I check my phone before starting my car, but there aren’t any messages. After Anastasios kicked us out of his office, I left before I heard any news about whatever phone calls he was making in there. Casey told me he’d update me if he heard anything before practically shoving me out the door. He could tell how nervous I was about Scarlett. I couldn’t lose her again.

And yet, here I am, driving away from her apartment instead of folding her into my arms and telling her everything will be all right.

When I pull up to a stoplight, I call Casey. I’m sure he doesn’t have news about Charles, but I’m already sick of sitting alone with my own thoughts. His phone rings a few times over my speakers before he answers.

“How is she?” he asks by way of greeting.

“She’s thinking about pulling the book.” I don’t tell him she’s already made her decision. She can do that herself if she really wants to.

“I can’t say I’m surprised.” Casey sounds as if he’s shifting in his chair. “That meeting was intense, and we’re basically telling her she has to do a bunch of stuff she made it very clear she was never going to do again. I’m actually kind of proud of her for sticking to her boundaries.”

“How are you not more worried about this?” I shout as I hit my steering wheel in frustration.

“Whoa,” he says, his tone one of warning. “Isn’t the goal to keep Scarlett here this time? With you? You really want her to have to go through all of that again—”

“It’s temporary,” I interject, though now I’m not sure who I’m trying to convince—him or myself. “It’s a few months of a tour, and once the dust settles, she can renegotiate.”

“But…” He draws the word out. “Why would you want the woman you love to go through that again even for a few months when she doesn’t want to?”

When he puts it that way, it sounds like I’m the asshole now, and I don’t like it. “The world needs her books,” I say adamantly. “And I need her.”

Casey hums. “It’s kind of wild how you don’t even hear yourself.”

“What do you mean?” I ask, flicking on my turn signal and pulling into the left turn lane.

“Wait, are you driving? Didn’t you go to see her?”

“We had a fight. Sort of. I needed a minute to think. I don’t know, man. It’s been a long couple of days.”

“Oh my god,” Casey groans. I can picture him with his elbow on his desk and his head in his hands. “You are a moron.”

“Fuck off,” I say, but there’s no venom behind the words.