Ryan: I didn’t mean that. I meant that it’s not more important *than* you.

I should be touched by the sentiment. It should be a revelation and a warning to me, that I’ve gone too hard again and am going to pay the price. But what he doesn’t understand, what he could never understand, is that my work is me. We are one and the same. It might have felt different this time, but that’s a tenuous foothold on the same cliff I’ve been hanging from for five years.

I think of over a million different things I could type back, but ultimately, my growling stomach and good sense win out. I power down the phone and toss it somewhere to be found in the morning. I smear the last of the peanut butter on the last tortilla in my fridge and shove it into my mouth before finally collapsing face down on my bed.

Chapter 11

Ryan

“All I’m saying is that she sent it at two in the morning.” I lean forward in my seat facing Casey’s desk, as if that could make him finally understand the gravity of the statement I’ve repeated twice now. The timing of her email bothered me all weekend, so when Monday rolls around, I didn’t waste any time searching out my friend for advice.

Casey twirls a pen between his pointer and middle finger. “And all I’m saying is that you got it at two in the morning. Just because someone is awake before the crack of dawn does not mean that person has made a habit of being awake at that time.” He drops the pen, and it twirls in a circle on the smooth desktop. Disregarding it, he presses his forearms into the desk and clasps his hands. “I know you’re worried about her, Ry, but…” He trails off and presses his lips together, shaking his head slightly.

“What?”

He lets out a slow breath through his nose. “It’s not really your place anymore, is it?”

I open my mouth to respond, but nothing comes out. That old ache returns to my chest, and the best I can manage is a shaky inhale before snapping my jaw shut.

His expression softens, but it’s too late. Like toothpaste out of the tube, he can’t take it back. The damage is done.

“Look,” he says, but I stop him with a shake of my head.

“No. You’re right. My job is to edit this book. Nothing more. She made that clear, too, and I should keep my nose out of it.”

“What do you mean she made that clear? What did you do?”