THIRTY
Noah
I stood in the emptiness of my kitchen, my hands resting on the island countertop, and wondered how the hell I’d gotten here. I didn’t remember driving home, but my Mercedes was parked in the garage.
“What the fuck did you just do?” I asked myself.
I didn’t have an answer, because my head was a total fucking mess.
I’d made mistakes before. Once, I’d misunderstood the terms of a deal and lost my client six figures on a single trade. My manager on the desk had helped me cover the loss, I’d worked hard to bounce back, and thankfully I’d been able to keep my job. I’d had terrible anxiety through that whole ordeal.
But it didn’t compare to what I was experiencing now.
My stomach was queasy, my heart raced, and I couldn’t focus on anything. Was this what a panic attack felt like? I sank to the floor, sitting with my back against one of the cabinets, and didn’t care how weird it was.
At least the tile was clean. Charlotte had mopped it only a few days ago.
“Fuck.” I pulled my knees up to my chest and rested my head in my hands.
I had the terrible suspicion the panic I felt right now wasn’t over losing my job—it was all about her. And fuck if that didn’t make me feel worse.
Her shattered expression haunted me.
I could claim I hadn’t realized she’d fallen for me, but it was a goddamn lie. I ignored every sign. Told myself repeatedly her feelings were strong, but they hadn’t grown enough to turn into love—because I needed that to be true.
If she fell in love, I’d have to end things, and I didn’t fucking want to do that.
So, I selfishly pretended it hadn’t happened until she came right out and said it, and I couldn’t avoid it anymore. It had killed me to do it, even if breaking things off with her was for the best. Her relationship with her folks was tenuous and dating me made it worse.
I couldn’t be the reason they cut her off.
Ending things with her was the noble thing to do.
Plus, any kind of future with Charlotte was hazy. I couldn’t forecast what would happen, and the unpredictability scared me. There were so many things working against us, from our age gap to her disapproving parents, to my fear of commitment. The risk of failure was steep.
You’re a fucking coward.
I couldn’t even argue against it. All my years at Hale Banking and Holding, I’d prided myself on excelling under pressure. I made quick, smart decisions, knew when to take risks and how to keep my emotions under control.
But the moment Ardy caught me with my hand up Charlotte’s shirt, it was as if my brain stopped working and fear took hold. And then when he’d fired me, I freaked the fuck out. The urge to run was so powerful, it was overwhelming, and I’d been so focused on not doing that, I’d stood there like an asshole, leaving her to deal with the whole shitshow on her own.
What did I do now? I’d never been fired before.
Until moving here, you never had a mortgage payment before either.
I had savings and could float for several months, but what then? I couldn’t really afford to stay unemployed.
I pulled out my phone and looked at the clock on the lock screen. Even without the time change, it was far too late to call anyone in New York, and this was probably a good thing. Everything was too raw right now, and calling without a game plan was a bad idea. My previous manager would wonder the real reason I was sniffing around for a job opening, sense my desperation, and in the unlikely event he had room for me, I’d have no leverage for salary negotiations.
Everything would be better if I slept on it.
In the morning, I’d have more perspective on things. I’d confront what I’d done, decide the best way forward, and take action.
I stared at my phone in my hand and, without thought, found myself composing a text message to Charlotte.
Me: I fucked up. Can we talk?
I held my breath as I waited for the ‘Delivered’ beneath my speech bubble to change to ‘Read.’
Usually, she was quick to respond, but the seconds ticked by and my dread grew. Maybe she was busy and hadn’t seen the message, or maybe she was too distraught to look at her phone.
Or maybe she’s blocked you.
I sat on the floor for an embarrassing amount of time before finally realizing a response wasn’t coming.
She didn’t owe me anything, and I didn’t deserve one, did I?
The plan had been to get some sleep, but it was hard to come by. Everywhere in the house, I saw reminders of her. There weren’t any dirty clothes on my bedroom floor because they were all tucked away in the laundry basket in my closet. My bed was made because I’d started doing that every morning.
The new habit had come about because I always wanted to be prepared in case she came over. But I had quickly discovered I was making the bed more for myself than her. I liked coming home to a house that wasn’t a mess, and I especially liked getting into a bed when it wasn’t a rumpled pile of sheets.
Did she realize how much of an effect she had on me?
