Chapter 23
Chapter
Twenty-Three
A va jammed the key into the lock and twisted, shoving the door open with her shoulder. The hinges groaned in protest; the sound swallowed by the stale air seeping out like a ghostly breath. The place smelled abandoned—dusty, musty, and tinged with something sour, like an old coffee cup left too long in the sink. She barely crossed the threshold before dropping her bags with a heavy thud, the weight of exhaustion pressing down on her shoulders.
She flicked on the light; the bulb flickering before humming to life. The dim glow did little to make the space feel less suffocating. This had once been her sanctuary, her backup plan, in case things fell apart. And now, here she was—seeking shelter in the ruins of the life she had tried so hard to move beyond.
The sagging brown tweed couch swallowed her as she collapsed onto it, sending up a cloud of dust that made her cough. A bitter laugh escaped her lips—of course. Even her own furniture rejected her presence. She should have hired someone to clean while she was gone. Not that she could have afforded it. Her student loan payments were low, thanks to the money from her parents’ house and she lived frugally, but she didn’t make a lot on a resident’s salary.
A prickling sensation burned behind her eyes, and before she could stop it, tears spilled over, hot and unrelenting. Her breath hitched as she curled forward, burying her face in her hands, the sobs breaking free like floodwaters breaching a dam. She let herself cry, let the pain wash over her, saturating every fiber of her being. She had spent so long pretending she was fine—holding everything together with brittle resolve. But now, alone in this dust-laden apartment, there was no one to pretend for.
The crying drained her. When the tears finally stopped, her throat was raw, her head pounding. She forced herself to stand, her legs shaky, her body weak. In the kitchen, she let the water run until it cleared, then drank greedily, swallowing down the cool relief in desperate gulps.
She had barely settled back onto the couch when her phone buzzed from deep within her purse. The shrill vibration rattled against the worn leather, dragging her back to reality.
With a deep breath, she dug it out and answered.
“Is it true?” Rachel’s voice was sharp, cutting straight to the point. “Did you tell Ciponelli that your marriage to Reed was fake? Because everyone is talking about it.”
Ava’s stomach twisted, nausea rising. She had wondered why Rachel hadn’t called sooner, but now that she had, Ava wished she hadn’t.
She gripped the phone tighter, her voice a raw whisper. “Everyone? Oh God. How did everyone find out?” A sharp inhale. “Of course, the hospital grapevine. Yes, I confirmed it, but he already knew. I only confirmed it.”
Rachel let out an audible gasp. “How did he find out?”
Ava tipped her head back against the couch, suddenly so, so tired. “I don’t know. I think Reed must have said something.”
Rachel’s response was instant and firm. “No way. Reed might be friendly, but he would never talk about this. He knew how important it was to you.”
Ava squeezed her eyes shut. “Damn it, Rachel. Then how did Ciponelli find out? Did you tell him?” The words came out sharp, accusatory, before she could stop them.
A heavy silence stretched between them. Then Rachel spoke, her voice a blade wrapped in silk. “Are you really asking me that? Isn’t it bad enough that you don’t trust Reed, but now you’re accusing me, too? What the hell is going on with you, Ava?”
“I just need to know,” Ava pressed, her fingers curling into her lap. “This was so important to me. Only four people knew besides me. How else could Ciponelli have found out?”
Another silence. A long one. The kind that made Ava’s pulse spike in anticipation.
Then Rachel exhaled, slow and deliberate, the controlled fury evident in her voice. “Twenty-three years, Ava. We’ve been friends for twenty-three years. I was there when your parents died. I was there through med school applications, through every breakup, through your goddamn residency when you barely slept for days. And you think I would betray you like this?”
Ava pinched the bridge of her nose, the pounding in her skull intensifying. “I don’t know what to think anymore, Rach. Everything is falling apart.”
“And your response is to burn every bridge you have left?” Rachel’s voice rose, incredulous. “To accuse the people who care about you the most?”
“That’s not what I’m doing?—“
“That’s exactly what you’re doing,” Rachel snapped. “First Reed, now me. Who’s next? Are you going to call up your dead parents and blame them, too?”
The words landed like a slap, searing hot and cruel.
Ava bolted upright, anger and hurt flaring inside her like gasoline to an open flame. “That’s not fair.”
“None of this is fair.” Rachel’s tone softened, but the hurt still simmered beneath. “But you know that better than anyone. So tell me—what was your grand plan? Push Reed away, push me away, and wallow in your dusty apartment like some tragic heroine?”
