Chapter 17 Nina
Nina
I’d been pacing Lincoln’s living room for longer than I wanted to admit, circling between the couch and the counter.
I glanced at my phone. The screen stayed pitch black.
He’d left me on read. Twice. No calls. No texts.
Just the ticking clock on the wall and the knot in my stomach.
He’d never just not shown up. I told myself I was still pissed he’d behaved as if we were something we weren’t during and after meeting up with Diego.
But the longer he stayed gone, the more I thought about the way he kept wearing those stupid sunglasses, the way he seemed to be holding his breath over things he didn’t even know yet …
and the more that little trickle of worry turned into a stream I couldn’t shut off.
When the lock finally clicked, I froze. The door opened, and there he was—hair mussed, shirt wrinkled and messy. He looked hollowed out, and judging by the stench of vomit, throwing up hadn’t been enough to push out whatever this was.
His gaze found mine, pupils dilated. “I’m grabbing a few things,” he said, voice rough, tense. “I’m not staying.”
The words were a punch I hadn’t braced for. At some point while living with him, I’d forgotten to be ready for his hurtful words and the other ways he sought my pain. “What?” My voice cracked, betraying too much.
“You’ll stay,” he stated. “Please stay. A month, two. Whatever you need.” His gaze was steady but burdened, frayed. “Don’t leave just because of what I know now.”
My chest ached, heat rising behind my eyes even as my mouth pulled tight. I wanted to scream at him, to ask why he got to walk away when I was the one he’d gutted over and over. Then he stepped closer, his hands flexing at his sides as if he didn’t trust himself to touch me.
“I remember everything, Nina.” His voice cracked on the word everything. “High school. What I did. The shit I said. I remember it all. And I’m so fucking sorry. I get it now, why I can’t be around you. There’s no clean slate, no do-over.”
The apology wasn’t a request for forgiveness. It was self-damnation.
He strode into his bedroom, and I followed like a speechless idiot. He shoved random clothing into a gym bag, stuffing it beyond capacity. It hadn’t been long since he’d watched me pack my life away. He had so much more to pack than I did.
I exhaled. I’d been telling Lincoln we couldn’t have a do-over, I couldn’t forget. Except now that he’d been the one to say it, I felt he was taking one more thing from me. He hadn’t waited for me to answer. No lingering glances tinted with hope that I’d stop him. He’d decided.
He’d been in and out in less than twenty minutes. I just watched him, another instance where my life played out while I held no power—one more faceless person in the audience watching Nina Reyes’ life. With the door open, he turned to me. “Hey,” he said, extending his arm out to me.
I stepped into him, his arms around my waist, and dropped my head on his chest. A whisper of pressure caressed the top of my head. He was giving up. I felt smaller now than I ever had when he’d lashed out.
“This is your place.”
His head shook against mine, and I looked into his eyes. Regret. Such an avoidable emotion. If we’d just do the right thing, there wouldn’t be a need for it.
I felt that featherlight pressure again. “No,” he said. “I need you to have a place where you can just—catch your breath.”
Our gazes lingered. I was paralyzed by him, by his apology, by his guilt. I’d never thought Lincoln would feel remorseful for anything he’s done to me. And yet—there was no faking this.
His lips landed soft and tentative on my forehead. “Sorry doesn’t begin to cover what I feel.” His lips moved against my skin as he whispered the words.
I was in his arms, feeling his breath on my skin, trying to find ways to lash out at him and keep him with me, then he was gone. The door shut behind him, and the echo bounced through the apartment long after his footsteps faded.
I stood there, my throat burning, my hands trembling.
He’d left me here to breathe, and I never imagined the air without Lincoln could suffocate, or that vindication could bleed into loss.
I wanted to hate him, to be relieved he was gone.
I looked for the worst he’d done and anger rose, but it didn’t come for him.
It came after the ache of someone ripping themselves out of me, leaving me jagged and raw.
I hadn’t asked him to leave, ever, and he still left anyway.
I’d been at Reality Bites since early morning, determined to lose myself in busy work, and hidden away in the kitchen while Lynnie baked Bite Me Lemon Drop cupcakes and bars.
I needed Lincoln’s words to stop circling my mind.
Somewhere along the two months I’d lived with Lincoln, I’d stopped being a helper or a charity case: he’d carved a place for me.
“Earth to Nina!” Lynnie sang. “Are you thinking of body-snatched Lincoln?”
