CHAPTER 51
Quinn
This is it. I’ve finally hit rock bottom. I didn’t think the past year could carve me down any further, but here I am. I haven’t done anything but bed rot at my best friend’s house, wallowing in self-pity.
I’ve been hiding under the covers while life moves on without me. Outside, car horns blare, and footsteps scuff the pavement, proof that the world spins on, indifferent. Apparently it doesn’t pause for heartbreak.
God, I miss Cole. So much it physically hurts. He’s in every thought, every breath, the shadow behind every quiet moment. The only thing that dulls the ache is sleep.
I wake up reaching for Cole, only to clutch at cold sheets. The absence hits like a bruise I keep pressing, tender and raw. And the worst part? Knowing I’m the reason he’s not lying next to me.
At least I still have my best friend, even if she confiscated the wine after the first two nights.
Lectured me about how it was the last thing I needed, and she wasn’t going to let me drown myself in it again.
I remember her hand snatching the bottle away, her glare sharp with love I didn’t want but needed.
Besides, I know myself well enough to know that I’d hate myself if I drunk-called him, my words slurred and desperate, my voice betraying every weakness I’ve tried to hide. I couldn’t do that to him.
Part of me hoped he’d reach out, just one text, but he gave me the space I asked for. Still, I keep opening my phone, thumb hovering over his name.
Sophie begged me to message him, but I can’t.
Not until I know I can give him the love he deserves.
And right now, I can barely take care of myself.
Besides, there’s no point anyway. I know from our spreadsheet that he leaves for Paris today, the first stop on a long list of places that don’t include me.
I picture him on a plane, staring out the window, his reflection pale against the glass, wondering if I ever cared at all. The image twists my stomach until I feel nauseous.
Sophie walks in, and with a click, the shutters spring open, flooding the room with sunlight for the first time since I arrived sobbing on her doorstep three days ago.
It stings my eyes, bright and unforgiving, and I blink against it, squinting, wishing I could burrow deeper into the covers and stay hidden in the dark.
“Quinn, you can’t keep doing this.” She pauses next to the bed, giving me a once-over, and sighs. “You’re wasting away in bed, and it’s killing me to watch.”
“No.” I let out a groan, yanking the covers up over my head, wishing the world would disappear.
“Here, eat this,” she says, and I feel the dip of the mattress as she sets something down. A sandwich, probably, judging by the smell that churns my stomach.
I ignore her, burrowing even deeper into the sheets.
“Seriously? You haven’t eaten all day,” she mutters.
“I’m not hungry.”
“Not hungry, or not trying?” Her tone sharpens, though the way her knee bumps against mine is gentler. “There’s a difference.”
The scent of toasted bread wafts up, heavy and buttery, and my stomach clenches in protest.
“I still don’t want to,” I groan, rolling over, burying my head in the pillow until the scent of detergent stings my nose and the darkness feels almost safe.
She huffs out a laugh. “Drama queen. It’s just ham and cheese. Eat half, and I’ll leave you alone.”
I peek out from under the pillow, catching the way she’s watching me, her brows knit in determination even as her eyes soften with worry.
“Just leave it there, and I’ll eat it later,” I mumble.
“Not a chance. You’ve said that for the last three days, and not once have you taken more than—what? Like, five bites? You have to eat, babe. You need the energy for the auction.”
“You’re not going to let this go, are you?” My irritation spikes, though beneath it, I know she’s right.
“Ugh, stop complaining and get up. Take the first big girl step and sell the last piece of your life with Josh. End your story with him there.” Sophie sits, crosses her legs, and taps her fingers impatiently on her knee. “Don’t make me dress you myself.”
“You make it sound so easy,” I mutter, dragging the blanket higher like it could shield me from her determination.
“It is,” she counters, cocking her head at me.
“Is not,” I shoot back.
“You’re going to that auction.” She nudges the plate back toward me. “And you’re eating the damn sandwich.”
“Fine,” I grumble, throwing the blanket off with more force than necessary. “I’ll eat it.” I give in and reach for the plate, jaw tight as I take a bite.
The bread scrapes dry across my tongue, tasting like sawdust, the cheese clinging unpleasantly to the roof of my mouth. Each chew feels like a small punishment, my throat working hard to force it down while Sophie’s gaze burns into me, counting every reluctant swallow.
“I swear to God,” Sophie lectures me as she gets up and moves around the room, rifling through drawers and tugging open closet doors, holding up outfits and discarding them with little shakes of her head as she tries to find something for me to wear. “I was two seconds from feeding you myself.”
“Ugh, you’re the worst sometimes,” I say, running a hand through my unbrushed hair, strands catching at my fingers. The thought follows quickly: she’s the worst, but she’s also the only one keeping me upright.
“Here. Put these on.” She tosses a black high-waisted pencil skirt from one of the drawers onto the bed, the fabric folding in a neat arc before landing with a soft thud. I stare as I chew the last bite of my sandwich, already feeling less lightheaded.
“Thanks,” I murmur, setting the empty plate on the nightstand. My legs feel stiff as I finally swing them over the edge of the bed, the carpet cool against my bare feet. I push myself upright in a clumsy hop, the sudden shift making the room tilt for a heartbeat before it steadies around me.
I need to change; I can’t show up at the auction in one of Cole’s shirts, the one I’ve been living in these past couple of days, the fabric still carrying the faint trace of his cologne. Wearing it feels like a strange, devastating kind of comfort.
I reach for my phone, tangled in the bedsheets after a day and night lost to endless TikTok scrolling. The screen lights up, harsh and white against my eyes. The glowing numbers glare back at me—shit, I’ll miss the auction if I don’t move.
No texts from Cole either. The silence on the screen cuts deeper than it should. Why would he message? I was the one who left, bolting so fast I barely shut the door behind me.
“I’ll meet you downstairs when you’re ready, babe,” she says as she walks toward the door, blonde hair swishing behind her, her hand trailing briefly along the doorframe before she disappears into the hallway.
“You’re the best,” I tell her as I make my way to the en suite.
The shower’s hot spray sluices away the stale sweat and greasy weight in my hair. For ten minutes, I stand there, letting it beat down on me until my skin tingles and I can almost pretend the exhaustion is lifting.
By some miracle, I manage to pull myself together. Hair tied back, minimal makeup, just BB cream and mascara.
We drive mostly in silence, Taylor Swift playing softly through the speakers. Sophie hums along at points, drumming her fingers against the steering wheel, her energy restless and bright. Every so often she reaches over to squeeze my hand, her warmth an anchor against the cold pit in my stomach.
I don’t say thank-you, but she knows I mean it. Leaning my forehead against the cool glass window, I watch as people hurry along sidewalks, their lives unfolding effortlessly while mine feels stuck in place.
When we arrive, I hesitate in the car, my hand frozen on the door handle. My throat feels tight, and for a beat I think I might actually be sick. If I go in, it’s real. If I stay here, maybe we still exist.
The house looms ahead, too familiar and too foreign all at once, and I grip the handle harder, trying to summon the courage to step out of Sophie’s car.
“Want me to come in with you?” she asks.
“No,” I whisper. “I need to do this by myself.”
“Good luck. Love you.” She smiles at me from the driver’s side. “Call me after. You’ve got this.”
“I will. Love you too,” I tell her, then suck it up and step outside.