I barely slept that night, so it made sense I felt like shit in the morning. I used that, plus the fact that it was a weekend, as my excuse when I didn’t make any headway on the job front.
I wallowed for an hour, and then guilt over hurting Charlotte stormed in, and that was louder than any other emotion I had. I was desperate to talk to someone, and it was fucking ironic that the person I’d grown closest to—the one person who knew me better than anyone these days—was the one person who wanted nothing to do with me.
Me: Please, Charlotte. I’m so sorry. Can I call you?
This text message also went unread.
I waited hours before caving and called, only for it go straight to voicemail. I sat at my desk in my office, and the realization of how fucked I was slowly dawned on me. She hadn’t just been my girlfriend; she’d been my best friend...
And I was terrified I might never see her again.
I wouldn’t get a chance to apologize for hurting her or explain how badly I’d gotten scared and fucked up. That if I could do things over again, I would have done them so differently.
Shit, I would have stood beside her instead of running away.
My phone chimed with a text, jarring me from my thoughts.
Shannon: Are you and Charlotte free next Friday? Patrick and I are going to Club Eros. Would love to see you there!
We hadn’t played with them since the night on their boat. Shit, I hadn’t thought about them much in the weeks since then. In fact, I hadn’t thought about them at all.
I’d only wanted to be with Charlotte.
I stared at the text message for a long time and spent even longer trying to compose a reply.
Me: We’re not together anymore.
Shannon: Oh no, sad to hear it.
The bubbles blinked as she typed out a new message.
Shannon: Was it something we did? If so, I’m sorry.
Me: No. It was something I did.
Shannon: I hate that it didn’t work out. Seemed like you two really liked each other.
I started to type out that we did but ended up deleting it before sending. I didn’t want to open the door and make Shannon feel obligated to talk to me about feelings, nor did I want to explain what had happened with Charlotte.
Shannon: If you’re still interested, you’re welcome to join us at the club.
A frown twisted my face at the idea. I had enjoyed playing with Shannon, but now that I’d done it with Charlotte, I didn’t want to go back to how things had been. It wasn’t exciting or interesting without her, and—fuck.
Being with anyone else felt wrong .
Me: No thanks, but you guys have fun.
I didn’t sleep much on Saturday night either. My appetite was gone, and my anxiety was at an all-time high. What was Charlotte doing right now? Was she over at her friend Sasha’s place, drinking and cursing my name? She hadn’t posted new content on any of her accounts, so maybe she was working on that.
Did she miss me even a fraction as much as I missed her?
It was mid-morning when I finally dragged myself into the kitchen and forced myself to make breakfast. I cooked up a plate’s worth of scrambled eggs, carried that and my cup of coffee into my home office, and sat down at my computer.
I always took an hour on Sunday mornings to go over my trading wins and losses from the previous week. I’d spend time studying why those losses happened and then mark up my charts for the coming week. It was my typical routine, and I hoped sticking to it could help break me from this fog of depression.
I scrolled through the accounts, scribbling out numbers in a notebook as I went. Eventually, they’d go in a spreadsheet, but I preferred pen and paper first. I liked the tactile experience of recording the figures this way.
But it did have the potential to cause errors.
When I put the current market value for one of my positions into the spreadsheet, I must have transposed a number, because there was no way the amount was right. I went back to the screen and account, double-checking the numbers—
“Holy shit.”
I’d played a hunch and thought it might perform well, but this? It was ten times more than I expected. The rush of excitement was a hit from a drug, momentarily washing away my sadness. It wasn’t the kind of money that was life-changing, but if I sold as soon as the markets opened tomorrow, it could net five figures.
I was riding the high, so when my front door swung open, my heart leapt. Was this Charlotte?
No.
My posture stiffened as my mom and dad walked in. They hadn’t called or texted or been invited over, and irritation popped the balloon on my temporary good mood.
“Noah?” my mom called from the entryway, before looking to her left and spotting me at my desk. “Oh, there you are.”
I’d warned them not to drop in on me, so I didn’t stand to greet them or keep the coldness from my voice. “What are you doing here?”
She made it a few feet into my office before pulling to a stop and peering critically at my messy hair, worn t-shirt, and gym shorts. “Aren’t you coming with us to Gabby’s soccer game?”
