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“Not cool, Mom. You realise I could report you for working me to the bone!”
Her mother snorts, shooing her away. “You’re the one who said you wanted to be treated like an adult. Time to put your money where your mouth is, my love.”
Ophelia rolls her eyes, wandering back in the direction of her misplaced tray. “Whatever helps you sleep at night, slave driver.”
Anna makes a face behind her daughter, making us both grin quietly.
“Seriously, Summer. Take a couple of days. Today’s shift was probably too soon to be back anyway.”
I shake my head and chuckle darkly. “I need to stay busy, Anna. I need to keep myself occupied. I’ve even signed up for extra shifts at Rogue.”
My old friend slowly nods her head, but keeps her obvious thoughts to herself. “Okay, love. You know I’ll never stop you from doing what you feel you’ve got to do.”
I force a smile before hugging her goodbye and stepping out onto the Brooklyn pavement. I’m back at my apartment in less than ninety seconds.
My phone chimes with a text as I cross the threshold. I yank it from the pocket of my black work pants like a junkie in need of a fix. My heart smiles when I check the sender, only to plummet to my feet when I read the text.
Jesse
Caden said I wasn’t to tell you, but we buried Bella’s mom today.
My knees feel weak, my head fuzzy, and I stumble toward the frayed old couch we inherited from the previous owners to sit heavily on my ass.
Layla is dead?
I’ve not seen any reports on the TV or in the news. I’m equal parts shocked at the news and amazed that it’s clearly remained a well-kept secret until I remember that, of course, Noah Spellman would be running point. Keeping the rumour mill at bay.
Maintaining a scandal-free client list, as he always has done.
I type a quick text back.
Me
Oh, baby. Is she doing okay? What about your father?
My immediate instinct is to order an Uber to JFK and hotfoot it back to Cambridge as fast as I can. My feet twitch with the need to move, but I fight it with everything I have inside of me.
I promised them time. They need time.
Without me. As much as that tears me apart.
My phone chimes with another message. My heart soars upon seeing the sender.
Caden
We buried Layla this morning. I thought you deserved to know.
I bite down on my bottom lip in an effort to stop the emotion that flows through my body.
To the point. Almost clinical. As though he’s informing a stranger.
I guess you know where you stand now, and you’ve only got yourself to blame.
My forehead puckers as the realisation strikes. I don’t only have myself to blame. Noah Spellman forced me out of the UK. He stole the life that was mine.
And he’s going to fucking pay.
* * *
