My pulse drums in my ears as she quivers, her fingers circling my wrists where I hold her. The depth in her eyes begs for understanding, for leniency, for fucking help.
“This thing you’re doing right here, trying to convince yourself that you don’t belong with the people who love you, it feels a whole fuckload like good-bye, Jennie, and I hate that. I won’t say good-bye to you.”
Her lips part on a cry as my mouth crashes down on hers, and she sinks against my chest as I haul her closer, where I think we both belong.
But her brain is muddled and her heart is tired, the same way mine were when I walked away from her three weeks ago, when I didn’t know which way to turn.
That’s why a half hour later, she promises she’ll be back, that it’s not good-bye when she presses her mouth to mine.
Yet good-bye is the last word that falls from her lips as she disappears with her bag over her shoulder and my heart on the floor.
CHAPTER 41
STRIKE 13: COLD AS FUCKBALLS
JENNIE
It’s colder here. Harsh and biting, a bitter, frigid wind that slaps every inch of exposed skin until you feel like you’re both numb and on fire. It’s a prickly, uncomfortable feeling, and with a sound of distaste, I bring my phone to my face and pull up my Toronto Pros & Cons list, adding cold as fuckballs to the con side.
It’s alarmingly full for someone who’s only been in the city for an hour.
No Garrett
No Mom, Carter, Olivia, Hank, Cara
No baby smooches
No Dublin
No dance studio
Work for someone else & follow rules, ugh
No karaoke with Carter
No hot chocolate with Garrett
No dance battles with Garrett
No slow dancing in the kitchen with Garrett
No back tickles with Garrett
No cuddles with Garrett
Cold as fuckballs
Not a whole lot of reasons for me to do anything other than stay in Vancouver.
My eyes flit to the pros.
Nobody knows me here.
But an alluring reason for me to leave, even if a little scary.
A lump grows in the back of my throat at the thought of not being able to drive to my mom’s, snuggle up with her on the couch, and watch a movie whenever I want to.
My phone buzzes, and my heart patters like it hopes it might be Garrett, even though I asked for some space.
Emily: Red or white nonalcoholic wine? Already got some bubbly.
Me: What?
Emily: Girls’ night?
Me: Oh shit. I’m so sorry. I forgot. I’m in Toronto for that interview.
Emily: Ew.
Emily: I mean, cool, follow your heart and all that. But does Toronto have this?
A photo pops up, and Emily’s scrunched nose, folded lips, and crossed eyes fill my screen.
Me: Is that a cheerleading outfit?
Emily: Yeah, about to have some company/get railed winking emoji
Snickering, I navigate back to my list.
No Emily
…
No Garrett. No Garrett. No. Fucking. Garrett.
A painful burst of air leaves my lips as I clutch my phone to my chest, the weight of what I could lose making me sink deeper into the cushions of the loveseat I’m curled up in.
I peer out the window of my hotel room as if the answer is waiting for me in all the skyscrapers, the busy streets where the city races below. It’s frantic and captivating, like watching a fast-paced dance where everyone moves in sync, despite the panicked way they move, this game of give and take.
Except there’s no answer there, no sign telling me which path to choose. Just a whole lot of chaos, which is exactly reflective of the current state of my brain: chaotic.
I’ve always liked the city, the bright lights, the way everything comes to life at nighttime. But there’s something to be said about a quiet morning overlooking the mountains, the sea of pine trees painting the skyline, the way they dance in the ripple of the water they frame.
Here in Toronto, it’s so loud you can barely think. In the northern end of Vancouver, your mind is yours. I’m just not sure which is worse. When you’re someone who fluctuates between overanalyzing and needing an escape, both have their perks.
With a sigh, I slip out of the chair to get ready for my interview.
I spent three hours trying on outfits for Garrett, only for him to deem that each one was inappropriate and should come off immediately. They all did, which is why it took three hours to choose the outfit. In the end, he picked the first one I’d tried on—little shit—so I slip on my flared pants and my white blouse, tucking it into the high waist, and finish with my favorite pair of black booties. I tug the elastic from my braid and run my fingers through my hair until my waves hang free, and finish with a couple quick swipes of mascara and a pinch of color on my lips. Garrett helped me pick that too.
At least I think he did. I tested each color by pressing a lipstick kiss to his abs. All his responses were garbled, but he choked the most when I placed this particular kiss to his heated skin, so I knew it was the right choice.
It had nothing to do with the placement being so low on his torso, right above the waistband of his underwear, and definitely nothing to do with those lips being wrapped around his cock ten seconds later.
I wish I’d listened to him about my coat, too, because when I step outside, I find myself cursing myself for brushing off his warning. He insisted that I should pack my warm coat, just in case, and yet here I stand in my pretty lilac trench coat, made for west coast springs.
“I’m a doorknob,” I mutter as I climb into my waiting Uber.
It should only take ten minutes to get there, but it takes us thirty. Luckily, I planned for this; Toronto traffic is a shit show.
“Thank you so much, Manny,” I say to my driver as I climb out.
“Good luck on your interview, Jennie!” he shouts through his open window.
The building before me isn’t all that tall, but as I stare up at it, it feels massive, like the decision that’s weighing on me, pulling my future in every direction like a rag doll. Indecision swirls in my stomach, making it ache, and my gaze roams the space for a place to sit, to catch my breath.
“I don’t know what I’m doing,” I ramble, pacing the walkway. Apprehension claws at my chest and my heartbeat runs rampant. I press my hand there as if I can still the frantic racing. “I can’t do this. What am I doing here?”
My phone pings once, then twice, and the world skids to a stop at the tiny bear lighting my screen.
Bear: I know you need space to make this decision on your own, but I couldn’t let you go in there without saying something first.
Bear: You can do this. You deserve this. You’ve earned it. If you want it, all you have to do is reach out and take it. I’m proud of you, Jennie, and no matter what, you’ll always be my best friend, and I’ll always be your safe place to land.
A sneaky tear leaks out of my sneaky tear duct, trailing a sneaky path down my not-so-sneaky cheek. I quickly swipe at it, sniffling as I reread his message once, twice, and then a third time, just for good measure.
With a steadying inhale, I tuck my phone away, march up the front steps, and throw the doors open.
“Jennifer?”
“Hmm?” My gaze falls from space, searching for the person who spoke my name. Monica, Leah’s friend, gives me a soft smile and looks to her right, where Annalise is watching me. “I’m so sorry. Adjusting to the time change.” Also, she keeps calling me Jennifer, even though I’ve requested several times now to be called Jennie.