Spring Break Fling

Chapter 42

42

HANNAH

M y heart was shattered. I collapsed against the car, my body wracked with sobs. Everything had fallen apart so quickly. One moment we were planning a future together, and the next, Nikko was walking away from me.

My mind was spinning, replaying our argument over and over. Had I made a mistake? Was I choosing my career over our relationship? But this was my chance. The New York job was everything I’d worked for. Whether Clarke finally saw my potential or not, I couldn’t just throw that away.

Could I?

“No,” I murmured and shook it off.

I grabbed my purse and headed upstairs to my apartment.

“Why should I give up my dreams?”

Yes, I was talking to myself. It wasn’t like I could talk to Nikko. He stomped off like a petulant child. I let myself in and slammed the door shut behind me. My sadness and grief were quickly morphing into anger.

This was my life. My career. I had busted my ass to get this opportunity. Why couldn’t he be happy for me?

I paced around my apartment, my heels clicking against the hardwood floor. My mind raced with a thousand thoughts, each more chaotic than the last. Nikko’s words echoed in my ears: “You’re just a backup plan.”

But he was wrong. This was my moment. This was my chance.

I would be making enough money to pay our rent. He could tattoo anywhere. I didn’t understand why it was all on me to move to Miami. Yes, if I had a choice and the job could be in Miami, I would jump at it. I loved Miami. I loved the weather and the beaches, but New York wasn’t exactly a shithole. There was opportunity. Culture.

If he wanted to run away, that was his choice. I walked into my bedroom and threw Nikko’s duffel bag onto the bed with enough force to knock off one of my decorative pillows. His stuff wasn’t much—a couple of T-shirts, some jeans, and that stupid leather jacket he practically lived in. Each item I grabbed felt like a punch in the tit. I hurled a handful of socks into the bag like they’d personally offended me.

Coward .

“Running away is so on brand for you, Nikko,” I muttered, tossing his toothbrush into a Ziploc and flinging it on top of his clothes. The man didn’t have a toothbrush holder. It should have been a sign. “Big, bad tattoo artist who can face down gangsters in Miami but can’t handle his girlfriend taking a job in New York.”

My hands shook as I folded a pair of his boxers. Screw him. I was going to kill it in New York. I’d get a sleek condo with floor-to-ceiling windows and ridiculous rent that screamed “I’ve made it.” I’d sip overpriced cocktails on rooftops and brunch like a damn queen. I’d prove to Clarke—and to myself—that I was worth every bit of the investment.

Nikko could stew in his self-righteous, judgmental little world all he wanted.

“Fuck you, Nikko.”

By the time I zipped up the bag, I was vibrating with fury. I supposed I was glad I found out he wasn’t really in this for the long haul before I quit my job and uprooted my whole life. He seemed to think he was the only one that would be making a sacrifice if we moved to New York. I was leaving behind my friends and family and the place I grew up. It wasn’t like this was going to be a cakewalk. I wanted him there with me. It was a big city, and it would be nice to have a friend. A protector.

He was leaving me. I didn’t understand how he could just quit. I wanted him to be my cheerleader. If he was getting the chance to run a big tattoo shop, I would support him.

Wouldn’t I?

I shook it off. It didn’t matter. This was a test of the strength of our relationship. We failed. I heard someone knocking on the door. I stomped over, yanking the door open to find Nikko standing there, hands shoved deep in his pockets, looking maddeningly calm.

“Your stuff’s ready,” I said flatly, stepping aside.

“Thanks,” he replied, his voice unreadable as he brushed past me into the apartment. He went straight to the bedroom, where his bag sat waiting for him to collect it.

I followed, crossing my arms. “You’re really doing this, huh?”

“Yup,” he said, grabbing the duffel and slinging it over his shoulder.

“You’re such an ass,” I blurted. “You know that? A complete, grade-A ass.”

He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “Hannah, I’m not here to fight.”

“Too bad, because I am!” I snapped, stepping in front of him. “You’re just going to leave because I’m taking a job? Do you know how ridiculous you sound?”

He met my gaze, his eyes darker than I’d ever seen them. “You think I’m leaving because of the job?”

“You literally said that, Nikko.”

“I’m leaving because you’re lying to yourself.”

I froze, my mouth halfway open. “Excuse me?”

“You’re not chasing a dream,” he said, his voice low but steady. “You’re running on autopilot, letting people like Clarke tell you what your dream should be. ”

“That’s bullshit,” I said, even as his words chipped away at something inside me. “I’ve wanted this my whole life.”

“Have you?” He stepped closer, and for a second, I wanted to back away. “Because the woman I love talks about passion, about building something real and meaningful. You’re telling me that’s what this job is?”

“Why can’t you just let me have this?” I said, my voice cracking. I hated how small it sounded.

“I am,” he said quietly. “I’m not standing in your way. But I won’t stand by you while you throw yourself into something that’ll crush you.”

