Chapter 19
ROXIE
Iwoke up already bracing myself.
That was the first thing I noticed, that my body knew something had shifted before my brain caught up. My shoulders were tight. My jaw ached like I’d been clenching my teeth in my sleep. The ceiling above me felt too close, like the room had shrunk overnight.
Ledger was already gone.
His side of the bed was cool, sheets smoothed back into place with military precision. No dent in the pillow. No trace of warmth. Just absence.
Of course.
Last night had ended with space. With distance. With us both pretending we hadn’t crossed a line we’d been circling for weeks. Months. Maybe longer.
I pressed my lips together, staring up at the ceiling, my mind replaying it anyway.
The way his hands had framed my face like he already knew they belonged there.
The way the kiss hadn’t been tentative or uncertain, but hungry, like something he’d been holding back had finally snapped.
The way my entire body had responded without hesitation, like it had been waiting for permission.
That was the part that scared me.
Not the kiss itself.
But how deeply it had affected me, how I’d felt it all the way to my toes.
I rolled onto my side, hugging the pillow to my chest, trying to slow my breathing. This was supposed to be simple. Strategic. Mutually beneficial.
Fake.
I’d agreed to this marriage because it gave me control. Because it solved a problem cleanly and efficiently. It bought me time, protected my freedom, gave my parents something to stop asking questions about, would let me walk away from my dead-end job without looking like I’d failed.
Protection. A buffer between me and the chaos of real risk.
Ledger had been part of that plan, carefully chosen because he was safe too. Closed off. Disciplined. Wrapped up in swimming, not emotions. Someone who wouldn’t complicate things.
Somehow, without me noticing when it started, he’d dismantled all of that.
Not with grand gestures or sweeping declarations. But with quiet consistency. With the way he listened. With the way he showed up. With the way he made space for me in his life like it was natural, not forced.
With the way he kissed me like it mattered.
I groaned softly and pushed myself out of bed.
The apartment was quiet except for the faint hum of the refrigerator. Ledger’s swim bag was gone from its usual spot by the door. No coffee brewing. No music playing.
Classic Ledger retreat.
I showered quickly, letting the hot water beat against my shoulders, trying to wash away the tension coiled there. It didn’t help. My thoughts kept looping back to the same terrifying realization.
I wasn’t afraid of this ending.
I was afraid of how much I didn’t want it to.
By the time I sat down at the kitchen table with my laptop, I’d made a decision.
If I couldn’t control my feelings, I could at least control everything else.
I opened my calendar, my inbox, my notes app—lining everything up like armor. Tabs multiplied across my screen. Talking points. Analytics snapshots. A draft proposal I’d rewritten three times already, each version tighter, sharper, more mine than the last.
Today mattered.
More than Ledger. More than last night.
Today was the day I stopped thinking of this as a plan and started treating it like a business.
My business.
This wasn’t a favor or a warm handoff through family connections.
No polite introductions or safety nets disguised as opportunities.
I’d spent weeks combing through LinkedIn, sending cold emails, and following up on every promising lead, and finally, one of them had responded.
I still remembered the little thrill that had shot through me when their reply appeared in my inbox.
A mix of disbelief and pride. I’d done this. On my own.
Now it came down to this: a legitimate discovery call with a midsize firm that needed help rebuilding their social media presence after a messy merger—two brands, two voices, one confused audience.
They didn’t know my last name carried weight.
They didn’t care who my parents were.
They just wanted to know if I could fix what was broken.
If I landed this, it would be the first real step. Proof that I could build something from the ground up—on my own instincts, my own expertise.
I wasn’t ready to quit my job yet. Not because I needed it, but because I refused to let my parents, my trust fund, or one bad month dictate the timing of my life. I wanted to walk away on my terms. With proof in hand.
This wasn’t fear.
This was strategy.
The thought made my chest buzz with equal parts thrill and terror.
Because wanting this meant risking failure in a way I never had before. There would be no one to blame. No one to cushion the fall.
Just me.
I took a breath, straightened my shoulders, and glanced at my reflection in the dark screen of my laptop. Motivated. Capable. Maybe even confident, if I squinted.
You can do this, I told myself. You are doing this.
My phone buzzed on the kitchen table ten minutes before the call.
The sound snapped my attention sharp, my pulse jumping before I even checked the screen.
A text from Ledger.
My heart did a stupid, reflexive flip at seeing his name, like it hadn’t gotten the memo that things were supposed to be normal again.
Ledger
Coach sent the updated Trials schedule. I’ll forward it to you. Media obligations shifted too.
Polite. Neutral. All business.
I stared at the screen longer than necessary, thumb hovering as if there were some hidden message between the lines. There wasn’t. There was no teasing, no warmth, and no trace of the man who’d kissed me in our kitchen like he’d been holding his breath for weeks.
I typed back anyway.
Roxie
Okay. Thanks.
The reply sent felt small.
I hated how much it stung. Hated how quickly I missed the easy routine we’d slipped into. The check-ins. The quiet looks. The way he’d started asking if I was okay like it mattered to him personally.
