Chapter 43
DEXTER
Ipick up ingredients for quesadillas. It’s the closest thing to a peace offering I can manage. I almost grab flowers too, but after the last gift sat untouched in the hallway, it feels pointless.
On the ride up the elevator, I pull out my phone and open Chrome.
Earlier during final prep, Reed had glanced up and said, “You could always get her a ticket to see the Titanic. The museum exhibit.” Keith, without looking up from his tablet, had added, “Or the wreck itself, if you’re feelin’ generous. ”
Out of curiosity, and because I always check the numbers before I dismiss an idea, I do a quick search: about forty dollars gets you into a two-story, ship-shaped museum in Pigeon Forge, Tennessee, complete with a replica grand staircase, hundreds of artifacts, and a cold slab of “iceberg.” Or a quarter of a million for a dive in a reinforced capsule to see the divided wreck at the bottom-most depths of the North Atlantic Ocean (assuming it doesn’t implode before you get there).
The museum could work. Turns out it’s closed for renovations, which settles that.
The other option isn’t even a consideration.
Holly would wrinkle her nose at me trying to buy her off.
Above all, she gets seasick fast, and she hates tight spaces, always has.
Elevators, tunnels, long-haul flights, doesn’t matter how pretty the view is, she can’t stand feeling trapped.
Which is probably why she’s leaving.
Food is the safer move.
I’ve barely stepped inside when there’s a knock. 6:53 p.m. She’s early.
I open the door. Holly’s standing there in a knee-length, sleeveless red sundress with white dots, ponytail up, skin glowing. No makeup, no earrings. She’s not as pale as she was during the worst of the morning sickness. She looks like herself again. My brain stalls for half a second.
“Did you lose the key?” I ask.
“I didn’t lose anything. Can I come in?”
“Of course.” I step aside. “You don’t have to ask.”
Holly brushes past me into the living room, without looking at me.
I follow. “You okay? Is the baby okay?”
“We’re fine,” she says. She sits on the edge of the couch, hands in her lap. She doesn’t stretch or kick out of her boots to be comfortable. She barely even moves. “You said you had good news?”
I sit across from her. “We caught the rat. Your idea worked.”
“I overheard Keith mention it the other day, remember?”
Right.
She arches an eyebrow. “So? Who was it?”
“Tech guy. Robert ‘Bob’ Smith. You were dead-on.”
She doesn’t smile, but her expression changes, satisfaction, maybe. “Figures. Always the ones who don’t make waves that end up sinking the ship. Glad that’s solved.”
I’d hoped for more. A grin, a laugh, something. But no, she’s still pissed. And I deserve it. “You hungry? I was going to—”
“I can’t stay. I came to talk.”
I lean back, one arm stretched across the back of the couch. “So talk. What’s going on?”
She takes a breath. “I’m going to say what I need to say. You’re going to listen. No defending, no arguing. Got it?”
I want to push back, but I don’t. “Okay…”
“I know you thought you were doing the right thing. But you weren’t. What you did—manipulating the situation so I’d stay—it crossed a line, Dexter. You made choices for me like my voice didn’t matter.”
I shake my head, but stay quiet.
“But I’m not here to rehash it. I came here to tell you that I’m not staying. I’m moving to the UK.”
“What?” I whisper. The word barely makes it out. I rub my hand over my face, head tipping against the cushion. I stare at the ceiling, breathe once and shift forward again. “Is it Shelby? If it’s about money, I can—”
“It’s not about money.”
“Why not give this some more time?”
“Because it’s the choice I’m making.”
“You said you’d be here for a while still. It always mattered what you thought, I was only trying to—”
“Dexter, you’re not listening to me.” She cuts me off. “I’m moving to the UK.”
Something clicks. “Wait, you mean now?”
“Friday.”
That stops everything. “This Friday?”
She nods. “In one week.”
It hits like a slap. “No.”
My pulse spikes. One week? One fucking week?
She’s not supposed to leave at all—let alone this soon. And Friday? The same day I pitch Swan?
I push to my feet. I can’t sit through this. “What the hell do you mean, you’re leaving in one week? No, you’re not.”
“It’s the right time,” she says, patient but cold.
“Everything’s in place at the office. Most of it’s wrapped, and Shelby found a new building for us to look at.
We’re meeting the owner this weekend. I even managed to find a decent plane ticket.
Friday works. You’ll be buried in the presentation anyway and once you land that account, you won’t have time for anything else. ”
I can’t talk. I just stand there.
“It all lined up,” she continues. “Call it… destiny.”
“Destiny?” I bark out a laugh. “Is it even safe for you to fly?”
“Safer now than in a few months.”
“This wasn’t the deal. You said you’d be here for a while.”
She tilts her head. “The contract—your contract—didn’t have a date on it. I said I’d be here for a while, not forever. From the start, I told you I was moving. That never changed.”
I exhale, shaking my head, and look at her again. “I thought you came here to talk about us.”
“There is no us.” She holds my gaze. “You are not an option for me, Dexter.”
“Why?”
“You know why.”
“If this is still about the damn building—”
She lets out a sigh. “It’s not just the building. It’s you crossing the line.”
