She carefully tucks the check into her pocket as if it’s made of glass, then surges forward. Her arms fly outand wrap around me, and she pulls me into a warm, soft hug I feel deep. Right down to my bones.
“This means so much,” she whispers. “Thanks, Killian. No matter what happens, I’ll never forget what you’ve done for me.”
The embrace ends as abruptly as it began. She’s drawing back, and I’m sliding my hands back into my pockets to watch her go.
It seems the Callahans have arranged a car for her. She heads toward the front of the circle driveway and a driver gets out to open the rear passenger door.
It’s only a matter of seconds before the car is turning off the property and disappearing from sight, and I’m left wondering if it’s the last time I’ll ever see Jhene…
TWENTY-EIGHT
Jhene
Two and a half months later…
“Okay, I’m obsessed with this place. The exposed brick? The mismatched mugs and menu written in chalk? The fact that I might get tetanus from this chair? It’s giving starving artist, and I love it.”
They’re the first words out of Chantal’s mouth as she slides into the chair across from me. We’re having coffee at a local cafe in Sunset Park that she’s taken one look at and fallen in love with.
She’s dressed in a cashmere sweater and plaid skirt she’s paired with what’s obviously a designer bag and a few pieces of delicate, feminine jewelry I suspect come from somewhere like Tiffany’s.
It makes me smirk because it’ssoChantal. It’s a reminder that it’s still completely unexpected we’ve ended up friends.
Never in a million years did I think I’d ever have any femalefriends as an adult, let alone ones as fashionable and amusing as Chantal and the others.
We’re not best friends—those roles will always belong to Simone and her cousin Monique—but it’s nice to have someone to meet up for coffee with.
Another slice of normalcy as I’ve started over the past couple months.
My hands slide around the mug of chai I’m sipping on. “I’m glad you approve. I was worried it wouldn’t meet your standards.”
“Please,” she says with a wave of her manicured hand. “I contain multitudes, Jhene. I can do rooftop champagne bars and I can do... whatever this is. Let’s call it artisanal struggle. My only wish is I wore a beret to fit the vibe.”
I laugh lightly and shake my head. “I’m pretty sure there’s no dress code. At least they haven’t complained when I’ve come by in yoga pants.”
“We really have to dress you up again one of these days! It was sooo much fun.”
“You’re kidding, right? I still have blisters from the sandal heels you made me wear.”
Chantal sighs as if I’m so incorrigible and then places her order for a caramel macchiato. The topic of conversation turns to how she’s finally almost finished decorating the house in upstate New York where she lives with Lochlan.
I listen intently, taking in the details and soaking up what’s a normal coffee meetup between friends.
It’s been two and a half months since I walked away from Killian on the steps of Callahan House, still so shell-shocked after being in Fedorov’s custody again and the violent struggle that went down.
All of it feels like a lifetime ago.
Other times, it feels like yesterday. As if I’m still grasping at how to start over.
But most days it does feel like I’m really doing it. For the first time, I’m succeeding at building a new life for myself.
I hadn’t counted on the large sum of money Killian gifted me. As someone who usually doesn’t accept things from people—certainly not monetary gifts from men considering that’s defined my life for the worst—I decided to accept Killian’s.
It was a show of trust more than anything.
I trusted him, that his gift was sincere and he would never expect anything in return. He told me many months ago he never would, and I believe him.
Let’s get one thing straight. As a man, I would never expect you to give me anything you didn’t want to give.
