Chapter 32
DARCY
I ’m standing behind Junior, listening to him read the embarrassingly contrite speech our PR department came up with for him—that he’s actually selling, props to him—and trying to keep my professionally detached mask in place.
Under the facade, my heart feels like shredded newspaper, damp with rain, and so tramped into the footpath it’s barely recognizable.
Was it only last weekend I felt so alive? So in love?
Fucking moron.
I can play the woe is me game all day long; I knew where my choices were headed.
Sure, I didn’t expect everything else to explode around me at the same time, but here we are.
What I thought would be a sad but agreeable conversation has become the worst day of my life.
And I didn’t think finding out that I stole another man’s life and birthright would ever be topped.
Look at me, still exceeding all those expectations.
I’ve glanced toward the screen, where Wren and Tobias are watching on, exactly once.
They’re together. At Wren’s place, I think, though I didn’t get a chance to inspect the background when I was so focused on his face.
The tiredness clinging to him, the red-tinged eyes, the way his hair is sticking up all over the place.
But they’re here for Junior. Together .
It’s the reminder I need that I’m doing the right thing.
Even if the right thing makes me want to curl into a ball and cry.
Junior’s still talking, and I’m so checked out he could be telling the world I was behind the entire Ponzi scheme, convinced him to invest, and then spent that money single-handedly for all I’d know.
I don’t even care. I don’t even care about the two-hundred-and-whatever-million-dollar price tag that our “goodwill” payments are totaling.
The makeup I organized this morning is doing its thing and making me look human on the outside, and that’s all that matters.
I’m in control.
This is a tiny blip.
Hell, with any luck, being the network to break MediaCorp’s involvement in this fiasco might generate enough revenue that the payouts barely affect our bottom line. Thanks, Junior .
He might be legitimately sorry, but he deserves to face the consequences.
What he did was selfish and shortsighted, no matter what Wren might think.
And no matter how we might tentatively be on the same side now, some kind of brotherly front that has me as displaced as this whole circus, I’ll always, forever, link Junior to the single worst moment of my life.
I don’t do things for myself.
I should have known better.
I have to be here for a united front, but this press conference is a waste of my time. I should be on my way back to Seattle, meeting with stockholders and smoothing things over. If we lose ten percent of them, we’ll be okay, but anything more than that …
For something like this , we should be okay.
My collar feels too tight as I calculate how many people would run the second they found out about me and Wren. Ending things hurts in the kind of deep way I’ve never felt about anything, but it was the right call. So long as I remind myself of that, it’ll stick.
My gaze strays back to Wren, but it’s impossible to look for long.
He’s focused on Junior—I think—and I hate seeing him look that way.
The one thing making me feel better about the whole situation is that I cut it off before he could develop these soul-slashing feelings.
I’ll suffer through them alone if it means making the breakup easier on him, and if I’d let things go on for much longer, he probably would have been in this heartbreak headfuck right alongside me.
I think I’ve always had a crush on him. A little awe of the man who escaped it all, and when we met, he made those feelings so much more intense.
I’ve been in it for a lot longer than he has, and I’d never want him to reach this level.
Wren deserves the world. He deserves happiness.
And I deserve …
Whatever this existence is.
When Wren assumed I’d go running right to Harvey, he’d posed it like a question, but we both knew it wasn’t. Not really. I have obligations, I’ve been raised to say “yes,” and when it comes to my happiness or my responsibility, my responsibility is stronger.
It used to be that they were the same thing.
I miss those days.
It’d be great to say that I don’t regret my time with Wren, to talk about all those magical feelings of gratitude about getting the time with him, but that’s fucking bullshit.
All that time with him did was ruin my life.
I’d always dreamed about epic love, knowing it would never happen, and now that I’ve had it, I’m somehow supposed to ignore it and move on.
I would have been perfectly happy to settle down with Harvey, focusing on work and knowing he was there as my backup. But now … every time I look at the guy, all I’ll see is regret. See what I could have had.
And with Wren in my life, acting like my brother, I’ll have to see him too. See him fall in love and settle down while I do my best to act happy for him.
Will Harvey console me at night while I fall apart over someone else?
I fucking hate myself.
And Junior.
And Wren.
And Mom.
And Harvey.
“Darcy?”
My head snaps up toward where Junior is watching me expectantly. I have no fucking clue what he just said, but of course he’s thrown me into the spotlight when I’m least prepared for it.
