Spring Break Fling

Chapter 32

32

HANNAH

M y heart felt shattered. I could feel the little pieces rattling around in my chest. I sat in the Uber, staring blankly out the window as tears silently rolled down my cheeks. Miami’s vibrant streets blurred with my pain and regret. How had everything gone so wrong?

Just two weeks ago, I was so sure of my plan. Come back, get revenge, walk away triumphant. But somewhere along the way, something had shifted. Nikko wasn’t just some conquest or target anymore. He was… everything.

My phone buzzed. I knew it wasn’t Nikko. He wouldn’t contact me now. Not after what Jessie revealed. In trying to orchestrate some elaborate revenge, I’d done the unthinkable. I’d fallen for him instead.

And now, I was the one with a wounded heart.

I couldn’t even really explain why I felt so rotten. We had already said our goodbyes. We weren’t going to see each other again anyway.

So, why did this feel so tragic?

“Are you okay, miss?” The driver looked at me through the rearview mirror.

“Yes. I’m fine. ”

“Heartbreak,” he said with a knowing tone.

I stared out the window, his words echoing in my mind. Was that what this was? I’d never experienced anything like it before. My life had always been meticulously planned—career goals, financial targets, strategic networking. Emotions were something I managed, not something that managed me.

But Nikko had been different from the start.

I’d been so focused on my ridiculous revenge plot but now, sitting in this Uber with tears streaming down my face, I realized how much I’d changed. How much he’d changed me.

My phone buzzed again. This time, it was my boss.

“Hannah? Are you on track to return tomorrow?”

I cleared my throat, trying to sound professional. “Yes, absolutely.”

But was I really?

The thought of returning to my carefully curated life in Boise suddenly felt suffocating. The pristine office, the predictable meetings, the safe and controlled environment—it all seemed so bland compared to the raw, passionate weeks I’d spent with Nikko.

How could I go back to my boring life after riding on the back of his bike racing through the Miami nightlife?

I realized I was holding my breath, my fingers unconsciously tracing the compass and rose tattoo on my arm. The ink that was supposed to be my revenge had become my most treasured memory.

The Uber pulled up to my hotel. I got out, tipped the driver, and walked inside, my mind a whirlwind of emotions. Everything felt wrong—empty.

I knew I should start packing. My flight was tomorrow morning. But instead, I sat on the edge of the bed, staring at my phone.

I didn’t dare call him. He knew my number. If he wanted to call me, he would. I crawled into bed and cried myself to sleep.

The following morning, I told myself I was fine. I was over it. I was going to move on. This whole thing was a mistake. Not Nikko, but what I did. I believed in learning from mistakes.

I started to pack, methodically folding each piece of clothing. Everything was precisely placed, just like my life used to be before Nikko turned everything upside down. It was all about finding control. About protecting me from the raw emotions that threatened to ruin everything.

My phone buzzed. I didn’t even look, assuming it was another work email or my boss checking in about my return. I missed one meeting and he was acting like I needed a babysitter.

I swallowed down the frustration. It was Tara. Last night, I had gone to bed and not bothered to tell anyone about the fiasco. I quickly texted her and let her know I was packing and would text her after I checked in at the airport.

My flight was scheduled for early afternoon, giving me just enough time to finish packing and check out of the hotel. Every movement felt mechanical, like I was disconnected from my own body.

I got to the airport, got through security, and sat down to wait for boarding. I quickly texted the girls in the group chat to give them a condensed version of what happened yesterday. Their comments were as I expected.

My phone buzzed again. This time, it was an email from my boss, Clarke, with the subject line: “Urgent - Project Update Needed.”

I took a deep breath and clicked it open, trying to shift my focus from Nikko to work. But my mind kept drifting back to him, to the way things ended, to Jessie’s accusatory words.

The email was brief. “Hannah, need your preliminary report on the project by end of day. Details matter. This could be a make-or-break opportunity for the company.”

Make or break. The words echoed in my mind, suddenly feeling loaded with more meaning than just a business opportunity. Wasn’t that exactly what happened with Nikko? A potential connection, destroyed by my own calculated actions?

I quickly replied and told him I was boarding my flight and would send over something after I landed. Did the man think I was a machine ?

Yes, that was exactly what he thought because, up until a couple of weeks ago, I had been. I had always been the one busting ass and never quitting. I worked the long hours. I sacrificed weekends. In a way, I set myself up for failure. I set the bar too high.

“Idiot.”

“Excuse me?”

I looked up and saw a man in a business suit sitting a few chairs down. He was looking at me like I was the worst person in the world.

“Not you. I was talking to myself.”

He scowled at me and said nothing more. Idiot.

Thankfully, we boarded a few minutes later. After takeoff, I opened my laptop and did my best to work. Crying through an entire flight was a real power move—one I didn’t recommend. By the time I landed in Boise, I looked like a soggy tissue someone had tried to wring out and reuse. My nose was red, my eyes were puffy, and I was pretty sure the guy in the aisle seat had whispered something about me being on a soap opera.

