Tyler rolled down the window. “I’ve put up with a lot of shit to make this work, and you don’t give a single fuck.”

“I warned you!”

“That’s bullshit, Ellie! Just because I warn a bank I’m going to rob it, doesn’t mean the bank had it coming!”

“Be sure to tell everyone at the bar that when you’re crying in your beer,” I seethed.

“I don’t have to go to the bar every time something in my life doesn’t go right. It’s called being an adult. And I’m damn sure not crying over you,” he said, rolling up the window. He stomped on the gas, squealing backward in a half-circle, and then spun out of the back lot and into the street, barreling toward the highway.

I stood alone for a while, stunned. In the year I’d known him, Tyler had never spoken to me that way. Love made people hate in a way they never would have before.

The snow made the world quiet, but even silence made a sound. I tugged my luggage through the snow, up and over the curb to the back door. My key was ice cold, burning my fingers while my hand trembled. In a steady rhythm, the wheels banged against every stair, and then I let it all fall forward when I made it to the top.

I took the few steps to the fridge and grabbed the last can of beer, noticing the only thing left was moldy cheese and a bottle of mustard. The beer hissed at me when I popped the top, the bitter liquid feeling cold and comforting in my throat. There was half a pint of vodka in the cabinet, but payday was a week away.

My phone buzzed in my back pocket, and I scrambled to answer.

“Hello?”

“It’s Jojo. You back?”

“I am,” I said, brushing the snow from my hair.

“You bored?”

“What did you have in mind?”

“Cheap drinks at a dive bar?” she said. “I’ll pick you up.”

“Sounds perfect.”

Chapter Twenty-Six

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Jon Bon Jovi played from the jukebox in the corner, its yellow, green, and blue glow one of the only sources of light in Turk’s besides the fluorescents over the bar.

A small group of local snowboarders were shooting tequila in the corner, and despite my occasional flirtatious glances in their direction, they weren’t going to share.

Annie stayed busy behind the bar, raking in the last of the ski season’s share of tips. I was sitting on a stool in front of her soda gun, watching her mix drinks I couldn’t afford. Jojo had already bought me two, and I wasn’t going to ask for another. Unfortunately, no one was looking to flirt with a jetlagged, hungover party girl too broke to party.