This version of Ledger—careful, distant, professional—felt like a door closing softly but firmly in my face. Like he’d decided retreat was safer than pretending nothing had changed.
And maybe it was.
But that didn’t make it hurt less.
Soon the call went live, and I shoved the feeling down where it belonged.
For the next forty-five minutes, I became the version of myself I trusted.
Confident. Precise. In control. I walked them through their pain points, reframed their fractured brand voice, laid out a clear strategy for rebuilding audience trust. I answered questions without hesitation, my voice smooth, my ideas sharp.
This was the part of me that didn’t flinch. The part that didn’t second-guess. The part that didn’t fall apart over a kiss.
When the call ended, my pulse was racing—but this time, it wasn’t from fear.
They wanted a proposal by the end of the week.
I let out a shaky laugh, leaning back in my chair.
I could do this.
I was still riding that high when Ledger came home mid-afternoon.
I heard the door before I saw him—the soft click of the lock, the distinct weight of his footsteps moving through the apartment. Not rushed. Not tentative. Controlled, like everything else about him when I assumed he was trying not to feel.
“Hey,” he said, coming to stand in the living room.
I looked up from my laptop. “Hey.”
He’d showered already. Hair still damp at the ends, T-shirt clinging faintly to his shoulders like he hadn’t waited long enough for his skin to dry. I wished I hadn’t noticed. I wished even more that my body wouldn’t react like it remembered exactly how close we’d been less than twelve hours ago.
We hovered there for a second, like two people unsure which version of themselves to bring into the room.
He hesitated, just barely, then crossed the room, stopping a safe distance away. Too safe.
“I got the updated Trials schedule.” He pulled out his phone. “They moved the prelims up a day. Media obligations too.”
“Okay.” I set my laptop aside, standing. “Let me see.”
He handed me his phone, our fingers brushing.
It was nothing, barely a second of contact, but the jolt shot straight through me. Ledger stilled, breath catching just enough that I knew he’d felt it too.
I took the phone anyway, forcing myself to concentrate on the screen. Dates. Times. Logistics.
“Looks like I’ll need to adjust a few calls.” I kept my voice unchanging. “But I can make it work.”
“As needed,” he said.
The words landed heavier than they should have.
I glanced up. “As needed?”
“That’s what we agreed on,” he replied carefully. “Your schedule matters too.”
There was that careful distance again. That polite, respectful tone that felt like he was putting something fragile back in a box and taping it shut.
“I know,” I said. “I just—this part gets intense, right?”
“Yeah.” His jaw tightened. “It does. We’ll need to coordinate travel. Media stuff ramps up closer to the meet.”
Silence stretched between us, thick and palpable. He didn’t step back. Didn’t step closer either. Just stood there, close enough that I could feel the heat of him, smell his soap, remember exactly how his mouth had felt on mine.
My pulse skidded.
“You don’t have to hover,” he added quietly. “I’ll be busy.”
“I’m not going to hover,” I said, a little too quickly.
His gaze flicked to mine and held.
“That’s not what I meant.”
“I know,” I said again. Then, softer, “I just want to be there.”
Something shifted in his expression. Surprise, maybe. Or something more dangerous.
“Roxie …”
I almost asked him then.
Do you regret it?
The question pressed against my ribs, begging to be let out. My heart thudded loud enough I was sure he could hear it.
But I didn’t ask.
Instead, I handed his phone back. Our fingers brushed again. This time, neither of us moved away right away.
The air felt charged, like the moment before lightning hits.
“I nailed my call today,” I said, needing to say something. Anything. “The consulting one.”
His eyes softened instantly. “Yeah?”
“They want a proposal by Friday.”
“That’s huge,” he said, and there was no distance in his voice now. Just pride. Real, unmistakable pride. “I knew you’d crush it.”
The warmth that spread through my chest was immediate.
“Thanks,” I said quietly.
We stood there too long. Close enough that if either of us leaned forward an inch …
Ledger stepped back first.
“I’ve got another workout.” His voice was tight. “Coach wants to tweak some things.”
I blinked.
He didn’t usually leave again so soon after getting home. His second practice was in the evenings. And even then, he lingered—grabbed water, asked about my day, filled the kitchen with that easy presence I’d started to rely on without realizing it.
This felt different.
Like an excuse.
Like he needed space more than he wanted to be here.
“Oh.” I schooled my expression into something neutral. “Okay.”
His gaze flicked to mine, then away again, like he didn’t trust himself to hold it. Like standing this close was harder than swimming another thousand yards.
“Of course,” I added, forcing a nod, trying to hide my disappointment. “Good luck.”
“Yeah,” he said softly. “Thanks.”
He paused at the door, hand on the handle.
“Roxie.”
My breath caught. “Yeah?”
He hesitated. Just for a beat.
“Congratulations,” he said finally.
And then he was gone, the door clicking shut behind him with a finality that made my heart sink.
The absence he left behind felt louder than any argument.
I sat there long after the apartment fell quiet again, my excitement from the call dimming as something else took its place.
I wasn’t scared of the marriage ending.
I was scared of what it meant that I wanted him to fight for it.
For me.
And for the first time since this whole thing began, I wasn’t sure which outcome would hurt more.