My head hurt from all the crying and the flying. I just wanted to crawl into my bed and pretend life wasn’t happening around me. My laptop bag felt like it weighed a thousand pounds. My purse another thousand. I dragged my ass through the terminal.

When I saw Tara waiting at baggage claim, her face a mix of sympathy and mild alarm, I crumpled into her arms.

“Oh, babe,” she said, squeezing me tightly. “You look like someone ran over your dog, backed up, and did it again for good measure.”

“Feel worse.” I sniffled.

“Just hold on,” she said. “We’ll get your suitcase and get you out of here.”

Tara guided me to her car, patting my back like I was a toddler who’d just scraped her knee. “We’ll fix this,” she said firmly, shoving my suitcase into the trunk. “And if we can’t, I’ll at least get you some ice cream. Or tequila. And of course, chocolate.”

The drive to my apartment was quiet at first, me staring out the window and Tara periodically glancing over like she was worried I might spontaneously combust. She would occasionally touch my arm or offer me a tissue from her bag.

“I screwed everything up,” I muttered finally, breaking the silence.

Tara raised an eyebrow but said nothing, letting me continue.

“It all fell apart in the final hour. Nikko—” His name was like a knife to the chest, but I pressed on. “He looked so hurt, Tara. The betrayal in his eyes… I can’t stand that I did that to him. I shouldn’t have gone through with the plan. It was petty, it was cruel, and?—”

“My idea,” Tara interrupted softly.

I blinked at her.

She kept her eyes on the road, her grip on the steering wheel tightening. “I’m sorry, Hannah. I just hated him so much after what he did to you with the tattoo. It sounded like a good plan at the time. A victimless crime really. You’d get some revenge and come home. He’d have some hurt feelings, but he would get over it. That was my intention. I’m so sorry.”

I let out a long, shaky breath. “Don’t blame yourself. I’m a grown woman. I made my own choices, and they were terrible ones. I should’ve told him the truth as soon as I realized I had feelings for him. Now I’ve left him behind knowing he’s drowning—no job, beat to hell, and betrayed by me. It’s all a mess.”

“And so is your hair,” Tara said, trying to lighten the mood. “Seriously, when’s the last time you brushed it?”

I gave her a weak laugh. “Thanks for that. Really hitting me where it hurts.”

“You’re beautiful on the inside.”

I snorted. “Great. I think I really fucked up. My job is in limbo. Clarke is so disappointed in me. I screwed up my big chance. Only I could manage to lose a man and a job in the same week. I’m a mess. I’m spiraling.”

“That’s what I’m here for,” she said, her smile fading as she glanced over at me. “Listen, you can’t give everything a hundred and ten percent all the time. Eventually, something has to give. You’ve been pouring your entire soul into this job for years. It’s okay to let yourself slip a little.”

“Slip?” I repeated, a note of hysteria creeping into my voice. “Tara, I’ve barely thought about work in days. I have to show up at the office tomorrow and act like I know what I’m doing so Clarke doesn’t sniff out my mediocrity. I can’t lose Nikko and my career. I just can’t.”

“You won’t,” she said firmly. “But you need to stop beating yourself up. You’re human. It’s okay to mess up.”

The idea of forgiving myself felt as foreign as moving to Mars. I had standards. I was the one people looked to when they wanted an example of someone climbing the corporate ladder. And I was failing so miserably it was embarrassing.

By the time we got to my apartment, I was emotionally wrung out and physically exhausted. The place felt strange—too quiet, too sterile. I dropped my bags near the door and stared at the space that had once felt like my sanctuary. A tiny sanctuary, but it was still mine.

Now it just felt empty.

“You’re gonna be okay,” Tara said, pulling me into a quick hug. “I’ll text Rachel and Maddie to come over. You need some girl time. And maybe a stiff drink.”

“I need a lobotomy,” I mumbled, dragging myself to the couch.

Tara was true to her word. Within an hour, Rachel and Maddie showed up with snacks, wine, and a pile of rom-coms that promised more emotional whiplash than I was prepared for.

“Here’s the plan,” Maddie announced, plopping onto the couch beside me. “We stuff our faces, drink enough to get a little buzzed, and swoon over ridiculously attractive men who will never betray us.”

Rachel handed me a glass of wine, her eyes twinkling. “And if we’re lucky, we’ll forget all about that Miami mess by morning.”

I took a sip, grateful for their attempt to cheer me up, but the ache in my chest refused to budge.

“Look,” Rachel said after a while, turning to me with a serious expression. “When you land that promotion in New York, this will all be a distant memory. You’ll be living your dream, and Nikko will just be that guy who gave you an amazing tattoo. ”

My throat tightened. “He’s more than that,” I whispered.

Tara rested her hand on my knee. “We know, babe. But you’re gonna be okay. I promise.”

I wished I could believe her.

Until then, I had to find comfort in my friends and chips and salsa.