Chapter 52
Chapter Fifty-Two
Savannah
“Thank you so much for letting me crash with you,” I say as I carry my suitcase into Forrest’s building.
He holds the door open for me. “You might change your mind once you see the place.”
“I’m sure it’ll be fine.” Though I’m less sure as we take a creaking elevator up to Forrest’s floor, as we roll my suitcase over thin carpeting toward his door. One of the hallway lights flickers overhead. A smudge forms in my vision. Oh no, not now.
Forrest must see my grimace because his smile tightens. “There’s not much worth stealing,” he says as he undoes the first of several locks.
Inside, his apartment has a central room—kitchen with clean, if chipped, orange Formica countertops; a living room with a slightly sagging sofa; a small dining room table with stacks of various journal articles arranged in neat piles.
What did Brayden call them? Your favorite articles—the ones with the really tiny font. I push that thought down
There isn’t a speck of dust or a piece of furniture less than twenty years old, and as Forrest waves a sheepish hand around, I almost say, All the stuff I grew up with was old too, but that’s because most of it was antiques.
“Thank you,” I say again. I wish I’d brought something—food, wine, maybe a grocery gift card I could discretely leave in his kitchen.
Forrest stuffs his hands in his pockets.
He’s about a foot shorter than Asher, narrower in the shoulders, and with a shaggy hair cut that I thought was an expensive haircut trying to look cheap but might actually be one he does himself.
Still, something in the stubborn set of his shoulders reminds me of Asher, that same pride at having worked for what he has.
“My partner, uh, left last week,” he admits. “Apparently, I’m too busy to invest in the relationship in a way that feels equitable to both of our feelings or contributes in a meaningful way to our collaborative vision of the future.”
“What does that mean?”
“They thought I was spending too much time with Dr. Ghorbani. Also, they slept with their ex and wanted to make it my fault.” He sighs heavily.
I can’t help it; I laugh—even as my head starts to throb. “Sorry, that really sucks.”
“Let me show you the spare bedroom.” He leads me down a short hallway, past a small bedroom that just has space for a neatly made bed, dresser, and nightstand, to an even smaller bedroom that only contains the first two.
My suitcase occupies most of the available floor space.
A narrow window only grudgingly admits the midafternoon light.
Still, I wince at its brightness. I need to lie down.
I need to count my pills to see how many I have.
I don’t know how long it’ll take the Peaches to take me off Brayden’s insurance.
I don’t think he’ll cut me off immediately, but you never really know with people.
I survey the room again. Like the rest of the apartment, it’s very clean, which only throws into relief how shabby it is. I have enough money from Lexi for a month or two of rent here or a few days at a hotel. “This is great. Really. You’re a lifesaver.”
Forrest shrugs and studies the floor. “If you’re set, I gotta go to work.”
“I should be fine.” I have to be.
“You know,” he says, “after that first class, I thought you might drop the program.”
My eyebrows shoot up. “Really?”
“All the coursework is a grind. Plus, you had on that ring and that necklace, so clearly had, uh, other options.”
“Like a rich husband?” I ask jokingly, then my chin starts to wobble without my consent. I’m not going to cry about this. Or not in front of Forrest, who seems like he has actual problems and not my self-inflicted mess. “Well, not anymore, I guess.”
“Did he…” Forrest pauses as if searching for the right word, and I wonder if he’s going to ask if Brayden’s and my relationship was equitable. “Do we need to burn down his house?” Forrest says it less like he’s opposed to the idea and more like he’s calculating the expense of gasoline.
I laugh, though it gets teary at the end.
“No, this whole thing is…” My fault. My fault for getting married, my fault for falling in love.
My fault for thinking that things with Brayden and Asher would somehow just work out on their own.
“Brayden isn’t to blame for anything. We just—” The smudge in my vision expands.
I blink a few times, hoping Forrest will think I’m just trying not to cry.
“Sometimes things don’t work out, you know? ”
“Okay, well, offer stands about the arson. Katia would probably make a good getaway driver.” He thinks for a second. “I’m really glad you decided not to quit the program.”
I reach down and pull Forrest into a one-armed hug.
“Thank you, for everything. I’m really glad I didn’t quit too.
” After Forrest leaves the room, I scramble through my stuff to find my meds and swallow them dry.
This migraine isn’t some distant storm on the horizon.
No, it’s here and undeniable. I collapse backward onto the lumpy mattress and shut my eyes against the thin ambient light.
Tell myself I’m strong enough to get through this. Which I will be—but I’m not right now.
Still, I wait until Forrest is up the hallway—shuffling through papers and grabbing his stuff to leave for work, from the sound of it—before I let the first tears start to fall.