22. Duncan
DUNCAN
The bar is called Moretti's and it smells like old wood and beer that's been soaking into the floor since sometime around the Carter administration.
Angelo picked it because nobody who matters would ever think to look for Duncan Ellington in a dive bar in Hell's Kitchen with vinyl booths and a jukebox that only plays Springsteen and Sinatra.
I'm wearing sunglasses and a dark Yankees cap pulled low, which makes me look either like someone hiding from the paparazzi or someone who thinks they're important enough to need to hide from the paparazzi. Both are accurate and neither makes me feel better.
Angelo slides into the booth across from me with two beers already in hand. He sets one in front of me and takes a long pull from his own before speaking.
"When's the last time you slept?"
I think about it. "Tuesday?"
"It's Thursday."
"Yep. Tuesday."
He shakes his head and drinks more of his beer. "So," he says. "Millie."
Just hearing her name makes my chest tight. "What about her?"
"You love her."
It's a statement, flat and certain. I don't bother denying it because Angelo would see through that in half a second and I'm too exhausted to perform right now.
"Doesn't matter," I say. "She's made it clear she wants out."
"Has she? Or have you just decided that's what she wants because it's easier than fighting for her?"
I pick up my beer and drink half of it without stopping. The alcohol burns going down but doesn't do much else. "She told me I was going to get hurt if I didn't back off. That's pretty clear."
"That's her fear talking, dummy." Angelo leans forward, his forearms on the table.
"Duncan, I've watched you build a company from nothing.
Watched you close deals that everyone said were impossible, survive a scandal that should have ended your career.
You don't give up when things get hard. So why the fuck are you giving up on her? "
"I'm respecting her boundaries."
"Bullshit. You're protecting yourself." He points at me with the neck of his beer bottle.
"You think if you back off now, if you let her go without a fight, it'll hurt less when she leaves.
But here's what's actually going to happen: she's going to leave anyway because you never showed her you were worth staying for. "
I set my beer down harder than necessary and the bottle clinks against the table. "She doesn't want to see me, Angelo. She's been ignoring my calls for two days."
"So fucking what?"
I blink. "What?"
"So fucking what if she's ignoring your calls?
So what if her publicist told her to stay away?
You think Cierra wanted anything to do with me when our fathers forced us into that arrangement?
She hated me. Actively, passionately hated me for what I'd done to her in high school and for the fact that she was stuck in a marriage she didn't choose.
" He drinks more beer, his jaw tight with the memory.
"But I didn't give up. I showed up every day and proved to her that the person I was at seventeen wasn't the person I was anymore. And eventually she believed me."
"This is different."
"How?"
"Because Millie's entire career is on the line right now.
If I push too hard, if I show up when she doesn't want me there, I could make everything worse for her.
The press will write about how I'm not respecting her space, how I'm trying to control the narrative, how I'm the same entitled asshole from that tape just with better PR. "
Angelo is quiet for a moment, studying me with the expression of someone trying to decide whether to let me keep talking or shut me down. He chooses the latter.
"You're making excuses," he says flatly.
"The world is already crashing down on both of you.
Her career, your reputation, all of it is on fire right now.
So what exactly are you protecting by staying away?
Because from where I'm sitting, the only thing you're protecting is your own fear of rejection. "
I want to argue with him. Want to explain all the strategic reasons why giving Millie space is the right move, how pushing too hard would only confirm what she already thinks about me being a liability, how showing up uninvited would make me look desperate and controlling.
"Change her mind, man," he continues after a long pause of silence.
"How?"
"By showing up anyway." Angelo finishes his beer and signals the bartender for another round.
"Look, Millie Harris is a woman who spent her entire career fighting for recognition in an industry that told her she wasn't enough.
She's brilliant and talented and probably the most guarded person you'll ever meet because she had to be.
You think she's going to just open up and admit she needs someone?
Admit she's lonely and scared and doesn't want to do this alone? "
"No."
"Exactly. So stop waiting for her to ask for help and just go to her.
Show her you're not going anywhere, even when it's hard, even when the entire world is telling you to back off.
Because that's what love actually looks like, Duncan.
It's not respecting boundaries when someone's pushing you away out of fear.
It's knowing the difference between someone who genuinely doesn't want you there and someone who's too scared to admit they do. "
The bartender brings two more beers. I don't touch mine, just sit there processing what Angelo said.
He's right. About all of it. Millie is lonely right now, probably more lonely than she's ever been, surrounded by people managing her career but nobody actually asking her how she's doing.
And I've been sitting in my apartment for days waiting for permission to be there for her instead of just showing up and proving I meant what I said in those vows.
"What if she turns me away?" I ask quietly.
"Then you try again tomorrow. And the day after that.
And you keep trying until she either tells you to stop or admits she wants you there.
" Angelo picks up his fresh beer. "But Duncan, you have to actually try.
You can't just send texts and hope she'll come around.
You have to show her you're willing to fight for this, even when it's messy and public and everyone's watching. "
I think about the video that's been playing on loop for the past forty-eight hours. Me admitting I fell in love with Millie while she was already planning our divorce. The way my voice cracked slightly when I said it, like admitting it out loud was the most painful thing I'd ever done.
That video was humiliating. But it was also the most honest thing I've said in years.
And she watched it too. She knows how I feel.
The question is whether she believes I'll stick around when things get hard, or whether she thinks I'm just another person who'll leave the second loving her becomes inconvenient.
I need to show her I'm not.
"Okay," I say.
Angelo grins. "Okay what?"
"Okay, I'm going to her apartment. Tonight. And I'm not leaving until she talks to me."
"Good. That's the first smart thing you've said since you sat down." He raises his beer. "To not being a coward anymore."
I pick up my beer and clink it against his. "To not being a coward."
We drink in silence for a while after that, just two guys in a dive bar with Sinatra playing on the jukebox and condensation pooling on the table between us.
Angelo checks his phone twice, but eventually he looks up.
"You know what the difference was between me giving up on Cierra and actually making it work? "
"What?"
"I stopped trying to convince her I'd changed and just started making different choices.
Every day. When she was cold, when she was angry, when she told me she wanted nothing to do with me.
I kept showing up and being the version of myself I actually wanted to be, regardless of whether she noticed or cared.
" He sets his phone down. "And eventually she did notice.
Because consistency is louder than words, Duncan.
You can tell Millie you've changed a thousand times, but what's going to matter is whether you actually show her when it costs you something. "
I nod slowly, letting that sink in. Consistency over performance. Showing up over convincing. Actually being the person I claimed to be instead of just talking about growth while still making the same self-protective choices I've always made.
"Thanks," I say. "For not letting me sit in my apartment feeling sorry for myself."
"That's what friends are for." Angelo finishes his second beer and slides out of the booth. "Now get out of here and go fix your marriage before I have to listen to Emilio give you the same speech with more Italian hand gestures."
I stand, leave cash on the table for both our tabs, and head for the door. The sunglasses and Yankees cap probably didn't fool anyone, but nobody stopped me for photos or shouted questions, so maybe this place really is off the radar for anyone who cares about celebrity gossip.
Outside, the street is quieter than I expected for a Thursday night in Hell's Kitchen. A few people smoking outside a restaurant, a couple walking their dog, someone sitting on a stoop scrolling their phone. Nobody looks at me twice.
I pull out my phone and open my messages with Millie. The last text I sent was hours ago: "I miss you."
I type, "I'm coming over. You don't have to let me up, but I need to see you."
Send it before I can second-guess myself.
Then I start walking toward her apartment through a city doesn't give a shit to the fact that my life depends on whether the woman I love will open her door when I get there.