“I think you’ve said everything that needs to be covered,” I bluff, and it must work because Junior nods and says goodbye.
We hustle out of there without questions and follow security down the long hall to the parking lot, where there are two cars waiting. One to take Junior back to the office and one to take me to the airport.
“I think it goes without saying that every decision needs to be run by me.” I can barely look at Junior because of the way his strong jaw and light hair remind me of Wren.
“Yeah,” he says, deflated.
“We’re not out of the woods yet.”
“I know.”
“I mean it. No stepping out of line. No trying to prove yourself. You prove yourself by putting the company first, not yourself.” It’s like I can hear Dad saying the words instead of me.
Junior pins me with a sharp look. “Some days, you talk like it didn’t take you until you were five to be potty trained.”
“Bringing that up again?”
He sniffs. “Makes me feel good about myself.”
“I guess something should.” And even with the dark cloud hanging over me, even with the self-destructive urge to make everyone feel as shitty as me, I take a moment to look him over.
Sunken eyes. Pale skin. A hint of defeat in his challenging stare.
I cuff his shoulder because I can’t bring myself to hug him. “You know it’ll be okay.”
“Yeah. Maybe.”
“We’ve done everything we can.”
He gives me an uncomfortable-looking smile. “I’d thank you for the help, but I already said that to Wren, and I really don’t think I’m capable of saying the words twice in a twenty-four-hour period.”
“In that case, you’re welcome.”
Junior huffs. “I have to go. I see years of overtime in my future.”
“You’re a Ritcherson,” I say with defeat. “That’s a given.”
I climb into the back of my car and wither in on myself. My inbox is overflowing, I have a list of callbacks to make that might take me a week, and when I go home from the office every day, it’ll be to my empty apartment, full of memories of being with Wren.
Why does the right choice have to hurt so damn bad?
Another text comes through from Mom, and I stare at my phone screen for a moment, knowing exactly what she wants: to know why we went public with our Westom involvement.
Defending my decision is yet another item to add to my list of things I’m putting off, and I know that when it comes time to face it all, I’m going to regret avoiding it now.
All I want is to sulk.
All I want is to not be strong for once.
To be selfish.
To have Wren.
But holding on to this tortuous hope isn’t helping either of us. I can put off settling down for the rest of my life, and where is that going to get me? A hollow shell of pining with the occasional slip.
Because I don’t trust myself not to slip, and Wren deserves better.
The best thing I can do is get on with it. Finally give in to yet another role I have to fill.
Against all my instincts to hide my face and cry, I click on Mom’s number and call her instead.
“It’s about time you called,” she all but shrieks. “None of you have been answering me, and Toby’s not home. I even stooped so far as to call Wren, but he didn’t pick up either. What’s this I see about your brother doing a press conference, and why is this the first I’ve heard about it?”
“Junior made a shitty investment, and it was early your time when we came up with a plan on how to handle it. We had to move quickly.”
Some of the wind leaves her sails. “I still don’t like it.”
“Maybe this will make you feel better.” I pause, not because I don’t know what to say, but because I’m struggling with how to say it. “Can you send me Harvey’s number?”
Mom squeaks. “Oh. Yes, of course. That’s no problem. Are you, do you think, will?—”
“Yes, I intend to ask him to lunch. Don’t get ahead of yourself.” Because I’m madly in love with Wren, and I have no idea if I’ll even be able to fake interest enough for Harvey to hang around.
“Okay, okay…” She laughs. “You can’t blame me for being excited because, well, you know why. Plus, you’re my baby. My number one. I’ve been worried about you.”
But not enough to reach out before now. “I’m completely fine.”
“I should have known I have nothing to worry about with you. I’m so excited. A boyfriend, maybe a grandchild?—”
“Settle down. You’re getting ahead of yourself, aren’t you?”
“Oh, heavens no. You’re almost thirty, Darcy.”
“I don’t have a biological clock for these things.”
“Trust me when I say that the older you get, the harder kids are. You need to start working on this ASAP.”
“Maybe perusing baby name books can be our second date,” I say dryly.
“I’ll give Harvey the heads-up.” She’s far too excited, but I suppose one of us should be. By the time I let her go a few minutes later, I’m drained.
Done.
In desperate need of sleep and alcohol.
So I do the one thing I’ve never done before. I open an email to Wren and Tobias, then copy in Avery.
I’m taking a sick day tomorrow. I’ll be on my phone if you need anything .
Then I close my eyes and will the day to be over.