Chapter 25
Twenty-five
Liz
The elevator doors open and Trinity steps inside, smiling carefully. She stands in the entry for a few seconds like she’s debating whether she needs another breath before speaking. Her bag slips off her shoulder as she walks into the living room, and I can see the tension pinched along her mouth.
I push myself upright on the couch. “Hey. Theo did great. He’s sleeping. What happened with you?”
She sets her bag beside the armchair, smoothing the strap. “I was able to meet with Hudson.”
“Okay,” I say. “And?”
Trinity sits across from me. “He listened,” she says. “He really listened.”
My breath doesn’t quite make it all the way out.
“I told him what Misty did,” she continues. “Everything. The room situation, the numbers she changed, the way she handled all of it.” She pauses, rubbing her thumb along the edge of her jeans. “I laid it all out.”
“What did he say?” My voice catches.
“He asked why you hadn’t come to him from the beginning.”
My stomach drops. “I thought it was just a mistake. I didn’t want to make it something it wasn’t. And once I realized it kept happening, I was in this mess.”
“I told him that,” she says, nodding. “And I told him you weren’t hiding anything.
You were processing it in real time with me.
I reminded him that he sent you there to make sure Alaric completed his CMEs, which he did.
I told him that what adults do during their off hours is their business.
I even reminded him that Greg York and Abby Newland met at a conference and now they’re married, so acting like two coworkers getting together is scandalous doesn’t make sense. ”
A flicker of hope sparks in my chest.
Trinity smiles again. “He said he’d review everything himself. Talk to people. Follow up. And he apologized if you felt unsupported.”
Relief washes through me, but it’s still a little shaky. “So I’m not fired?”
“I don’t think so,” she says. “But he needs time.”
Time. I nod and try to steady my breathing. “Thank you.”
“You don’t have to thank me,” she murmurs. “I did what was right.”
I press my hand to my chest, trying to ease the ache under my ribs.
She takes my hand, squeezing gently. “You’ll get through this. One way or another.”
I nod and tell her I’ll get out of her way, but Trinity insists that I stay.
Without any other pressing options, I agree.
The rest of the morning crawls, though things brighten a bit when Theo gets up and we feed him lunch.
But by afternoon, the minutes fold into each other.
Trinity stays close, sitting at the end of the couch with her legs pulled up, flipping through a magazine I don’t think she’s actually reading.
My phone buzzes, and the vibration feels electrified. I snatch for it, breath tight.
It’s a group message from work about scheduling. I tuck the phone under the pillow again and press my palms over my face.
“You’re spiraling,” Trinity says softly.
“I know.”
She nudges my leg with her foot. “Tea?”
“No. I just want this to be over.”
“It will be,” she says.
Maybe.
Another hour passes in slow, dragging pieces.
I shift on the couch, trying to find a position that doesn’t make my skin feel too tight.
Eventually, when Theo naps again, my head drops onto Trinity’s shoulder.
She wraps her arm around me without hesitation, her fingers smoothing a line down my arm.
The scent of her laundry detergent drifts up—soft, floral, familiar. It helps in a way I can’t explain.
My thoughts drift back to when I first took this job, when everything felt promising and open. When Hudson trusted me. When I trusted myself. I feel the loss of that certainty like a bruise.
In the late afternoon, Trinity stands and moves into the kitchen, where cabinets open and close. Something soft lands on the counter, and she returns with a small bowl of fruit, the colors bright under the living room light.
“Eat,” she says, offering it.
“I’m not hungry.”
“I didn’t ask.”
I take the bowl and pick up a piece of melon. The taste barely registers, but Trinity waits until I swallow before she relaxes back into the cushion.
Another buzz hits my phone. This one rattles straight through my rib cage.
I reach for it with trembling fingers. A message from Hudson.
I show it to Trinity before opening it, unable to face the words alone.
She moves closer, her shoulder brushing mine. “We’ll look together,” she says.
My thumb swipes across the screen.
Liz,
Please meet with me Monday morning at nine. I would like to discuss next steps and clarify several matters.
The words blur, then slowly sharpen.
“Monday at nine,” I say. I have the weekend to manage all these unknowns.
“That’s a good sign,” Trinity says. “If he were firing you, it would’ve happened today.”
“I don’t know,” I murmur.
She cups my chin, tilting my face toward hers. “Hey. You still have ground to stand on. That’s what this means.”
A foothold. Barely. But something.
I read the message again, then again, waiting for it to shift into something more solid. It doesn’t. “Should I respond?”
“Yes. Tell him thank you and that you’ll be there.”
My fingers move automatically and hit send.
And I do feel a little better. Now, I know when something is going to happen.
Trinity leans into me again, shoulder against mine. “Whatever happens on Monday, you don’t face it alone.”
Her words settle into the fragile parts of me. “Thank you.”
“Always.”
I go back to my fruit and then take the empty bowl to the sink, rinsing it carefully. My hands tremble as I set it on the drying rack. A tear slips off my chin before I can stop it. I swipe it away.
“I’m scared,” I say softly when I return to the couch.
“I know,” she says. “But you’re brave.”
“No, I’m not.”
“You are,” she insists. “You walked into Hudson’s office without knowing what waited for you. You told the truth when it would’ve been easier to say nothing. That’s brave.”
“It didn’t feel like it.”
“Real bravery never feels like bravery in the moment.”
There’s a crash from Theo’s playroom, and he’s making all sorts of car noises.
That makes me smile, but I close my eyes. “I miss how simple everything was before Hawaii,” I admit.
“I know,” she says.
“And I miss knowing where I stood with people.”
“That will come back. You’ll find that again.”
I look out at the lake, which looks like glass. “I’m not sure.”
“You will,” she says. “People who tell the truth always outlast the ones who lie.”
I want to believe her. I want that so badly it aches.
Another buzz from my phone feels like an electric shock. My whole body jerks upright. Trinity straightens too.
Alaric: I’m thinking about you. Call me if you need anything. I mean anything.
“Is it Alaric?” Trinity asks.
“Yes.”
“You can call him.”
“I don’t think I can right now.” I don’t trust myself to sound composed if I hear his voice. And once I lose that, I don’t know how to get it back.
“Okay,” she says. “You don’t have to.”
I set the phone aside and curl inward, drawing my knees close. Trinity pulls the blanket over me, smoothing it around my shoulders.
Time drifts. The late light fades to evening, softening the edges of the room. I lose track of minutes, of breaths, of where the day ends and the evening begins. But something finally settles inside me. This hasn’t destroyed me. It bruised me. Shook something loose. But I’m still here.
When Trinity walks me to the elevator after dinner, she pulls me into a slow, warm hug. “Tomorrow is a new day,” she whispers. “Make sure you do something this weekend. Promise me you won’t stay holed up in your house.”
“I promise,” I say, holding onto her for a beat longer.
On my drive home, my thoughts still circle, but more slowly now, anchored by the thin thread of hope Trinity left in my hands.
I’m not done. I’m not defeated.
Monday at nine, I’ll walk back into Hudson’s office.
And I believe I might make it through.