13. June
The closer I get to my apartment, the worse the pain in my stomach becomes. My palms are sweaty and the lump in my throat is the size of Texas. I have a few unread messages from Katrina, but I’m too nervous to read them. I don’t know if she saw the selfie with the boys I posted last night. I’m trying not to think too much about what happened after. Not a difficult task when my imminent confrontation with Bill is taking up most of my head space.
It’s early enough that I avoid the heavy morning traffic. It takes me half an hour to get home. Ugh. I really need to stop thinking of the apartment I share with Bill as home. It won’t be home for much longer. I should move out immediately, but I’m broke, and finding an affordable place to live in LA will be a difficult task. I’m sure I could stay with Katrina for a while, but she lives in a small house, and with her four kids and husband, her place is already at max capacity.
I have to park my beat-up car on the street because the apartment has only one designated garage spot and, naturally, Bill claimed that. With so many apartment buildings and all the commerce on my street, it’s always stressful to find parking. I can’t believe I let him get away with so much over the years. No wonder he thought it was okay to cheat on me with Danika.
I’m still wearing my party dress, because I didn’t think to change before I was on the road, and I left my work clothes in my car. I did manage to zip it up, but I’m wearing my flats. When I see someone drive away from a parking spot, I take it, even though it isn’t near my apartment’s entrance. As I back into it, I notice the dry cleaning bag with Bill’s lucky suit in the back seat. Hell. I forgot the jackass asked me to pick it up for him. I’m tempted to toss it in the trash, but I’m not that petty. With a sigh, I grab the bag.
My heart is beating loud and fast as I take the stairs to the second-floor apartment. It’s early, and Bill must be home. Or maybe he spent the night at Danika’s.
What if she spent the night here?
Shit. I’m starting to panic. As much as I want to tell them both to go to hell, I want to do it from a position of strength.
When I reach the landing, I pause and stare. I thought the worst possible scenario would be finding my snake of a former friend in my apartment. But I couldn’t have foreseen how low Bill would go. All my stuff is sitting in the hallway in trash bags and boxes. I know those are my things, because among them, I spot my pink carryon bag, and one-eyed Toby—my first teddy bear and most valued possession—sticking out of one of the boxes.
“What the hell!”
Fury erupts from the pit of my stomach and spreads through my veins like wildfire. My hands are shaking when I fish my key out of my purse and insert it in the keyhole. It doesn’t work. Oh my God. Did he change the lock?
I curl my hand into a fist and bang hard. “Bill! Open the door.”
I keep slamming my fists until I hear the click of a lock releasing. But the asshole keeps the chain on, and I can see him only partially.
“What do you want, June?”
My jaw drops. The nerve! “I want to get into my fucking apartment.”
“This isn’t your apartment anymore.”
“Bullshit it isn’t. I pay half the rent every month, and we used my savings for the deposit.”
“You should have thought about that before you decided to party with my hockey team. Do you know how humiliating that was for me? My entire office saw your selfies and they were giving me shit all night.”
My eyes bug out. “Are you seriously going to talk about humiliation after I proposed to you on the damn Jumbotron and you turned me down because you’re sleeping with my friend?”
He scowls. “Don’t blame me for that. You know I hate public declarations of love. And after seeing the pictures you posted online, I’m convinced you only did it for attention.”
I close my eyes and pinch the bridge of my nose. “Let me get this straight. You’re saying I made that romantic gesture to gain media exposure?”
“Didn’t you? You want to break into Hollywood, and you’re going nowhere in your career. Now you’re the jilted woman who got consoled by a bunch of hockey players and I’m the bad guy.” His eyes focus on the garment bag in my hand. “Is that my lucky suit?”
My mind is spiraling. I can hardly believe all that nonsense that came out of Bill’s mouth. Does he really believe he’s the victim in all this?
“Yes. If you want it, you’d better open the door,” I grit out.
He narrows his eyes, but instead of acting like an adult, he glares harder. “You know what? Keep it. Danika says I should get rid of old stuff anyway.”
My chest constricts painfully. I didn’t expect that hearing her name come out of his mouth again would hurt this much. Never mind the meaning of his reply. “That includes me, huh?”
He sighs. “Just take your things and leave, June.”
My eyes are tearing up, but I don’t want to give Bill the satisfaction of seeing me cry. “You can’t do that. My name is on the lease.”
He arches a brow. “Are you sure about that?”
My stomach bottoms out. I swear I signed a lease—I know I signed a bunch of stuff when we got the apartment. Could I be wrong? “My name is not on the lease?”
“You catch on fast.”
“Are you kidding me?” I shriek.
“Calm down. I don’t need a circus on my doorstep. Just go, before I call the cops.” He slams the door in my face.