“I’m not hiding?—“
“You are. You always do this, Ava. When things get hard, you retreat. You isolate. You convince yourself you’re better off alone.”
Ava surged to her feet, pacing the cramped living room, dust swirling in her wake. “What was I supposed to do, Rachel? Stay with Reed after he—“ She clamped her mouth shut, the words choking her.
“After he what?” Rachel challenged. “After he betrayed you? The man who has done nothing but stand by you? The man who went along with your insane Vegas scheme in the first place?” She let out a sharp sigh. “You didn’t even give him a chance to explain, did you?”
Ava hesitated. “I asked him if he told anyone?—“
“And he said no, didn’t he? And you didn’t believe him. Just like you don’t believe me now.”
Ava stopped pacing, her gaze landing on the window. Outside, the city stretched on, indifferent to her turmoil.
She swallowed hard. “I just need to know who told Ciponelli.”
Rachel’s voice softened, edged with understanding. “Did it ever occur to you that maybe no one ‘told’ him? That maybe someone saw you in Vegas? Or that the hospital did a background check and realized you suddenly shared an address? Or maybe they realized that you still had two addresses. You never sublet your apartment, so you had a separate address from Reed. Did you ever change it? Hospitals have HR departments, Ava. They investigate things.”
The words sank in like stones.
“I—“ Ava deflated, collapsing back onto the couch. “I didn’t think of that.”
“No. Because you were too busy seeing ghosts where there were none.” Rachel exhaled. “This isn’t like you, Ava. The Ava I know fights. She doesn’t run.”
Tears burned again, and Ava let them fall. “I’m scared, Rach,” she admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “Everything I’ve worked for is slipping away. I don’t know what to do.”
“You start by apologizing to Reed,” Rachel said without hesitation. “For everything. For treating your marriage like it was disposable. For pushing him away every time he tried to make it real.”
“It’s too late?—“
“It’s never too late. He loves you, Ava.”
Ava wiped at her face, exhausted. “And if he doesn’t forgive me?”
“Then at least you’ll know you tried. But I know Reed. He’s more understanding than you give him credit for.”
The silence between them stretched, heavier now. “I’m sorry,” Ava finally whispered. “For accusing you.”
“Thank you,” Rachel murmured. “But Ava—you need to figure out why you keep pushing people away before there’s no one left to push.”
Ava’s throat tightened. She didn’t have an answer. After they hung up, she stared at her phone. Instead of calling Reed, her gaze landed on Noah’s contact. Noah had been her rock since her parents died, the closest thing to a father figure she had left. He would understand the professional implications of what she was facing, but he’d also always been honest with her about her blind spots.
Her thumb hovered over the call button, then retreated. She needed time to gather her thoughts, to figure out what she was even asking him. Advice about her career? Or about Reed?
She set the phone down with a sigh. Reed deserved an apology—she knew that much. But she wasn’t ready to face him, not yet. Not until she understood herself better, until she knew what she truly wanted beyond the immediate crisis of her job.
Tomorrow, she would talk to Noah first. Get his perspective. Then maybe, if she could find the courage, she would try to bridge the chasm she’d created between herself and Reed.
Because this wasn’t just about the lie in Vegas anymore.
This was about her.
And whether she was brave enough to finally stop running.
R eed cinched the harness around his waist, fingers tugging each strap with precision, double-checking every buckle, every loop. This wasn’t the rec center, with its cushioned floors and padded safety nets. If the harness failed here, if the ropes gave way, it was rock and hard-packed earth waiting below—unforgiving and real. Just like everything else in his life lately. There were no do-overs in the wild. No soft landings. And that was exactly what he needed. He craved the sting of reality, the slap of nature against skin and soul. Maybe out here, clinging to stone and sweat, he could finally ground himself. Maybe he could feel something other than the gnawing, hollow ache that had carved itself into his chest ever since Ava walked out.
The house had been too damn quiet. The silence was a living thing, crowding him, heavy and accusing. Every creak of the floorboards echoed with memories. Every empty chair reminded him she wasn’t coming back. He couldn’t take it anymore—couldn’t sit still and rot in that pit of what-ifs and regrets, drowning in the relentless loop of what went wrong.
