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“I can’t believe you have the nerve to smile after what you did.” My voice is harsh with anger.
She lifts her hands, almost like she’s surrendering. “I’m sorry, Paxton.” She inhales deeply. “I didn’t have a choice.”
“Like hell you didn’t,” I snap, my tone dripping with disdain. “You could have never signed up for the project in the first place, but no, you just had to screw over everyone else in the process, right?”
Teagan looks down, clearly ashamed. “I didn’t mean to hurt anyone, Paxton. I really am sorry.”
I can feel the anger beginning to dissipate as I finally take her in.
Her skin is pale, and her eyes are swollen with unshed tears.
Maybe she is sorry. Or maybe she’s just a damn good actress. Something tells me it’s the first, but either way, I don’t want to waste any more of my time on her. “It’s fine, Teagan.” I turn to walk away. “Just stay out of my way from now on.”
“Everyone thinks I picked Mal because of her father, because of her last name . . .” Her words stop my movements, and I cannot help but pivot back to hear what she says. “But I picked her because of her heart. Who else would have given up her career for a client?”
I don’t understand the point of this, but the mention of Mallory has my back going ramrod straight and my pulse increasing.
“Well, she does have her daddy to fall back on.”
“If you think she would take a thing from him, you don’t know her at all,” she says, her tone keeping me quiet. “Mallory isn’t the average agent.”
“That’s right. She has a very successful dad in tow.”
“That’s why my mom agreed. My mom assumed she would eventually leave and go work for her father. But I went to her because she was the only one who asked me if I was okay.”
I’m momentarily stunned by what she just said.
“Did you know the first thing she did when we got home was to make sure I was okay? She’d just lost everything—no job, losing her apartment—and still, she made it her number one priority to make sure her ex-client was okay . . . that I was okay.
“I’m not following.”
“You have no idea why we walked, do you?”
“She never told me anything.”
A tear falls from Teagan’s eyes. She swipes it away and then straightens her back and meets my stare. The lost and sad girl from moments ago is replaced. Her walls are up for what she’s about to say. “She got me help. She put my mental health above everything. She gave it all up for me.”
“What do you mean?”
“You had to have known what my mother was doing,” she fires back, and I shake my head. Sure, I knew her mom was a bitch, but from what I see right now, it was so much more.
“I told Mallory the truth. I told her what my life was really like. That I was at a breaking point and could no longer take it, and she put me first. She lost everything for me. She’s struggling—like really hurting. I check in with her, but I know she doesn’t tell me how hard it is. She’s untouchable. She can’t get a job, and it was bad enough where she was living before this. Her new place is . . .” Teagan lifts a finger to brush another tear away. “I know you’re mad at her for what she did, and if I know Mallory, she didn’t tell you anything, but she saved my life, Paxton. I was drowning. My mom—she was slowly killing me. And Mallory—she gave me my life back.”
Her words explode inside me. I can feel them as if they are shrapnel ripping apart everything I thought I knew.
Fuck.
What did I do?
And the better question, what did I lose because I was too proud to see the truth?
An hour later, I’m still pacing back and forth in front of Charles’s building in a constant loop, but no matter how hard I try, I can’t will myself to enter. So, instead, I walk the block more times than I can count, but there is no shaking the conversation with Teagan.
I don’t know what to believe or what to think anymore.
On the one hand, I know where she was coming from . . . now. But on the other, she didn’t even fight.
Sure, she couldn’t have told me the full story, but she could have said something.
Anything.
Instead, she placed giant walls around her and closed me out.
Somewhere on the twentieth pass of the building, I walk into the bar next door instead and text Charles, letting him know where I am.
It’s dark and dingy here, and the tables and chairs are scratched from years of rough use, but it’s getting the job done.
