27. Trina
TRINA
My phone ringing is the only thing I could hear over the sound of my heart breaking as I sit in post-Labor Day traffic on my way back to my apartment.
And that’s only because it sends me into a cold panic every time it happens.
But not this time. This time, when it rings, I answer it without even looking at who is calling, letting the car’s speakers pick up the call.
I’m trying too hard not to cry to even care.
A small part of me hopes it’s Casey insisting on making good on his offer to be on the phone with me while I drive.
“You can’t send a cryptic message like that and then go dark.” Isabella’s voice comes through.
I fight the biting disappointment at hearing her voice instead of Casey’s as I rack my brain trying to figure out what she’s talking about…
until I remember. She had told me she was expecting a counteroffer from Halo Sun after the long weekend, so I texted her a few minutes ago to hold off until I could give her more information.
That was before I asked Casey about it. Something about what Imani said felt wrong deep in my bones.
Even though I was trying to keep Isabella in the loop on something that wasn’t right, I shouldn’t have gotten involved in another agent’s deal without all the information. I thought I was protecting Casey.
And I was protecting him. I’d do it again too, regardless of what happens between us. I don’t work with editors or publishers who play dirty.
Sighing deeply, I shift in my seat so my other hand is on the steering wheel. “Sorry.”
“You should try actually sounding sorry when you apologize for things,” she scolds. “What the hell is going on?”
“How familiar are you with Ashton Cochran?”
“The guy in charge of Halo Sun? Not very. Before this, he was a senior editor at Morgan & Danielson, but our paths never crossed. Why?” There’s some clicking of a keyboard in the background, and if I had to guess, I’d bet she’s searching for information on him as we speak.
“He and Casey went to school together. Do you know he contacted your author?”
The clicking stops. “What? No,” Isabella exclaims before the clicking starts again, more furiously this time. “Did Casey tell you that?”
“No. I guess your author and Imani have connected somehow. Ashton reached out to your author and told her that Casey’s shit at his job.
Something about not having the resources to do what he says he’s going to do.
I’m not sure exactly what was said—Imani was pretty frantic.
But your author called Imani and Imani called me.
She thought she had made a mistake insisting on an exclusive submission to Starlight. ”
“Fuck,” Isabella breaths out. Then she groans loudly. “This is going to be so much work to undo.”
She has no idea how true that is for me, too. “Yeah.”
Isabella goes quiet for a minute, then she cackles. “Oh, you’ll love this. I’m on one of the forums. I guess this Ashton guy almost signed Charles Hall before he left Morgan & Danielson.”
“That douchebag is like a bad penny,” I grumble.
“Most douchebags are.”
I want to laugh, but it comes out more like a harumph. My heart still hurts too badly to process anything as funny.
“Okay.” Isabella sounds fed up. “That was some of my best material. This is bad, but not bad enough for you not to at least chuckle. What’s going on?”
“I’m still not exactly sure,” I say honestly. “I think—” My voice cracks. I clear my throat and try again. “I think Casey and I broke up.”
“What? Why? What happened?”
“I was with him when Imani called. Everything was perfect.” I pause, taking a deep breath to try and stop my voice from shaking. “I just asked a question, Isabella. I asked him if it was true. And he got all upset.”
I bring one twitching hand up to my mouth and start chewing on a fingernail, keeping the other firmly on the steering wheel.
In doing so, I realize how little I’ve felt the urge to bite my nails over the past few weeks I’ve spent with Casey.
He calms something in me—settles something in my mind.
Somehow, he became not just a distraction, but a balm. And I already miss the peace.
She hums as if she knows I’m not going to like hearing what she has to say. “You asked him if he’s been lying about his ability to do his job.”
My chest physically aches with her words. “No. My author brought a legitimate concern to me, and I addressed it with her editor, which I should be able to do whether we’re fucking or not.”
“I don’t even know which part of that to address first.”
“Spare me the lecture.” My frustration is growing, quickly overtaking the pain in my chest. I welcome it.
It’s not the peace Casey brought me, but it feels a hell of a lot better than that ache.
“This is exactly why agents and editors shouldn’t get involved.
I had a question about work, and I asked it.
It’s as simple as that. If he can’t handle it, well then…
” I trail off, not really wanting to say the rest. I might be frustrated, but the inevitable end of that sentence feels too final.
