I untie my apron with shaky fingers. “I’m taking my lunch.”
“Carly,” Zoe says softly.
“I’m taking my lunch,” I repeat, begging her with my eyes to just let me go.
She doesn’t argue.
I grab my phone and walk out from behind the counter without looking at Cole or Maddox again. Neither of them stops me.
The walk back to Zoe’s apartment is short, but it feels longer when my chest is caving in the whole way. By the time I get inside, my hands are shaking again. I drop down on the couch, kick off my shoes, and stare into the void.
Do not cry.
Do not cry.
Donotcry.
My eyes burn anyway.
I pull my phone out because I need a distraction more than anything. The jobs board is still open, and I refresh again.
A new listing pops up near the top.
Apparel Designer. Colorado Springs.Full-time. Competitive salary.
I click it before I can think too much.
The job description is fine. Better than fine, even. Sportswear-adjacent. Not Sparkks, obviously, but nothing is Sparkks, and maybe that’s the point. Maybe I need something that doesn’t feel like Grayson.
My vision blurs, and I blink hard to try to clear it.
“Stop it,” I whisper to myself.
I attach my existing resume, add my portfolio link, and let AI type out a cover letter so generic it should probably be illegal. My finger hovers over submit.
Colorado Springs isn’t another planet. It’s not even that far. But it is far enough to become a different life.Far enough not to pass Sparkks Sports occasionally.Far enough not to wonder if Grayson is in the next room, behind the next door, around the next corner.
Far enough to stop hoping.
I press submit.
The confirmation screen appears.Thank you for applying.I drop my phone immediately and press both palms against my eyes, trying not to let the tears overwhelm me.
But then my shoulders start to shake, and my throat closes, and the tears come whether I want them to or not. And half of it is probably because I know now that across town, Grayson is hurting too.
And I still can’t make him hear me.
Chapter 38
Greyson
I make it four hours.
Four hours of glass walls and low voices and people glancing away too quickly when I catch them looking. Four hours of sitting in meetings I don’t hear half of. Four hours of walking past the design floor without looking toward Carly’s old desk.
It took me until after lunch to be able to force myself to come in, and I leave at five-thirty on the dot.
When I get home, my head is pounding, my body is exhausted, and my patience is gone. I loosen my tie in the entryway, shut the door behind me, and stop.
