He stands, looking side to side as if disoriented. “I’m going to go.”

“I’m right with you.” I move to grab our things.

“No.”

I pivot back so fast the grippy soles of my climbing shoes cling to the floor. I steady myself with a hand on the bench. “Jane?”

His lower lip trembles. He’s blinking rapidly now. The silent struggle breaks my heart. “Thank you.” He takes in a long breath. “But I need a minute. I’ll be home later.”

“You’re sure—”

“Please.” The word rasps out of him. He presses his fingertips to his lips before holding his hand to his chest. “Please.” His voice is steady, but his eyes plead with me.

I ache to give him a hug, to say something more—Jane’s desperate expression warns me off. I don’t like it, but I understand; with a hurt this fresh, I’d break down if anyone was remotely nice to me. After another moment, I gesture to the cubbies. “I’ll grab your stuff. You . . . do what you need.”

His lips pull in tight and he nods, then pads to the exit. I watch him slip on his street shoes, then he reaches for the fedora hanging from a peg by the door. It’s one of the hats Charles bought for him after the accident.

Jane’s hand hovers for a moment, then drops. Seconds pass, and his shoulders rise and fall with a long breath. He walks out. The hat stays.

At home, I put away our climbing gear and stash the abandoned fedora in my closet. I couldn’t leave it behind. Jane looks great in it; Charles doesn’t get to take that from him.

I lug my Meryton design folder to bed to look through while I prepare to wait up. Turning through the pages, the drawings barely register as I think about Jane. What was that text? Sorry I was too chicken-shit to call? Sure, Charles’s very essence screamed “nonconfrontational,” but dumping someone in a text? That’s not cowardly. That’s cruel—

Like what Darcy did to Wickham.

I drop my head against the pillows. To think, Jane fretted about Charles’s being friends with someone who could treat a person so shamefully, and all the while Charles had it in himself to do the same.

My eyes drift over the designs on my lap. What might this mean for the Meryton sale? The thought twists my gut, sending me back to Andrea’s tasteless comments at brunch last month. While I hate to think in those terms, a lot of people’s livelihoods are potentially on the line with that deal. Not to mention what the sale has come to mean for me.