But she isn’t,a small voice in my head calls out from the void.Not yet.
My hands shake as I reach into my pocket and pull out my phone. There might not be much I can do for Blondie after today, but I can at least do this one last thing for her while I still have time. While I still have money to do something with. Tapping open my cash app, I select her contact, type in the max amount it will let me send, and hit the button to transfer, letting out a breath of relief when the success notification takes over my screen.
Whatever happens now, I can rest easy knowing Blondie will be fine. Her mom will be fine. At least, for a little while longer.
I barely process the walk from the front door to my car, and no sooner do I slide into the driver’s seat and turn on the ignition than Blondie’s name pops up on the console, alerting me to her incoming call.
Though I hit the answer button, I can’t seem to find the strength to speak.
“Damian?”
My hand clutches the gear stick, but I don’t shift it into drive or lift my foot from the brake. I just stare out the windshield at this house I once called home, certain this will be the last time I see it.
“Hello?” Blondie prompts when my silence persists.
My voice is like gravel when I finally force myself to respond. “I’m here.”
“I just saw the transfer,” she hedges. “What’s going on? Why did you send me all that extra money?”
A moment passes. Then another. My pulse is drumming in my ears, in my throat, in my head, and my breaths seem to echo around me, punched from my constricting lungs. The sound of each exhalation is deafening in the confined space of the car, and my vision is blurring.
Is this what a heart attack feels like? A panic attack? Whatever it is, I feel like I’m dying.
“I just wanted to make sure you and your mom are taken care of,” I manage, trying to blink the haze from my eyes. I only register the distortion as tears when one breaks free and slides down my cheek.
“What is that supposed to mean?” Blondie asks, and I hear it then—the worry and doubt in her voice.
“They know,” I rasp, mimicking the words she said to me that night in Grape Expectations. The same words but with very different results. That tightening in my chest intensifies to the point my lungs are almost completely strangled of breath. I slam my eyes shut and inhale through my nose, then exhale through my mouth, repeating that process until I’m calm enough to elaborate. “My parents just confronted me about all the money I’ve been sending you. Their accountant picked up on it when he was doing our taxes.”
Although it’s soft, I catch Blondie’s sharp gasp. “I… What does this?—”
“I don’t know how much longer I’ll have access to my account,” I cut in. “I wish I could send you more, but that’s the limit?—”
“Wait, stop for a minute,” Blondie begs, and she must hear the ratcheting panic in my voice because she hurriedly adds, “Just…take a breath. We can fix this, okay? We can talk to your parents together. We’ll explain everything.”
I shake my head, even though she can’t see it. “There’s nothing to fix, Dornan,” I whisper. “It’s too late. The damage is done.”
All the work we put into the proposal, all the energy and time we invested has been for nothing. It’s over. My dad might not have said it out loud, but I knew he was thinking it, and he was right. I’ve failed my abuelo. I’ve failed Jamie. I’ve failed Blondie.
Most of all, I’ve failed myself.
“Then let’s call your abuela,” Blondie suggests, her growing agitation mirroring mine. “She’ll understand. She?—”
“You don’t get it.” I let out a harsh, cynical laugh. “I can’t come back from this. Not with them.”
Her quiet whine of distress rakes over my skin like nails. “Don’t do this. Don’t give up. I can only imagine how scared you are, but you don’t have to face this alone. Youaren’talone. You know that, right?”
Blondie’s words seem to extend from the speaker and reach through my chest to touch something inside me. Something dark and twisted that’s been shoved deep down.
“I should be,” I breathe as the harsh reality of the absolute clusterfuck I’ve wrought on myself—on both of us—finally sinks in. Who is Damian Navarro without his family’s money? Nobody, that’s who. Just a worthless, useless nobody. “I ruin everything I touch. I can’t even uphold my end of our agreement anymore?—”
“Fuck the agreement, Damian!” Blondie counters as that tightening in my chest becomes so overwhelming I struggle to focus. Her words are dampened by the growing beat of my pulse in my ears and my head. “I’m not talking about that, I’m talking aboutyou. Just…come over and we’ll work it out.”
Clamping my eyes shut, I press my forehead to the cold steering wheel. “I can’t. I…” Swallowing past the dryness in my throat, I force myself upright. “I need to think.”
I need to figure out what the fuck I’m going to do.
As if sensing what’s coming, Blondie says, “Damian, don’t shut me out—” but I hit the end call button, put the car into gear, and drive.
