“I don’t believe you. I don’t think you care about me,” I whisperto him. “But good job. You did it. Whatever fucked up game of cat and mouse this was, you win.”
Air. I need air, real air, away from Faust and my family and Bernard. I go to the door, hesitating only when I hear Faust murmur my name—one moreArcadiafor the road. Then I’m in the stairwell, down the stairs, walking to who knows where, my phone buzzing in my pocket. It could be him. Or my dad, my sisters, Bernard, the team. So many different people could be calling me, wondering where I am, demanding that I explain myself to them, that my throat starts to constrict. And by the time I get to the ground level, outside, the fire racing down my chest and across my lungs makes it impossible to breathe.
I push into the nearest bathroom and find an empty stall to lock myself into.
“Don’t cry. Don’t.” I grab a handful of cheap toilet paper, wrap it around my finger, and dab under my eyes. My mascara must be running. Fuck. “Come on. Don’t.”
There shouldn’t be any tears left. I cried for weeks when Grandma died. When the bank came after the restaurant, I’d thought I’d dried out, any leftover tears freezing into frigid numbness. And that’s how I felt for so long afterward—numb, lost in the dark. Step by baby step, I’d walked myself back into the light, made a new life for myself and my family. I’d saved me.
I look down at the toilet paper in my hands. It’s damp, already shredded, covered in black smears that must be all over my face. And I realize that it’s on me again. I’m the person who has to pick myself back up. There isn’t another Cat Cromwell, and no one will make Faust pay for shattering my heart.
So I wrap my fingers around the soggy, tearstained paper and hold my breath until the sob in my chest burns out.
Then I text Imogen.
Finished the job. Last payment is due by midnight. xC
Half of me wants to go radio silent. Dead to the world.
The other half—the eldest daughter in me—knows that isn’t an option.
I message Dad and Maisie to meet me at the coffee shop at my hotel. I won’t be able to keep food down, and I won’t be able to sleep later. Might as well go all out. At the counter, I tune out the overwhelming noise of happy coffee shop customers and order an espresso, to-go. That way, if Maisie bolts, I can bring my drink while I follow her.
But surprisingly, they beat me here. Dad and Maisie are outside, seated in the coffee shop’s garden, and my heart gives a quick squeeze at the sight of them, here. Where I am. They’re finally, finallyhere.
And I’m going to hurt them so badly.
Dad stands when he sees me, worry all over his face. “Hi,” he says, then clears his throat. “Are you sure now’s a good time?”
A fair question, seeing as he thinks he just saw me leave my serious boyfriend, mid-proposal. “Yes, sorry.”
When I sit, Maisie scoots her chair closer to mine. “Hi, hi, hi.”
She goes to take my hand. I let her, squeeze her fingers, then drop it. “Hi, Mouse.”
“Hi, Cat. Your eyes?”
“What?”
Maisie sucks in one cheek. Then she points at my face, and Irealize I must’ve smeared more mascara on my walk here. “Oh, sorry.” I unwind the coffee-stained napkin from around my drink; the paper cup is scalding without it, but that’s okay. “Better?” I ask once I’ve rubbed my skin dry again.
She doesn’t answer right away, just looks at me, swallowing. “What’s going on with you?”
That question, on its own, isn’t why a new knot forms in my throat. It’s the worry in Maisie’s voice, her shiny blue eyes softened with concern. I never wanted her to have to worry—about anything, and least of all me. She might be in college now, on track to be the smartest designer ever, but to me she’s still my Mouse. Cotton-candy blue eyes, a million freckles, fuzzy strawberry blonde curls undone by the summer heat.
She was supposed to have the best life I could give her, the kind of life I wasn’t able to have. College. Friends. Normalcy.
None of this.
“What you saw back there—with that guy?” I suck a breath in. “It wasn’t… I don’t really like him. He sort of just did that.”
Dad’s brow wrinkles. “Bernard, the driver? Do you know him?”
“Oh, I do.”
“And he just randomly proposed to you?” Maisie says, horrified.
“No. Not… completely by random. But we haven’t, I wasn’t—there are things I haven’t told you guys.”