“Sure. Fine.” It’s dismissive, but she goes silent for a moment. “Actually, you’re not wrong. But, like…just make up.”
“No problem. I’ll get right on that.” The biting sarcasm surprises even me.
I let out a little, resigned huff. “Look, if it wasn’t this, it would have been something else.
” I mentally berate myself for how close I was to spending the night.
Inevitably, I would have woken up from another nightmare in a cold sweat, unable to breathe.
If not tonight, then some other night he would have seen me at my absolute lowest. I couldn’t bear that—the embarrassment, having to explain it all, the worry that he might see something of me that I don’t want anyone seeing.
That it might change the good thing we had going.
So, if something work-related hadn’t messed everything up, that certainly would have.
Better to be taking this lonely ride back to my place now than at three in the morning after a nightmare.
“Growing pains,” Isabella says simply. “Every couple has them. These are yours. You just have to figure out how to do the work-relationship thing. It doesn’t mean you end the whole shebang right now.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so hurt,” I whisper.
I actually don’t think I’ve seen him so anything.
He’s the stoic one, the one who doesn’t let his emotions show.
Or, at least, he didn’t until that day in my apartment when he brought that book.
That openness was what made me want to leap straight into the unknown.
“So apologize.”
“You just told me I should sound sorry when I say it, and I’m not!
I’m not sorry!” I practically explode. Aware that I’m driving and need to keep it together at least until I get back to my place, I lower my voice but speak with no less conviction.
“I did my job, Isa. It was a question. He didn’t have to like it, but he had to answer. That’s the job.”
As if closing the book on a chapter, I finally pull into my parking spot outside of my apartment.
I collect my purse and open the door only to be greeted with the humid, only slightly cooler night air.
It feels like we’re about to get one of those huge Chicago storms that happen at the end of every summer and usher in lower temperatures.
Good. A little rain would reflect my mood.
“If you’re so hell-bent on getting in your own way on this, far be it from me to stop you,” Isabella says as I start to make my way along the sidewalk toward my building, but her words aren’t cold.
They’re resigned. “You’re such a good person, Trina.
You deserve to be happy, and this job won’t do that for you forever. ”
“And a person will?” My words lack bite, too, because it’s genuine curiosity drawing the question out of me, not the need for a comeback. I cannot fathom a world where a person is the source of such lasting happiness. That certainly hasn’t been my experience.
Isabella goes silent, and for a moment, the only sound is my sandals slapping against the sidewalk. Despite the traffic, the streets are quiet tonight, likely because everyone who isn’t on the road is tucked in, getting ready to go back to work in the morning after the long weekend.
“I don’t know,” she says with a hint of vulnerability. “Sometimes a person can, I think. But it works a lot better when you’ve done some internal work to figure out what you want first.”
“You sound like you’re speaking from experience,” I deflect.
“We’re all works in progress,” she returns. “So, what are you going to do?”
“Well…” I trail off as I approach the door to my building. “I’m going to call Imani and deal with this mess. Maybe take a shower. Sleep.” If I can, I leave off. Though at this point, a night awake might not be all that different from one with repeated dreams.
“For the record, I disagree with this plan.”
“Noted,” I say as I start climbing the stairs to my apartment. “Good night, Isabella.”
She grumbles but eventually wishes me a good night and hangs up.
I stare at my phone for a minute, unsure if opening the door to a conversation is a good idea but remembering my promise to Casey before I left.
He’ll worry if I don’t at least text him.
And a promise is a promise. I’m not one to break them, even if a lot of people in my life have. So I fire off a quick message.
Me: I made it home.
Then, before I can overthink what I’m doing, I type out another and send it.
Me: I will fix this. Somehow.
I don’t know if I’m talking about Imani or us or both, but I have to believe there’s a solution out there. Something that will smooth everything over and let us at least move on professionally, if not personally.
The three dots bounce at the bottom of the screen, but only for a second. Not even long enough for my heart to make it all the way to my throat.
Casey: Good night, Trina.
I stare at my screen, waiting for something else, but it goes dark. Casey won’t be sending more messages, and I’m not sure why I thought he might. We broke up. We’re done. We’re no longer in the same book, let alone on the same page.
Sighing, I set my phone on the counter with a premonition that tonight is not going to be a good one at all.