Page 122 of Spring Break Fling

“Can’t we talk about a compromise?”

“You mean I compromise so you can have what you think is your dream job until he changes his mind? Who’s compromising here, Hannah? Me. What do you think happens when I move to New York, and you get fired? I sure as hell won’t make the money we need to afford to live there. And then what happens? We can’t keep moving all over the country while you play the role of the pick-me girl!”

Tears flashed in her eyes. Guilt punched me in the gut. But the anger was still there, clawing its way out of me. I shoved the car door open and got out, slamming it behind me.

“Nikko, wait!” she called after me, but I ignored her. I walked around and opened her door, tossing her the keys. “Take your car,” I said. “I’ll be at your place tonight to grab my stuff.”

“What?” she said, her voice breaking. “Where are you going?”

“Back to Miami,” I said flatly, turning on my heel.

“You can’t go to Miami!” she said, chasing after me. “You said it wasn’t safe.”

I shrugged. “Fuck it. Let them find me.”

“Nikko, stop,” she pleaded, grabbing my arm. “Don’t do this.”

I turned to face her, my heart pounding. “It’s already done, Hannah. At least now we know. We gave it a shot, and it didn’t work. I’m just glad we found out now. No harm, no foul, right? We weren’t actually living together.”

Her tears spilled over then, and it damn near killed me. But I couldn’t stay. Not like this. Without another word, I turned and walked away.

The weight of Hannah’s gaze on my back was like a physical force, dragging me down with every step I took away from her. I stormed off, having no idea where I was going. I could hear her sobbing behind me. I wanted to hold her and tell her it would all be okay, but it wasn’t. This was not okay.

I walked without direction, my feet just moving one in front of the other. There was nothing left to go back to. Not now. I had been so close to having a life that most people took for granted. There was clearly something wrong with me. I needed to accept the fact I was just damaged goods. I was destined to be like my old man. He was going to die alone and so was I.

42

HANNAH

My heart was shattered. I collapsed against the car, my body wracked with sobs. Everything had fallen apart so quickly. One moment we were planning a future together, and the next, Nikko was walking away from me.

My mind was spinning, replaying our argument over and over. Had I made a mistake? Was I choosing my career over our relationship? But this was my chance. The New York job was everything I’d worked for. Whether Clarke finally saw my potential or not, I couldn’t just throw that away.

Could I?

“No,” I murmured and shook it off.

I grabbed my purse and headed upstairs to my apartment.

“Why should I give up my dreams?”

Yes, I was talking to myself. It wasn’t like I could talk to Nikko. He stomped off like a petulant child. I let myself in and slammed the door shut behind me. My sadness and grief were quickly morphing into anger.

This was my life. My career. I had busted my ass to get this opportunity. Why couldn’t he be happy for me?

I paced around my apartment, my heels clicking against the hardwood floor. My mind raced with a thousand thoughts, each more chaotic than the last. Nikko’s words echoed in my ears: “You’re just a backup plan.”

But he was wrong. This was my moment. This was my chance.

I would be making enough money to pay our rent. He could tattoo anywhere. I didn’t understand why it was all on me to move to Miami. Yes, if I had a choice and the job could be in Miami, I would jump at it. I loved Miami. I loved the weather and the beaches, but New York wasn’t exactly a shithole. There was opportunity. Culture.

If he wanted to run away, that was his choice. I walked into my bedroom and threw Nikko’s duffel bag onto the bed with enough force to knock off one of my decorative pillows. His stuff wasn’t much—a couple of T-shirts, some jeans, and that stupid leather jacket he practically lived in. Each item I grabbed felt like a punch in the tit. I hurled a handful of socks into the bag like they’d personally offended me.

Coward.

“Running away is so on brand for you, Nikko,” I muttered, tossing his toothbrush into a Ziploc and flinging it on top of his clothes. The man didn’t have a toothbrush holder. It should have been a sign. “Big, bad tattoo artist who can face down gangsters in Miami but can’t handle his girlfriend taking a job in New York.”

My hands shook as I folded a pair of his boxers. Screw him. I was going to kill it in New York. I’d get a sleek condo with floor-to-ceiling windows and ridiculous rent that screamed “I’ve made it.” I’d sip overpriced cocktails on rooftops and brunch like a damn queen. I’d prove to Clarke—and to myself—that I was worth every bit of the investment.