“I was trying to help you. My way. Make things easier, even if it pissed you off.”
“You were trying to control me. My life. Everything.” She stops herself. Takes a breath. “I told you not to interfere. You did it anyway.”
“I gave you and Shelby an option.”
“No. An option would have meant a conversation. You didn’t ask, you took the wheel.”
I look away for a second and back at her. “So this is it? You decided, and that’s final?”
“We both have. Shelby and I talked about it at length. Nico and Louise weren’t too thrilled when she brought it up. They’re still adjusting to the divorce, and they need some stability. And the truth is, Shelby would have moved only to do me a favor. We’re choosing what’s best for the family.”
“And where does that leave you and me?”
She doesn’t answer, just looks at me. And that silence, that’s the answer.
She gets up.
I move without thinking, crossing the space between us. I stop in front of her. I want to reach out, but let my hand drop again. “Don’t do this, Holly.”
“It’s already done. I’m not asking for permission.”
“It doesn’t have to happen this way.”
She wraps her arms around herself. “But I want it to. It needs to.”
“And if I want to be with you, Holly?”
She doesn’t even flinch. “No one’s stopping you from being in our lives. Not me, not the baby. You have the means. You’ll be at the birth, you’ll visit. You could be in London in six hours if you wanted to. You’re not missing anything. I’ll send updates, pictures, videos—”
“It’s not the same and you know it. I hate the idea of you being so far away. Please don’t go.”
Her arms drop. She’s done arguing. “What do you want from me, Dexter?” Her voice is strained now. “You told me you weren’t cut out for family life. That you weren’t the guy who does this.”
“Yeah, well. I was wrong.”
“You’re too late, Dexter. I’m sorry.”
I shake my head. “I thought we had more time.”
“You had time. You just used it wrong.” She steps away.
I don’t have anything else to offer her. She’s thought it all through. I can see it in her face—she’s halfway gone already.
I don’t want to back off. It’s the last thing I want to do. Every instinct in me screams push harder, force it to make sense. But that’s not what she’s asking for. It’s not what she deserves.
She could have shut me out, made me a visitor in my own kid’s life. But she chose not to do that.
That’s strength.
I exhale.
I don’t argue with it.
And maybe that means letting her go. Not chasing her, not forcing her. Just giving her the space she’s asking for, even if it tears me in half.
“I need this on the table,” I say, running a hand from my neck down my chest. My voice is low. “I’m going to be clear about where I stand. I don’t want what we have to end. I don’t want you and me to end. But if this is what you really want, I won’t stand in your way. I won’t hold you here.”
It hurts.
Fuck, it hurts to say it. I hate this.
She exhales. Some of the weight leaves her shoulders.
She even gives me a ghost of a smile. “Thank you. This isn’t easy, but…
you know what I’ve been through, and this…
this is something I have to do for myself.
It’s an opportunity I may never have again.
” Her voice breaks. “I have to follow my dream.”
I incline my head. I can’t speak.
Because the truth is, I need her. And I have never needed anyone.
But if I tell her that now… I’ll lose her completely.
“You know that,” she adds. “You understand that. We’re… friends. Nothing but friends. Please just respect that space.”
I take that in. “Holly, I’ll always be your friend. But please stop saying that’s all we are.”
She stares at me.
I stare back.
Ring. Ring.
Our silence is broken. I don’t even look at my phone. Just kill the damn sound and slip it back into my pocket.
“You should stay for dinner,” I offer. “I was making quesadillas.”
She softens. “Quesadillas, huh?”
“Peace offering.”
The tension doesn’t vanish, but it lessens. It’s a step in the right direction.
Ring. Ring.
“Shit, hang on,” I mutter, pulling my cell out of my pocket. Keith’s office number displays across the screen.
I turn away and answer. “Now’s not a good time, Keith.”
“Boss, things are fecked.”
“What?”
“Swan just called. They need the quote redone.”
I stop short. “Why?”
“It looks like they just—this very mornin’—secured the buildin’ next door. They want it integrated. They’re talkin’ public areas with plants and seatin’, glass skybridges, even a pool on the uppermost bridge.”
“Are they raising the budget?”
“Barely.” Of course. “Macro already pitched a three-story arch. They loved it. Couldn’t get enough of it. Sullivan set a conference call, in half an hour.”
I glance over.
Holly’s smile is gone. Her eyes dim. She already knows where this is heading.
“Keith, I’ll call you back in five.” I end the call and turn back to her. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine,” she says. “That sounded bad.”
“It is. The Swan redesign just nuked half our prep.”
“So, dinner’s off.”
“Holly—”
“It’s fine.” She smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “I understand, work comes first. I’ve got packing to do anyway.”
I reach out, catching her hand. “You know I wouldn’t leave unless I had to.”
“I know.” She meets my gaze. “I know it’s important. You’ve never had to explain work to me, Dexter. Don’t start now.”
She lets go and walks to the door. I want to follow, stop her, pull her in and keep talking, but I can’t. Keith is waiting, and so is the account. If I don’t show up, everything we’ve been working toward dies on the table.
I look at the phone in my hand, and I press Call.
“Keith. I’m on my way in.”