“Fuck. That’s today?” I rose from chair and started moving, my feet pounding across the hardwood toward my bedroom. “Give me ten minutes.” I ignored my father’s disapproving look as I blew by him. “There’s coffee if you want some.”
My oldest brother Paul and his family lived in Knoxville, and my niece Gabby was on a highly competitive travel soccer team, so my parents didn’t see them much during the season. When they found out her team was participating in a tournament downtown today, they’d jumped at the chance to watch and volun—told me I was coming along.
I’d asked for ten minutes to get ready but was able to get it done in nine and found my parents in the kitchen, pouring coffee into a mismatched pair of travel mugs from my time at HBHC.
“I guess your maid has the weekends off.” My mom’s tone was light and joking, because she had no idea I paid to have it cleaned, or who I’d been paying. I ground my teeth and said nothing—even when my parents’ place had looked worse the night Charlotte and I had been there.
The skillet I’d used to make eggs was still on the stove, and dirty bowls and silverware were stacked in the sink. With everything that had happened, I’d reverted to my sloppy ways, which exacerbated my foul mood.
First thing you do when you get back from the tournament is clean this place up.
I needed to stay on top of it, before it got overwhelming.
“I’ve been busy,” I mumbled. “You two ready?”
After my father and I did our typical back and forth about who was driving, I grabbed my keys and my phone, and we made our way to my garage. He was annoyed he’d lost, and I was aggravated with myself over the situation, so the car ride was awkwardly silent for the first few minutes.
My mother was the first to break. She leaned forward from her seat in the back so I’d hear her better. “How are things with Charlotte?
Immediately, I longed to have the awkward silence back. “Uh...”
“When are you going to bring her by for dinner so we can get to know her?”
My hands tightened on the steering wheel. “We broke up.”
My gaze was fixed on the traffic on the road, but I felt my parents’ attention snap to me. My mother’s tone was full of concern. “Why? What did you do?”
I shot her an annoyed look through the rearview mirror. “Why do you automatically assume I did something wrong?”
“Because I have three sons,” she muttered under her breath. “Well, did you?”
“It’s complicated,” I said. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
My father, who sat in the passenger seat, let out a traitorous chuckle.
“Okay, fine,” she said. “Then, how’s work?”
Well, fuck.
I glanced at the navigation screen on my dashboard and the estimated arrival time. I could lie to them for the next thirty-four minutes, but what good did that really do me? I’d have to tell them eventually, and they’d be upset if they found out I withheld it.
My voice was flat and quiet. “I got let go.”
“What?” My dad turned in his seat so he could face me. “Why?”
“I wasn’t a good fit.” This wasn’t technically a lie, was it?
“That’s it?” He was dubious.
“Oh, no,” my mother said softly. “What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know.” That was the truth, and it caused my mom to make a face. “Don’t worry about it,” I added. “I’ll figure something out.”
“Oh, Noah.” She said it the same way she’d say ‘ you poor thing .’ “You lost your job and your girlfriend in the same week?”
I muttered it without thought. “More like at the same time.”
Oh, shit.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” my father asked.
Every muscle of my upper body was tense, and I raked a hand through my hair as I struggled to come up with a way to backtrack. But my mind was a mess, and I was desperate to talk about it with someone, and... fuck it.
“Charlotte is Ardy’s daughter,” I announced.
My statement ate up all the air in the car, and I sat in tense, painful silence, waiting for the fallout.
My mother’s question was quiet, and surprisingly free of judgment. “You’re dating your boss’s daughter?”
“Not anymore, it sounds like,” my dad piped in.
“He didn’t know, and when he found out, he fired me on the spot.” I took a breath. “He didn’t appreciate how we hid our relationship, and there’s some history between Charlotte and her dad that makes her being with—” Shit, I had to correct myself. “ Made her being with me hard for him to accept. Like I said, it’s complicated.”
“Oh.” It was obvious my mom had no idea what to say. “But then, what happened with Charlotte?”
“When Ardy told her she couldn’t see me anymore, she told him she loved me.”
My dad’s expression was pure confusion. “And then she dumped you?”
“No. I didn’t know she loved me. She hadn’t said that before, and,” shame rolled through me, “I freaked out. I got scared.”
