We were on the road before my phone had enough charge to turn on. I had twelve texts and four voice messages. I opened the texts and skipped the eleven from Brian, going immediately to the one from Hudson. “Plexis crisis. I’ll call as soon as I can.”

My heart sunk. I should have been grateful that he’d left a message at all, but didn’t I deserve more? He had led me to believe that I did.

I accessed my voicemail with only faint hope. He’d never called me, and I doubted any of the messages were from him. I listened long enough to the first one to hear Brian’s voice then immediately deleted it and skipped to the next one. All were from my brother. All were deleted without a full listen.

Jack was more considerate company than I could possibly ask for. After asking me to enter my address into the GPS, he offered enough small talk for me to understand he was there if I needed him. Then he allowed me to wallow in silence.

For the better part of an hour, I flipped my phone around in my hands, opening the text slider and closing it again without using it. The old me—the crazy, obsessed me—would have already sent a series of messages to Hudson, each heightening in tone and accusations. It took everything in me not to physically do so, but in my head I let myself compose them.

“Why did you go? Are you really on a business trip?”

“I can’t do the on-duty anymore. I quit.”

“Why won’t you let me in?”

“I love you.”

Finally I dropped my phone in my purse, leaned my head against the window of the car, and closed my eyes. I’d allow myself one well thought-out text when I got home. Then I’d go to a group meeting. I just had to make it until then without doing anything stupid.

I must have fallen asleep because when I opened my eyes again, we were outside my apartment building. There were no spots available along the street, so Jack had turned on the emergency blinkers and pulled up next to the line of parked cars.

Standing at the driver’s door, Jack leaned across the top of the car. “If you wait here, I can find a spot somewhere and help you up to your apartment.”

As harmless as Jack was, having him in my apartment did not sound like a good idea. And I didn’t need the help or the company. “I can get it. Thanks, though.” Standing on the curb with my bag, I felt moved to say more, to express my overwhelming gratitude. “And thank you for driving me here and for…well, for…” For not treating me like Sophia treats me. “For being so kind.”

Dammit. I was choking up again.

He chuckled. “I’m not really that kind. I just appear so in comparison.”

I didn’t have to ask whom he meant to compare himself with. “Jack.” I shouldn’t keep him when he was parked illegally, but suddenly I had to know. “Why are you still married to her?”

“I wish I could say it’s because I remember the sweet woman she once was, but she was never a sweet woman.” He looked off at the traffic behind him, not seeming to be bothered by the cars honking as they passed in the next lane. “Sophia came to the marriage with a couple of businesses given to us by her father. I took control when her father retired and have spent my life making them successful. Now Hudson runs them. If I divorced Sophia, the controlling interest would go to her. As long as we’re married, she doesn’t care what we do with them. And she’d never ask for a divorce—it would be too embarrassing.”

He turned back to face me. “I wonder sometimes—if I’d let go of the businesses, divorced her when the kids were still young, could I have changed how they are now? But she would have gotten joint custody at the very least. And she may have messed them up even more, retaliating against me. It’s not an ideal situation, but it is what it is.”

Not an ideal situation—it was similar to what Hudson had said. No, it wasn’t ideal, but it was life.

In my small studio apartment, I left my suitcase standing by the door and collapsed on my bed. Tears came, long and steady. I couldn’t even say what I was crying for exactly. All I knew was that I hurt. I hurt from Hudson’s departure, for his unwillingness to open up to me. I hurt because the lines of our pretend and real relationship had become so blurred that I couldn’t tell the difference anymore. I hurt from Sophia’s words and hatred. I hurt for the mother she’d been to her son and for the brother Brian had been to me. I hurt for the things I’d done to Brian, for the things Hudson had probably done to his family.

Most of all I hurt because I was alone and in love. And that was the worst combination of things to be.

An hour had passed before I’d calmed enough to send the one text I’d promised myself I could. It was as harmless as I could come up with—a message that said all I dared to say, afraid more would scare him further away. “I’ll be here when you return.”

Not even thirty seconds had gone by after I pushed “SEND” when there was a knock on my door. We had a doorman in the lobby—only building occupants were allowed in without prior approval. But Hudson could pull strings, couldn’t he? He was the only person I knew with such power.

The hope that it was him, as weak of a hope that it was, propelled me to my feet and to the peephole.

The man in the hall wore a crisp black suit with a yellow tie. But the face didn’t belong to Hudson—it belonged to Brain.

I should have known it was Brian. His name was on the lease, he’d be allowed up. I pressed my face against the door and debated whether or not to let him in.

“Open up, Laynie.” Heavy banging on the other side of the door jolted my face from its resting position. “I know you’re in there. The doorman told me you came up.”

Fuck. He must have been staying in town—at the Waldorf, most likely. What the f**k was so important that he had to see me? Maybe I should have listened to his messages.

Reluctantly, I opened the door partway.

He pushed past me forcefully. He was angry. Probably because I’d been ignoring him.

“What are you doing here, Brian? Are you stalking me?” The joke made me smile even though Brian’s eyes only glowed hotter.

“You haven’t returned any of my calls.” I watched as Brian’s fists clenched and unclenched at his sides. I knew he’d never hit me—at least, I hoped he’d never hit me—but I’d seen him rage enough to punch holes in walls. Maybe it was a good thing his name was the primary on the lease instead of mine. He’d have to pay for any damage.