Her smile is gentle now. She reaches across the console and combs her fingers through my hair. “Brina, don’t lie to me. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” I hiss, even while my heart shears in half.
“I always cry when nothing’s wrong too,” she says with a small smile. “Does this have to do with you randomly quitting your job?”
“It wasn’t random.”
“I know.”
There’s a long pause.
“I cared about him—it—the job, I mean—more than I realized.” That’s not even true.
I knew how much I loved him.
It just didn’t matter.
I was nothing but a game to him. Another property on the big board of life he conquered and won.
“You could always—reapply?” Her lips purse on the last word.
Yeah, we both know we’re not talking about jobs.
I shake my head. “I can’t, Mom. It’s a bad job with a dead end. It only cares about scoring big—uh, for shareholders—in the moment.”
“Most girls have a job like that once or twice. Sometimes when you walk away, he—the job—realizes your worth. And if that job doesn’t see the asset you were, you find someone—uh, something—you love more. Like a sexy machinist who doesn’t care that you wore tap dancing shoes and a tiara on a first date, or that he had to drive back to the coffee shop after it closed because you left your keys.”
I laugh and dry my eyes.
“Really? So you were always like this?”
She grins. “Of course. And if I weren’t—say, if I was very practical and maybe a little bit bossy, but still had a creative streak—any man who didn’t like practicality with a colorful streak in his life could go to hell. There are other fish in the pond even if they don’t all make millions. Money can’t buy happiness.”
I look out the driver window. “What if you weren’t sure if you could be happy with anyone else?”
She pats my back. “Then I’d have to weigh how much I need him in my life against his sins. Oh, and don’t forget the grand gesture! The bigger the sin, the more he has to pay to win you back.”
“Oh, Mom.” Rolling my eyes like mad, I smile at her. “You think everything’s a plot.”
“Yep.” She nods, guilty as charged. “The food’s getting cold and your dad’s on his third plate. Can we eat now?”
The next day, I force myself out of bed with the promise of a cinnamon latte and a bear claw.
The best perk of freelancing is my coffee break comes whenever I want it.
At Sweeter Grind, I place my order and find an empty table by the window. I plug my laptop in so I can work on a client’s site design. I power it on and take a huge bite of the bear claw.
Ugh. It’s as dry as sandpaper.
Then again, I haven’t really enjoyed food in weeks. Maybe Sweeter Grind isn’t suffering from quality control, and it’s just me.
“Brina Bristol!” the barista calls.
I walk to the counter and get my drink. There’s only one cup on the counter. It has my name on it, but it can’t be for me. White foam spells out I’m sorry, and three little hearts float above the foam.
“Umm—sorry, but I don’t think this is mine,” I say.
“Hang on.” The barista walks from the mini fridge over to the counter. “You had your usual, right?”
“I didn’t order latte art so it must be a mix-up.”
“Your boyfriend ordered it,” she says with a smile.
“I...I’m single.”
She shrugs. “The guy you left with the day you were here with the two dudes back in the winter? Sorry if he’s bothering you. He told me he just wanted to apologize.”
With a heavy sigh, I nod.
So much for staying the hell out of my life.
I stop by the condiment bar, take a stirrer, beat the foam to the sides of the cup, and slap a lid over it. The buzz of conversation and clinking plates seems louder than normal today, but I guess that’s how it is when the days are getting longer and it’s starting to feel like early spring.
I’m never going to get any work done here. I grab my pastry and head to the park since it’s just warm enough.
I plop down on the bench beside that stupid statue. The same bench I sat on the day I met Magnus Heron, watching his entourage prancing through the park.
Over on the walking path, a man about the same height as Mag has a brunette tucked under his arm. It’s obvious even from my distance she’s the only person here he sees.
With all the people swirling around the park today, she’s also the only person I envy.
Someday, I want to be looked at like her.
And she’s got a fine man, don’t get me wrong. But my guy was taller, broader, better dressed, and his eyes flayed me open.
A plane flies overhead, its engine growling so loudly I look up. It’s an older-looking machine, and weirdly low for being so close to downtown Chicago.