He’d walked out, given up. I couldn’t control what Lincoln did, so I focused on what I could—spreadsheets, mock-ups, schedules—anything that didn’t make breathing harder or my chest ache.
The front door creaked and Carmen breezed in, already grinning as if she’d been planning and plotting all day about what to stir up today. “Guess what I found in the workroom.” She whipped out her phone and tapped it awake, scrolling before holding it up for me to see.
A wall of neon Post-its, every single one scrawled with some ridiculous jab. Lincoln once photoshopped his own head onto Ryan Gosling’s body for “inspiration.” Lincoln likes to wear pink leopard sunglasses. Lincoln stuffs a sock in his pants just so he can feel good about something.
I laughed. “What the hell?”
“Apparently, your boy’s been busy. Rumor has it, he started half of these himself. Look.” She flipped to another photo. The handwriting was his—messy but sure. Lincoln’s all confidence and no substance. I traced it on Carmen’s phone.
Lynnie popped her head out of the kitchen, flour dusting her cheek. “That’s adorable,” she said matter-of-factly, as though we were discussing puppies instead of attempts of fixing the unfixable via passive-aggressive office graffiti.
It wasn’t adorable. Confusing, maybe. Infuriating, probably. Reminiscent of things he’d done to me in high school, sure, but cute?
“He is not my anything,” I countered a little too late while staring at the pictures longer than I should’ve.
No substance. Is that how he saw himself?
His eyes had always betrayed a depth beyond cruelty for the sake of cruelty.
It’s why it’d hurt so much. I turned Carmen’s phone to face the table.
He’d always been a mystery to me. What had I even done for Lincoln to hate me so relentlessly?
My anger bubbled. I’d give him a few truths if he wanted.
I pulled a paper napkin out of its container, and right over the cupcake logo, I wrote: In Lincoln’s world, stalking is foreplay.
“Hey, Carmen,” I said. “Can you please hang this up in the work room?” I gave Carmen the piece of paper.
She read it and smirked before putting it in her handbag. Then she snapped her fingers. “Enough of Lincoln. Now, business. Check your email.”
Just then, as if demanding I listened to Carmen, my laptop pinged. Subject line: Congratulations—You’re Invited to Pitch at the BrightMark Summit.
I blinked at it and reread the name. BrightMark.
A sustainability startup that wanted fresh branding for their clean energy initiative.
I’d seen the event a while ago. It was a good ole open bid.
Bring your marketing pitch. May the best strategist win.
Except this was a big freaking client. Life-changing kind of client.
After the Infinity Weddings fiasco, I didn’t think I was actually good enough.
I should have seen how my own team was out to get me.
“I cashed in a favor to get you in on this,” Carmen said.
Lynnie stood on her toes, balancing on Carmen’s back to try to look at my screen.
“Carmen, I—”
I didn’t want a pity opportunity. Redirecting clients that were asking for me was one thing. Carmen oweing favors so I could get an ego boost wasn’t right.
“Stop it. You’ve got ‘I don’t want favors’ written all over your face.” She exhaled. “I can’t believe I have to tell you this. You are good at what you do. It’s not pity.”
“Do you really think this is a good idea?”
Carmen nodded and smiled.
“Open it, open it!” Lynnie said, pointing at the email.
My pulse kicked. This was big. Even with as many clients as I’d gotten, I could barely break even on expenses, and I wasn’t even paying rent right now.
BrightMark could really turn this sidegig into something.
A business more than scraping by. I clicked open the message, forcing myself to read every word.
Big pitch. Big opportunity. Something solid, professional—something mine. No trace of Lincoln anywhere.
I shut my laptop halfway and looked at them both. “Well … looks like I’m about to have the busiest two weeks of my life.”
Lynnie grinned. Carmen arched her brow and added, “When has that ever stopped you?”
I stared into Carmen’s big brown eyes, her big curls framing her face, and a memory flickered.
A fifteen-ish-year-old girl with braces and blunt bangs, sitting on the floor behind the teachers’ desk, hugging her knees.
Tear-stricken face. “How do you do it? How do you keep going when he keeps tearing down at you?”
It was jarring. Thinking of this fierceless, defiant woman as a tiny hurt girl. “Why do they have to be so mean?”
I offered her a stick of gum. One of Stenvenson’s bullies had opened his mouth, and she’d come running into the empty classroom.
Everything they said was laced with the same intention: destroy.
“Ignore them. In time, you’ll get the chance to show them all you’re smarter than them anyway,” I’d whispered.