I shake my head. “Not always.”
“He did. He just didn’t know how to show it without screwing it up.”
Maybe. Maybe not.
My father changed the day my mother died. Something in him broke, and the alcohol filled the cracks. He became sharp, moody, unpredictable.
And when I left town—when I left Billy—my father took it personally. He said I abandoned him. Maybe I did. Maybe, in a way, he abandoned me first.
I zip my suitcase fully and sit on the edge of my bed.
“I can’t believe Cole didn’t come,” I whisper.
Clara snorts. “Cole’s an asshole, babe. I’ve always told you that you can do better than him.”
She did. She did say that after he missed my birthday. I had been so ready to break up with him, but I knew how much his career meant to him. He had missed my birthday because he’d been stuck at the office.
In true Cole fashion, though, the next night, he got us dinner reservations at the Hyatt Regency. He ended that night by getting us a presidential suite in which he had laid me down and eaten me out for two hours straight.
It had been so hard to stay mad at him after that.
Now, I remember why I should have broken up with him in the first place. My boyfriend’s a fucking flake. He’ll always pick his job over me.
“He met my dad,” I say. “He knew how hard this was for me.”
“And he didn’t show up.” She points to the door. “So who cares? We’re going. You’re gonna bury your father, handle the estate paperwork, and we’ll be back in New York in three days. You’re not moving back, you’re not reopening old wounds, you’re not getting sucked into that place. We’re in and out. Three days.”
Three days.
I can survive three days.
Even if going back means walking into the same streets where I broke Billy Carson’s heart. Even if the thought ofseeing him sends a lightning bolt of something dangerous and unspoken through my chest.
Even if leaving him was the hardest thing I’ve ever done.
I grab my suitcase handle. Clara grabs her keys.
We lock the apartment and head downstairs, and as the evening air hits my face, I tell myself the same thing over and over:
I’m going home, burying my father, and leaving again. I can survive three days.
The inn should feel like a soft landing after that brutal flight, but the moment I step inside, the air lodges in my lungs. Exhaustion crashes through me in a wave strong enough to make my knees slacken, and for a heartbeat, I really believe I’m about to cry right in front of the woman behind the counter.
Hours in airports, with recycled air, trying to keep myself from spiraling will do that to a person.
Clara leans against the counter, eyelids heavy, her hair pulled back in a crooked bun that’s barely hanging on. She looks as tired as I feel, and something inside me tries to rise up to protect her from even this small disappointment.
But the receptionist just smiles apologetically and repeats herself. “Every room in town is booked. Fall Festival started yesterday. People came in from all over, and we filled up by noon. The other inns did too.”
I press my fingers against my temple, a dull ache blooming from lack of sleep. This isn’t how I imagined my first moment back in this town.
I thought maybe we’d check in, toss our bags on the floor, shower, and lie down for… however long it takes to rememberhow to breathe normally again. But reality has never cared much about my plans.
Clara tries to smile, but the corners of her mouth barely move. “We can just rent a car and nap in it.”
Her voice is so drained it almost breaks something inside me. She doesn’t want to push the idea, but she’s running on fumes.
“We have a few hours before the meeting anyway,” she adds softly.
