“Are you kidding? I’m here for you, Noa. Always. We’re there for each other, no matter what. So take another sip. Or gulp. Go on.” She tilts my glass farther when it reaches my lips. “Up, up, up. There we go. Now you can tell me how fucking Stone has fucked this day up further.”
I cough, pulling the glass away from my mouth. The bartender gives us the side-eye. Wiping the droplets with the back of my hand, I respond, “That’s all it was. Fucking. Very astute of you to notice.”
She makes atsksound. “Sorry, babe. Overruled.”
“You’re not a judge. You’re a lawyer.”
“I’m whoever I damn well want to be when probing into your sex life. Tell me the truth. That’s the only way we’ll get through this together.”
I chuckle, rubbing my eyes. I’m exhausted, famished, and uplifted by her presence. “I might’ve caught some feelings.”
“Some? More like the seeds of him that remained grew into a giant weed that’s overgrown and impossible to eradicate now.”
“Your analogies are wonderful.”
“The jurors love ’em. And you love Stone.”
I whip toward her, appalled. “Donot.”
“Stop bullshitting me, Noa. You can pretend to the town that you’ve moved on and bury yourself in a life of servitude because you blame yourself for your daughter’s death and not saving your mother, but Iknowthe truth. I can hear your heart a mile away, and it wants him. Frankly, you never left him. Not really.”
I sniff hard, refusing to let any more tears fall and hide my face behind my wine. “You don’t get to do that—say those things so easily, like I can be summed up in a sentence.”
“That’s not at all what I’m trying to do.” Carly leans forward, her hair flashing into fire under the recessed lights. Her eyes don’t contain the same flame. They simmer with low warmth. “Maybe I’m quick to say it because I’m fully aware of how much it kills you to hear it. But I was beside you on the bathroom floor. I slept in the same bed as you for weeks. It was my pre-mixed, burned, more rectangular than circular cookie that you ate after refusing meals for days. Stone didn’t see any of it. I’m not sure I’ll ever forgive him for that.”
I exhale, leaning away. “I’ve learned it’s more complicated. When it happened, I texted him and emailed his assistant. That’s all I did. It never occurred to me what reading or hearing it might do to him. I was convinced he forgot about me as soon as he passed theWelcome to Falcon Havensign. My contacting him was more closure for me, hoping that once I did I could move on, which, of course, I didn’t.”
“He fucking deserved it.”
“No. I didn’t realize until we talked recently, and I looked back on his history. He buried himself in work. Lost all emotion. Married someone he barely knew, surrounded himself with people who didn’t care about William Stalinski and just wanted Stone William’s luck and money. Does that sound like a man who didn’t care he lost a child?”
“He didn’t call you. Didn’t talk to you about it.” Carly crosses her arms while flicking her gaze at the bartender for another round. “That’s the least he could’ve done. Not act like the prick he did.”
I nod. “And I could’ve told him why I stayed. Why I wasn’t going with him to LA. His whole life, people have left him, hisdad being the first. He believed I didn’t give a shit about him, that I felt he wasn’t worth more than a text when we lost her.”
“What was he going to do if you gave birth to a healthy baby? I’m sorry, Noa, but I need to ask this if this is the direction you’re going. Her loss was?—”
“Convenient for him?” My voice cracks. “That’s what I thought, too, until we spoke. I may not have wanted him in my life, but he wanted to be a part of hers. He wanted to prove himself worthy.”
Carly purses her lips in thought. The bartender comes over, refreshing our glasses until Carly says, “Just give us the damn bottle,” and swipes it out of his hand.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Noa
Ifinish the bottle with Carly, andbecausewe finished the bottle, take her up to my hotel room to share a bed and sleep it off together.
I’m deep in dreamland, where scenes and people don’t exactly make sense when a buzzing wakes me.
Rolling, I pick up my phone and squint through the dark. I rise onto my side when I see the string of notifications.
8 missed calls.
3 voicemails.
1 text.
Frowning, I come into a sit, my eyes adjusting to the brightness of the screen as I tap on the text message first.