“Scared of what?” My mom’s tone changed, like she was asking a question that everyone already knew the answer to. “Aren’t you in love with her?”
I was so uncomfortable, I twisted in my seat and threw one of my hands up. “I don’t know.”
“Really?” She had the audacity to scoff. “Well, I do.”
“What are you talking about? You can’t know that. You only met her for, like, two seconds.”
Her laugh said I was being foolish. “More than enough time. Besides, it wasn’t just the way you looked at her. It’s how you’ve been since then. You think a mother can’t tell when her son is happy?”
Frustration had me tightening my hand on the steering wheel once more. “I’m not going to argue that she makes me happy, but happiness is not the same as love.”
. . . Right?
“Okay,” she said, clearly just humoring me. “She makes you happy, loves you, and you might be in love with her. Noah, I have to be honest. These don’t strike me as good reasons to break up.”
I clung to the statement like a toddler refusing to give up the tattered scraps of what had once been their favorite blanket. “I don’t have time to be in love right now.”
“Now that you’re unemployed,” my dad said, “it sounds like you have lots of time.”
He’d meant it as a joke, but all I saw was red. “Are you fucking serious right now?”
“Gabe, be nice,” she scolded. “He’s having a hard time, and if anyone can relate,” her tone was so pointed it was almost accusatory, “it should be you.”
Worry froze my father in place, and he seemed to sense what was coming, but was powerless to stop it.
“You two are so alike,” she said, “maybe he could learn from your mistake.”
I glanced in the mirror and found her expression oddly smug. Meanwhile, my father looked like he wanted to crawl away with embarrassment.
“That was forty-two years ago, Theresa. Can you let it go?”
“Never.” She laughed. “Go on and tell him.”
No matter how much he didn’t want to, she had the leverage, and my father sighed and scratched the side of his head. “Your mom and I had been dating for a while before we started talking about marriage. She wanted to know we were heading that way, but I wasn’t... as sure at the time.”
This tickled my mother so much, she let out a sharp, short laugh. It made it sound like he’d drastically downplayed the situation.
“Look, we were young,” he said, “and she was my first serious girlfriend. I didn’t want to rush into getting married. I wanted to be sure she was the one.” His voice was small. “So I told her we should see other people.”
She leaned forward between the seats so we could hear her better. “And what did I do?”
He looked at me like I should understand and take his side. “She said, fine, no problem, and called up my roommate that same day, asking him to take her out. Can you believe that?”
My mom’s grin widened ear to ear. “And what did you do?”
“You mean after I threatened to kick his ass?” He begrudgingly admitted it. “I realized I was a goddamn idiot, and that you’re the love of my life.”
She sank back in her seat, crossed her arms over her chest, and couldn’t have looked more victorious if she’d tried. “I was never actually going to go out with him, you should know. You just needed a little nudge. Because sometimes people don’t know what they have until it’s gone.”
“Your mother’s right,” he said. “I wasn’t sure about my future until I saw one without her, and then I was damn sure she was my future.” He tilted his head as he evaluated me. “You’re not sure how you feel about this girl, and I understand that. But you sent her packing because you got scared, and you probably haven’t thought about the fact that she’s going to move on. You feel good about that?”
No, of course I didn’t feel good about it.
I fucking hated it.
The idea of Charlotte with someone else turned my stomach and caused a cold sweat to break out on the back of my neck. This wasn’t jealousy. My mind wasn’t screaming that no one else could have her.
It was shouting at me about what a dumbass I’d been.
She couldn’t be with anyone else—she belonged with me, and I belonged with her.
“Oh, fuck,” I whispered.
“I told you,” my mother said triumphantly.
I was in love with Charlotte.
Of course I would figure this out days after I’d fucked everything up with her. “What the hell do I do?”
My dad peered at me like the answer was obvious. “You tell her.”
It wasn’t that simple. “She won’t talk to me.”
“Oh, well, in that case, I guess you should just give up.” His tone was plain. “I mean, you tried everything, right?”
That was... not helpful, but I stayed quiet because my mind began to work the problem.
My father’s teasing expression turned serious.
“I’ll tell you what to do—it’s the same thing I did.” He turned in his seat so he could glance back at my mother, and he sounded more genuine than I’d ever heard him. “If you love this girl, you do whatever the hell it takes to get her back.”