“Excuse me?”
“You have your men following me for no fucking reason.”
“I don’t do anything without a reason.”
“She’s not going to talk to me anymore because I was foolish enough not to…”
“Not towhat, Autumn?”
I hesitate to answer.
“Since I clearly didn’t fuck you hard enough,” Ryder says, “what time would you like me to come by and fix this egregious mistake?”
“I’m being serious about you costing me a friend.”
“I can be there within an hour.”
“I don’t want to hear from you again until you tell me why you feel the need to invade my privacy and have me followed.”
Silence.
“Are you there?” I ask.
“Yes,” he says.
“Do I need to repeat myself?”
“Of course not,” he says. “But you should know that past behavior typically predicts future performance.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“That I don’t recall ever sitting you down for a tell-all conversation, so I doubt that would change anytime soon…”
“Well, don’t call me for any other conversations,” I say. “Thank you very much for the orgasms. I need time to be alone, and I wish you the best of luck with your criminal enterprise.”
“Autumn—”
I end the call before he can finish that sentence. Then I speed out of the lot.
As I merge into the farthest lane, I glance in my rearview mirror, waiting to see the headlights from his henchmen, but none appear.
Maybe Ryder finally called them off…
Up ahead in the emergency lane, there’s a car that looks similar to Kylie’s, but it’s not hers, and I can’t help but feel like this is the first of many signs that I’ve genuinely fucked up.
Tears prick my eyes as I envision the stunned look on her face, the true concern as she uttered, “Canadian situation.”
Even still, best friend or not, I never told her the truth about that…
Years ago, weeks before accepting Nate’s proposal, I was ready to perform with my high school symphony in Montreal.
The private audience was set to be filled with dignitaries and other acclaimed musicians; I’d secured the enviable fifteen-minute solo in Bach’sChaconnefrom the 2ndPartita.
Even though fellow violinists considered that piece to be among the most difficult in our genre, I could play it in my sleep. The strings always came easy for me… a little too easy.
And yet, I wasn’t excited about the performance or the limited future options ahead.
While my classmates were enthused about their college and gap year plans, I hadn’t accepted any of the offers extended to me.