Kyle had shown up like a goddamn lifeline, no questions, just gear in hand and a shove in the right direction. Dragging him to the one place Reed couldn’t wallow. The mountains.
“Ready?” Kyle called out, already harnessed and helmeted, his stance easy and confident.
Reed gave a short nod. “On belay?”
“Belay on,” Kyle answered, voice firm. Reed turned toward the rock face, narrowing his focus.
The sandstone gleamed beneath the mid-morning sun, a warm, weathered palette of red, orange, and ochre. He loved this climb—the texture of the rock, its steadiness under his palms, the promise of challenge without the threat of deceit. The grip was just rough enough to hold him, not so slick as to betray him. He chose the harder route—steeper inclines, precarious ledges, jagged outcroppings. Anything to keep his mind from circling back to her.
Hand over hand, foot after foot, he found his rhythm. Reach. Grip. Push. Repeat. The routine was its own kind of prayer. The scents of warm earth, dry moss, and the faint tang of lichen filled his lungs. Sweat dampened his back and temples, slick beneath his shirt, but he welcomed it. The burn in his muscles, the wind that kissed his face—this was real. This made sense.
When he reached the summit, he hauled himself up, chest heaving, limbs trembling with the effort. The view spread out before him like a painted dream—endless trees, distant ridges, the wide, open sky. He closed his eyes and let it all wash over him. The wind. The silence. The heartbeat of the earth beneath him. For a moment, he felt something close to peace.
“Ready to lower,” he called down, voice ragged but steady.
“Lowering,” Kyle called back without hesitation.
The descent was quick, smooth, and before long, Reed’s boots hit solid ground. He unhooked the rope and stepped aside, wiping sweat from his brow.
“You want to go?” he asked, turning to Kyle.
“Nope, this was all for you, brother.” Kyle nodded toward a cooler stashed near the trail. “You ready to eat?”
They carried their gear a little farther down the path, finding a shaded clearing nestled among the pines. The breeze whispered through the trees, and they settled into the quiet, sharing sandwiches and a couple of cold beers in companionable silence.
After a few minutes, Kyle broke the stillness. “Feeling better?”
Reed took a deep, slow breath and let it out. “A bit. Thanks.”
Kyle shrugged. “I’m sorry, man. But maybe this is for the best. You guys didn’t really know each other.”
Reed grimaced. “I know. It’s stupid, isn’t it? We barely had time to figure anything out. No dating, no courtship. Just a fast-forward to marriage. I thought I could make it work. I wanted it to work. I loved her.”
Kyle gave him a skeptical look. “Come on, Reed. Be real. The whole thing was fake, remember?”
Was it? Reed’s jaw tightened, even though he knew Kyle was pushing him intentionally. “It didn’t feel fake,” he said quietly.
The silence stretched again, filled only by birdsong and the rustle of wind through leaves. Reed stared at the sky above the trees, lost in the weight of everything that had gone unsaid.
“It wasn’t fake,” he said at last.
Kyle turned to look at him, a knowing look on his face. “Then what the hell happened?”
Reed shook his head, frustration flaring. “Fuck if I know.”
Kyle raised an eyebrow, waiting.
Reed scowled and took another drink. “Fine. Someone spilled the truth about our arrangement and she freaked. Thought it was me.”
Kyle didn’t react much, just took a thoughtful bite of his sandwich. “She didn’t trust you. Not exactly the best foundation for a marriage.”
“No.” Reed frowned, sorting through the memory like puzzle pieces. “It wasn’t just about trust. She panicked. Ciponelli found out, and she blew up. But I think it was more than that.”
“She kept her apartment?” Kyle asked. “Even after you got married.”
Reed nodded slowly. “Yeah. She never gave it up. Always had one foot out the door.”
“She never planned to stay,” Kyle said, not unkindly.
Reed stared at a distant ridge, trying to make sense of the ache in his chest. “No...I think she wanted to. But something held her back.”
Kyle leaned back on his elbows. “Like what?”
Reed’s voice dropped to a whisper. “I think she was afraid.”
“Of what?”
Reed shook his head again, helpless. “I don’t know. Of falling for me? Of losing herself? Maybe she didn’t think she deserved to be happy. Hell, maybe she didn’t believe I did.”
Kyle didn’t say anything for a while. Neither did Reed. They just sat together in the wilderness, the space between them filled with more than just air.
“I wish she gave us a chance,” Reed finally murmured. “I think we could’ve had something real. Something special.”