I hang up and throw the phone angrily onto the couch. But I lie there well into the night, contemplating what she said. Ryan is going to be in deep shit, and he loves me. That’s a dangerous combination. He loves me enough to give up his career, and I can’t let him do that. And as my abdomen contracts painfully, my old friend rage returns. No one is strong enough to deal with all of this at once. If he had asked first, I would have told him everything.

No one asked. They all assumed I’d take the money, shut up, and sell more books. Ryan included.

In my research for my second book, I read all about the stages of grief. It’s comforting to know that I can settle into this anger for a while. But eventually, there’s acceptance, and the sooner I can accept that Mandy is right, the better. They’re all better off without me for now. It’s better if I just disappear.

That’s when I do cry. Through my tears, I block Ryan’s number. If he calls again, I’ll answer, and I know he’d do anything for me, including commit career suicide. I can’t let him do that, no matter how angry I am. I love him too much.

But there are so many memories of him in this place. I can’t stay here. So I pack a duffel bag, then call a ride to the airport.

Chapter 29

Ryan

“Good news,” I call out as I enter my apartment laden with grocery bags. “The design team is mocking up a new cover, and they’re sending it over to us tomorrow morning to approve.”

After the cover debacle yesterday, I invited Scarlett over for dinner to make it up to her. Thinking it might be nice for her to get out of her apartment for a little while, I had told her where I leave my spare key, and she had texted me a few hours ago telling me she was headed to my place for a change of scenery.

I dump the bags onto the kitchen counter before I realize that the whole place is kind of dark. The shades are drawn, there aren’t any lights on, and it’s silent. I don’t even hear her telltale keyboard tapping from the bedroom.

That’s strange. Her car is parked outside, so I know she’s here.

“Hello?” I call, coming around the counter to peek in the bedroom to see if maybe she fell asleep or something. The bed is empty, but she’s sitting cross-legged on the chair, her hands in her lap, and her eyes fixed on a black computer screen.