AllFreeNovel
Share Us
The board members are probably against me with the recording out there. I know Suzy’s probably making calls and sowing seeds of discord among them, but the funny thing is, I don’t care anymore.
I was ready to settle down in New Brooks, to leave my life in New York behind and make a new one with Layla, but here I am—hurt, tired, and betrayed—alone in an empty mansion with a daughter who wants the person trying to steal her from me. The bottle stands there, inviting me.
I don’t remember crossing the room and reaching the table. With trembling hands, I pick up the bottle. The cool glass against my fingertips is a bittersweet reminder of the oblivion that awaits me.
I open the decanter and put the bottle to my lips without using a glass. The familiar burn of the alcohol sears through me like wildfire as I surrender to the darkness it gives. I remove the bottle from my lips, my insides burning.
I welcome the burn, happy to feel something else besides the emotional pain.
My hands find the desk, and I push off the rest of the books. I sit on the desk and put the glass to my lips again. As I drink, my study fades away, and the pain of Layla’s betrayal recedes into the background. I find solace in the numbness that envelopes me like a warm blanket.
The weight of my burdens finally lifts in the haze of intoxication, but one thought remains.
I’m sorry for failing you, Ruby.
I keep gulping the drink.
Chapter twenty-seven
Layla
One week ago, Tristan told me he never wanted to see me again. One week since I last heard his voice. It hurt, yes, but I deserve it. The one thing I don’t deserve is the accusation that I was feeding information to Miles Goldberg. I never did that. Tristan is convinced I did, and I can’t blame him; I broke his trust, so I can’t fault him for what he thinks.
After that night in the hospital, I left for my home, packed my bags, and left New Brooks for New York. On the flight, I read the new hit piece and listened to the audio recording Miles linked to the article. It featured voice recordings of Tristan’s words to me in his study. Damning words when heard out of context.
No wonder Tristan didn’t believe me that night in the hospital.
I landed in New York one week ago and rented a shitty motel which I paid for by cash every night even though I rarely stayed there. I’m in New York for a reason, and I won’t leave till I see it through.
“The usual?” Theo, the waiter, asks me, his bearded face smiling as usual every morning for the past seven days.
“Thank you, Theo.” I nod, returning his smile.
I take my seat by the window at the corner of the coffee shop. My black jeans feel tighter around my waist, and I know I’m already gaining baby weight. I need some new clothes, and I have a million bucks sitting in my bank account.
Tristan sent it to me that night. One million dollars. Payment for a job well failed. It felt like a fuck you from him.
The soft patter of rain hits the window as I stare at the building whose nooks and crannies I am already familiar with. I watch the closed, red wooden door and the small window on the second floor. The curtains are open, but it’s too bright to tell if there’s any movement inside.
The street is busy, as it always is. People running around in raincoats and umbrellas, trying to escape the drizzle. I remove my black baseball cap and set it on the table. A few strands of my hair escape my ponytail, and I push them behind my ears. I drum my fingers on the table as I watch the building, my eyes set on the door.
“Here you go,” Theo appears with a chicken sandwich and coffee. “Still nothing?” he gestures towards the building before folding his hands.
“Still nothing.” I grab the sandwich, my stomach growling with appreciation as I wolf it down.
Ever since I found out I’m pregnant, my appetite has doubled. I eat more than I ever have, but I sleep less for the life of me. I lay awake for hours, unable to sleep, my thoughts consumed with Tristan and Ruby.
No rest for the wicked, I suppose.
I may never see them again, and there’s nothing I can do about it. I should accept reality as it is, but I can’t. Every time I close my eyes, I see Tristan’s face telling me I’m a miserable nobody who will die alone, unloved.
He’s hardly a prophet, but I can’t shake the feeling that he described my future.
“I’ll refill your cup when you’re done, Johanna.” Theo clasps my shoulder gently, then leaves.
“Thank you, Theo.” I keep my eyes on the house, chewing slowly.
It’s Miles’ home. I’ve been watching it for the past seven days, following him when he steps out and watching every single thing he does from a distance. Miles works remotely, so he hardly goes out. Like clockwork, he goes for one drink—or five—at a nondescript bar every day by 7 p.m. Besides that, he hardly steps out.