I don’t move a muscle, stunned that the man I thought was the one could do such a vile thing. Hot tears run down my cheeks. I hastily wipe them away and glance at all my things, disposed of like trash.
A door down the hallway opens, making me turn. Who’s coming to witness my humiliation? At least it won’t be a crowd this time.
A teenager with dark long hair carrying a backpack hoisted over one shoulder walks down the corridor toward me. I’ve never seen him before, but I don’t know all the neighbors. He glances at my stuff lined up against the wall, then at me. “Got kicked out?”
His tone is nonchalant as if this is a common occurrence. There’s no pity in his gaze, but shame makes my face burn nonetheless. “Yes.”
“Need help getting your stuff downstairs?”
His kind offer almost makes me cry again. I bite the inside of my cheek, hoping the pain will help me keep my shit together.
“Aren’t you going to be late for school?”
“My ride won’t be here for another ten minutes.”
“Okay. Then yes, and thank you.”
He shrugs. “No problem.”
He adjusts his backpack so it’s carried on both shoulders and then stacks a few boxes and lifts them up. I stuff Bill’s suit into another box—I’m not sure what to do with it yet—then grab a couple of the trash bags and follow my helper to the elevator.
“We should fit as much as we can in the elevator and take the stairs,” he says.
“Yeah, that’s a good idea. I’m June, by the way.”
“Paul,” he mumbles.
“Nice to meet you, Paul.”
He doesn’t reply, but he’s helping me, so I don’t care that he’s a little grumpy. I’m not in the mood to chat anyway. With Paul’s help, I clear the front of Bill’s apartment in record time. I’m not a packrat, thus I don’t own a lot of things.
I press the elevator button to send it to the ground floor, and when I turn, Paul has already disappeared down the stairs.
“Thank you, Paul,” I say, loud enough so he can hear me.
I wish he could have stayed longer to assist me in getting everything out of the elevator and into my car, but oh well. I race down the stairs and arrive before the elevator. Then I place one box in front of its door to prevent it from closing, and begin to take everything out.
I’m halfway done when someone yells from a few floors up. “Who’s holding the elevator?”
“I’m sorry. I’ll be done in a minute,” I reply.
A moment later, an angry man stomps down the stairs and points a judgmental finger at me. “You’re not allowed to move during peak hours.”
“I didn’t plan to move at all,” I grit out. “I’m almost finished.”
“I’m still going to write an email to the building’s administration.”
“What for? I’m moving out. What are they going to do about it?”
“They can send you a fine.”
I’m about to tell him to go to hell but think better of it. They can send the fine to Bill. “Go ahead. I’m apartment 202.”
He scowls as he types on his phone, then strides out of the building. The altercation has left me shaking and on the verge of tears again. I resume unloading the elevator, making sure I put all my things in a corner of the lobby and out of the way, but I take Toby out of the box. I have to get my car and park in front of the building, and I’m not going to risk him being stolen.
Outside, I finally decide to call Katrina. I need to stay at her place for a few days to sort out my living situation. But of course, my phone is dead. “Son of a bitch.”
I stride toward my car. I can charge my phone using the car charger. The most important thing now is to load my things in it and get to work. Then it dawns on me. I’m still wearing a cocktail dress and probably smell like a sex dungeon. I can’t teach like this.
As if things weren’t already going swimmingly well for me, when I try to start the car, nothing happens.
“No, no. Come on, Betty. Don’t do this to me.”
I try again… and nada. I rest my forehead against the steering wheel, fighting more tears. This cannot be happening. Is it punishment for sleeping with three men last night? My very religious parents would say so.
I can’t even call roadside assistance, because the charger won’t work if the car won’t start. Hell. I have to return to the apartment and beg Bill to let me charge my phone. The thought of further humiliating myself in front of that jerk makes me sick. But sitting in my car while all my belongings are in the foyer won’t do.
I return to the building, but just as I’m about to enter, I see Bill’s car exit the garage. I wave at him with both arms, but if he sees me, he chooses to ignore me. Dejected, I sit on the curb, and rest my forearms on my knees, dropping my head between them. Tired of keeping my sadness bottled inside, I finally allow myself to cry. I know not all is lost. I can bother a neighbor, but right now, I want to feel sorry for myself.
The sound of car doors opening and shutting nearby makes me look up. My eyes widen, and I stare at Lachlan, Jake, and Ryan in disbelief. Am I hallucinating now?
They walk over, and thanks to my utter shock, I forget to wipe off my wet cheeks.
They all furrow their brows, but it’s Lachlan who drops into a crouch in front of me and asks, “What happened to you, lass?”
Concern shines in his eyes as he searches mine. Even though it’s bruised, my heart does a backflip. But instead of answering him, I ask, “What are you doing here?”