“You think I’m weak,” I whispered.

“No,” he said, his tone fierce. “I think you’re scared. You’re settling for what’s easy because the hard thing—betting on yourself—feels impossible.”

I swallowed hard, my throat dry. “You don’t get to decide what my dreams are.”

“Tell me I’m wrong,” he said, his eyes searching mine. “Tell me this job is your real dream, Hannah. That you’re not just trying to prove something to Clarke or your parents or whoever the hell else made you feel like you weren’t enough. You want all of your coworkers to applaud you. You’re trying to prove to them you are as good as you know you are. You don’t have to prove shit to anyone. I don’t understand why you can’t be happy with who you are. You know you kicked ass on that project. Why do you need them to say you did?”

“Because not all of us are like you,” I spat. “I’m not cocky. I like to know I’m doing well. I want to be appreciated for my hard work.”

Nikko’s expression softened slightly. “I’m not cocky. I’m confident. There’s a difference. I don’t need people to tell me what I’m worth. I don’t give a shit what people think about me. They don’t know me. They don’t matter to me.”

“You care what people think about a tattoo you do,” I shot back.

He smirked. “No, I don’t. Unless they are an expert and they are better than me, I don’t give a shit. ”

“Not everyone is like you. I happen to value feedback.”

“Even when it comes from people who couldn’t give a shit about you? That would happily toss you to the wolves if they thought there was a better option? I don’t get that.”

My hands were shaking now, anger and something else—something that felt like recognition—bubbling up inside me. “You don’t know what it’s like,” I whispered. “To constantly feel like you have to prove yourself.”

Nikko’s expression softened. “I know exactly what that feels like,” he said quietly. “But proving yourself to people who don’t care about you? That’s not the answer.”

I wanted to argue, to defend myself, but something in his words rang true. Deep down, I knew he wasn’t entirely wrong.

“I can’t just walk away from this,” I said, my voice breaking. “It’s my chance.”

“Your chance at what?” he challenged. “Being miserable? Letting Clarke control you?”

Anguish gripped me. “What do you want me to do?”

He stepped closer, his hands gentle as he cupped my face. “I want you to stand up for yourself.”

It felt like it should be such an easy choice. I should just listen to him. But there was part of me that was leery of him now. I didn’t trust him to stick by me through thick and thin. Not anymore.

“I am standing up for myself,” I said. “You’re the one that’s running away from me.”

He flinched, and for a moment, I saw something vulnerable flash in his eyes. “Running away? I’m the one who followed you to Boise. I’m the one who was ready to build a life with you.”

“Build a life where?” I shot back. “In Miami? Doing what? Tattooing in some grungy shop?”

“At least I know who I am,” he said quietly. “At least I’m not trying to be something I’m not.”

Tears burned behind my eyes, but I refused to let them fall.

The silence between us stretched out, heavy and suffocating. I knew what he wanted me to say. I could see it in the way his jaw tightened, the way his hands clenched at his sides. If I told him he was right, he’d stay. We’d figure things out. Miami, New York—it wouldn’t matter because we’d be together.

But I couldn’t.

“I can’t,” I said finally, the words barely above a whisper.

He nodded and took a step back. A cold feeling washed over me as he pulled away physically and emotionally. It was a separation of our souls. It was like tearing away two sides of a Velcro patch. It hurt. My body recoiled from the pain.

“Then this is over,” he said quietly.

I flinched. “But I love you,” I said, my voice breaking.

He closed his eyes briefly, then opened them, his gaze soft but resolute. “I love you too, Hannah. That’s why I’m walking away.”

With that, he turned and left, the door clicking shut behind him.

The silence that followed was deafening. I stood there for a long time, staring at the door, waiting for him to come back, to say he’d changed his mind. But he didn’t.

When the reality of it finally hit me, I sank to the floor, pulling my knees to my chest as the tears came. They came fast and hard, shaking my whole body.

I thought I’d won something today. Instead, I’d lost everything. The job in New York no longer felt like the prize I had been reaching for.

It felt like a chain wrapped around my neck, pulling me deeper into waters I no longer wanted to navigate. The dream job wasn’t my dream anymore; it was a reminder of the price I had paid. I sacrificed love for this job.

The emptiness of the apartment enveloped me. Everywhere I looked, I noticed his absence. He’d only been here a couple weeks, but he had slotted into my life like he had been there the whole time. It was so easy living with him.

We had spent the last two weeks talking about Miami and what we were going to do. His house was twice the size of my apartment. We decided I would sell or donate most of my stuff. To take it cross country would be too expensive. My stuff wasn’t worth a fraction of the price of the move.

As I sat there, I realized I didn’t have time to mourn the loss. I had to pack. I had to put in my notice to the landlord and everything else.

“Holy shit! I’m moving!”

I still had to tell my friends. They were going to shit their pants.

In a way, I was glad I was going to be too busy to miss him.