Chapter 10 #2
"What if I don't want to separate them anymore?" The elevator descended, floor numbers ticking down. "What if I want to write something I'm actually proud of instead of just something that hits the bestseller list?"
"Then you're a fool." The doors opened on the lobby. She stepped out but turned back to face me. "You had it all. Success, security, readers who loved your work. And you just threw it away for what? Some romantic notion about being a real writer?"
"Yeah," I said. "I guess I did."
"Don't call me when you can't pay your rent." She turned and walked away, her heels echoing across the marble.
I stood there in the lobby for a moment, watching her go. Someone had set up a massive Christmas tree near the entrance, at least twenty feet tall, covered in silver and blue ornaments.
Then I walked out into the December cold.
***
I walked for hours.
Not heading anywhere in particular, just moving through the city I'd called home for a decade. The afternoon sun was weak, filtered through clouds that threatened snow. My breath fogged with every exhale.
Fifth Avenue was packed with holiday shoppers, everyone bundled in coats and scarves, shopping bags from Saks and Bergdorf weighing down their arms. The store windows competed for attention with elaborate displays—Cartier's was wrapped like a giant red bow, Lord & Taylor had a winter wonderland with moving figures.
I walked through it all like a ghost.
Past Rockefeller Center where the massive tree was lit even in daylight, skaters circling the rink below while tourists pressed against the railings taking photos.
Past Radio City where the Rockettes were performing their Christmas show.
Past Bryant Park where the winter village was in full swing—wooden stalls selling everything from blown glass ornaments to Belgian waffles, the smell of roasted nuts heavy on the air.
The city at Christmas was supposed to be magical. Everyone said so. The movies, the songs, the whole mythology of New York in December.
All I felt was tired.
My phone buzzed. Jason: How'd the meeting go?
I stopped on a corner, watching the light change. Watching people hurry past me, everyone going somewhere with purpose while I stood still.
I walked out, I texted back. Turned down the deal. Probably torpedoed my career.
Three dots appeared immediately. Then: Call me. Now.
I found a quieter side street and hit call.
"Brent." Jason's voice was worried. "What happened?"
I told him everything. The meeting, the contract, the way they'd talked about my writing like it was laundry detergent with a proven formula. The way I'd walked out. Cassandra's fury in the elevator.
"I blew up my career," I said, my free hand shoved deep in my coat pocket against the cold. "For what? A maybe? A hope that I can write something that matters instead of just something that sells?"
"For yourself," he said quietly. "That took courage. I'm proud of you."
Something in my chest loosened. Not gone, but easier to breathe through. "I might have just made the worst decision of my life."
"Or the best one. You won't know unless you try." A pause. "What are you going to do now?"
"I don't know. Eventually come to Colorado, I guess. Hope you still want me when I do, after I've self-destructed my whole life."
"I'll always want you. Career or no career. Bestseller or not." His voice was soft. "The Brent I fell for wasn't B.L. Cross, remember? It was just you. The guy who stayed up until two in the morning talking about why stories matter. The guy who made me brave enough to write the truth."
My throat went tight. "I miss you so much it's hard to breathe sometimes."
"I know. Me too." Background noise on his end—someone talking, a phone ringing. "I'm at work and I have to go. But Brent? I'm glad you walked out. It means you're choosing yourself. That's huge."
"Yeah. Terrifying, but huge."
"Call me tonight?"
"Always."
We hung up and I stood there on the corner, surrounded by strangers living their lives, and let myself feel it all. The terror, the relief, the strange exhilaration of having burned down everything I'd built.
And underneath it all, a spark of something that might have been hope.
***
That evening, I was lying on my couch, staring at the ceiling, when Jason called.
"Hey," I answered.
"Hi." He sounded breathless, like he'd been running. "Weird question."
"Okay?"
"Why are you waiting to come here?"
My heart stopped. "What?"
"I'm serious. What's keeping you in New York right now? Your career is in free fall—your words, not mine. You just blew up your entire professional life. You're miserable." He took a breath. "So why wait? Come now. Come tomorrow."
"Jason, I can't just—"
"Why not? What's actually stopping you?"
