Once we’re cleaned up and fully dried off, a knock sounds at the door.
“Food’s here!” I call out, pulling a silk robe over my damp skin. I feel lighter than I have in months, floating on a high that makes the world look brighter and finally right. I head toward the door, humming to myself as I snag my wallet from the entryway table.
I pull the door open, a wide, genuine smile already forming on my face to greet the delivery driver.
“Order for Aspen Hunter?” the girl asks, balancing a heavy brown bag that smells like glory.
“That’s me!” I say, reaching into my wallet and handing her a crisp twenty. “Do you mind the cash tip? I just like to make sure you actually get all of your coins.”
The girl’s eyes light up. “Absolutely not. Thank you so much! Have a great morning.”
She turns and jogs back toward the elevator, leaving me with the intoxicating scent of pecan pancakes and maple syrup. My stomach actually aches with anticipation—or maybe it's just the lingering flutter of Luca waiting for me in the other room.
I step back, my hip beginning to swing the door shut so I can get back to my husband.
But a person that steps off of the elevator as the delivery driver steps on and catches my eye. The air leaves my lungs in a silent, agonizing rush.
Standing there, looking happy and hopeful, and entirely too cheerful in a man-bun.
“Croix.”
Chapter Sixteen
Depression, Old Thai Food + Athlete’s Foot
Luca
Present Day
“And don’t bother coming back!” I yell.
I don't even look up from the sofa as nurse number four, or perhaps five, storms past the living room with her face a frantic shade of blotchy red. She doesn’t offer a parting gift beyond a middle finger that I catch in the reflection of the TV screen. The heavy thud of the front door echoing through the foyer is the final punctuation mark on my morning.
It shouldn’t be this hard to find good help. I just need someone who can handle light cleaning and ensure I don't put too much weight on my knee, but they keep sending the wrong people. I can’t quite put my finger on what makes them a bad fit, but I know they aren't what I need.
There’s a specific kind of hell that comes with a divorce you can’t tell anyone about. Since I’m stuck here heartbroken and injured, I do the only thing I can and stalk my wife online.
Unfortunately, she doesn’t exactly have an updated social media presence. All I can find are these old college photos on some archived Black Planet page, and while she was gorgeous back then, I’m dying for a glimpse of her now.
A moment later, Tatum appears in the doorway, her heels clicking sharply against the hardwood. I quickly put my phone away to hide the evidence of my obsession. I can’t let her best friend see how much I’m still hung up on her, especially since I’m the one who broke her heart.
I can’t let anyone know how much I miss her. Ending things was the right move, the only move that made sense for everyone involved. This distance is for the best. It protects Croix, it protects my career, and it keeps the team from imploding. Most of all, it keeps her away from the wreckage. I have to keep telling myself that until I actually believe it. Until every second without her no longer feels like torture.
Tatum doesn’t speak at first. She just stands there with her eyes wide as she takes in the scene with a look of pure disbelief. The house has become a graveyard of takeout containers and old espresso pods. I’m sprawled out with my leg propped up, the bulky brace feeling like a lead weight, and I know I look every bit as wrecked as I feel.
Tatum shakes her head, dropping her designer laptop bag onto the coffee table with a thud. “That’s the fourth one this month, Luca. The team is running out of agencies willing to send staff to this address.”
“It’s not that bad,” I counter.
She sucks her teeth. “You look depressed, the apartment smells like old Thai food and athlete's foot, and you’re scaring off the very people sent to get you back on the field.”
“She wouldn't stop talking and she kept pestering me for autographs for her niece. Not to mention, I have a persistent headache and I specifically told the agency to send someone whowouldn't disturb my peace!” I challenge, shifting my weight and wincing as a sharp pull of pain shoots through my knee.
Tatum gestures to the mess around us. “What peace, Luca?”
“Can we just get to the meeting?” I snap. “I have an image-rebuilding campaign to maintain, don't I?”
Tatum sighs, pulling out her tablet. “Fine. Let's talk appearances. You’re all set for the Young Strikers Soccer League event. Remember? You're giving the keynote to the kids, doing a few photos. It shouldn’t be any different than the routine at Biddy Mason for those students.”