I opened my mouth. Closed it. Tried again. "I don't... I can't just drop everything and—"
"You already dropped everything. You walked out on that meeting, remember? You chose yourself. So keep choosing yourself." His voice softened. "Come here. Be scared here. With me. We'll figure out the rest together."
I stood up and walked to my window, looking out at the city that had been home for most of my adult life. The city that had given me everything I thought I wanted and left me empty anyway.
"What if it doesn't work?" I asked quietly. "What if I get there and you realize I'm a mess and I've just burned down my entire life for a week-long fling?"
"First of all, it wasn't a fling. Not for me." His voice was steady, sure. "And second, you didn't burn down your life. You cleared space to build something new. That's different."
"You have a lot of faith in me."
"Someone has to. Might as well be the guy who's already in love with you."
Everything stopped. The city, my breathing, time itself.
"Jason—"
"I know. Too soon, too fast, too much." He laughed, but it sounded shaky.
"But it's true. I love you. I fell for you the first night we stayed up until dawn talking about writing.
I've been falling harder every day since.
And I'm not waiting two weeks to see you again when you could be here tomorrow. "
My throat had gone tight. "I love you too. Have since that first kiss. Maybe before."
"Then come here. Please. Let me take care of you while you figure out what comes next."
I pulled up flights on my phone. There was one tomorrow afternoon. Direct to Denver, arriving at four PM.
"Okay," I said. "I'm coming. Tomorrow."
His laugh was pure joy, unrestrained and perfect. "Really?"
"Really." I was already mentally packing. "I'm probably going to show up a complete disaster—"
"I don't care. Just show up."
"I don't know how long I'll need to stay—"
"Stay as long as you need. Stay forever if you want."
Forever. The word should have terrified me. Instead, it felt like the first true thing I'd heard in months.
"I'll text you my flight details," I said.
"I'll pick you up at the airport. We can—Brent, I'm so happy I could cry."
"Don't cry. Save it for when you meet me and realize what a mess I actually am."
"You're not a mess. You're just figuring things out. And I get to be there for it." A pause. "I love you."
"I love you too." Saying it out loud felt huge. "See you tomorrow."
"See you tomorrow."
We hung up and I stood there in my apartment—this monument to a success that meant nothing, this perfect space that had never been home.
Then I started packing.
Not for a visit. For longer. Maybe a month, maybe more. Everything I'd need to write from anywhere. Everything I'd need to figure out who I was when I wasn't being B.L. Cross.
I thought about the life I'd built here. The career I'd just walked away from. The person I'd been pretending to be for years.
And then I thought about Jason's voice when he laughed, the way he looked at me like I was worth seeing, how right it felt to wake up beside him.
Some choices were easy, even when they were terrifying.
Tomorrow, I'd find out if I'd made the right one.
Chapter 10
Jason POV
I'd driven to Denver International Airport exactly twice in my life. The first time was when I moved to Colorado two years ago, hauling my entire life in checked bags and a determination to start fresh. The second time was today, to pick up Brent Lafferty.
My hands were shaking on the steering wheel.
It had been five days since the retreat ended.
Five days of texts and phone calls and increasingly desperate late-night conversations that always ended with both of us breathless and aching.
Five days of missing someone so intensely it felt like a physical wound—a constant pressure behind my ribs, a hollow space where his warmth should be.
And now he was coming back. Because he'd walked away from a seven-figure deal and decided Colorado—decided I—mattered more than his New York life.
The weight of that decision terrified me almost as much as it thrilled me.
I parked in the cell phone lot and checked my phone for the hundredth time. His plane had landed twenty minutes ago. Any moment now, he'd text that he had his luggage and was heading to arrivals.
Through my windshield, I could see the terminal lit up for the holidays—massive wreaths hung between the support columns, garland wrapped around every light post, a giant inflatable snowman visible near the main entrance.
Holiday travelers streamed in and out with shopping bags and wrapped packages.
My phone buzzed: Got my bag. Heading to pickup now. I can't believe I'm actually here.
My heart kicked against my ribs. I can't believe it either. See you in 5.
I pulled out of the lot, navigating the maze of airport roads with my pulse hammering in my ears. This was real. This was happening. Brent had left his entire life behind to—what? See if we could work? See if I was worth the risk?
No pressure or anything.