Chapter 6
Sasha
I can’t believe it’s been two weeks since the breakup. Part of me still expects Carter to walk in and tell me we can go back to the way we were. But that is exactly the problem: the way we were only worked because neither of us forced the hard conversation.
I thought I could marry a Bachman and somehow remain untouched by the rules of the family. What I really feared was that accepting those rules would erase the parts of me I fought hardest to build—my work, my independence, my voice.
The men lead. The women choose whether to trust that leadership. I understand the words. I am still trying to understand what they mean for me.
I am strong-willed. I am also scared. Those two things have been masquerading as the same thing for so long I barely know how to separate them.
And yes, hearing that Bronson doubted me hurt more than I want to admit. It made every old fear whisper that there is a right kind of woman for this family—and I am not her.
It’s getting incredibly awkward at work. I’ve got to find another job.
Carter and I are polite. But it’s cold. We keep our distances.
I know it’s not appropriate to continue working at my ex-fiancé’s gym. But I’m just so… at home, here at Barbells. I know the clientele; I love the building.
Even though it’s over, it’s a comfort to see his face. Hear his voice. His laugh.
Although I haven’t heard his laugh lately.
We’ve both been moping about. Not that anyone else can tell. Just us. We’ve gotten excellent at hiding our emotions. Keeping it profesh. And we’ve gotten damn good at not being in the same place at the same time.
The hotel is nice. He’s paying for a deluxe suite. It’s close by. The sheets are white, crisp, clean. The lobby has coffee and fresh baked cookies every day.
I miss him.
I miss home.
I’ve been looking for two weeks, and I haven’t had any luck finding a place. The city is so damn expensive, I’m going to have to get a shared apartment with a couple of roommates. The idea of living with strangers has my stomach in knots.
And now it’s the last night of the month.
We always have a staff pizza party the last night of the month. We won’t be able to ignore one another.
I would skip it, but I’m making more of an effort to get friendly with the staff.
Before the breakup, all my time had been spent with Carter and the Bachmans.
And once you’re out with the Bachmans, you’re out.
Twenty-four hours after I’d left the Village, all their numbers were blocked on my phone, courtesy of Joshua, the tech guy.
I’m sure my thumbprint was erased from the gates.
When I see Bachmans in public, they turn the other way. Some give me an apologetic smile first.
I don’t harbor ill will toward them—I know there are rules in place they must follow.
Surely I’m seen as a liability now—the ex-fiancée who knows family secrets and chose not to commit. I hate that thought, but I understand it.
It’s become clear to me that I need to make some new friends. And someone working at this place must have a lead on an apartment. So, I’ll stomach the awkwardness between Carter and me and go.
There is one place I have not let myself disappear from: John’s youth program. Every Saturday I still take the train downtown to work with the girls. They do not know about the Bachmans or my broken engagement. They only know I promised to show up.
Maya, seventeen and all elbows and attitude, is applying for a summer fitness internship.
She wants to become a physical therapist someday and has already decided one rejection will prove she is too stupid for college.
I spend an hour telling her that one rejection does not get to decide the rest of her life.
The irony is not lost on me.
Before I leave, I tuck a new pair of running shoes into her battered gym bag. She will accuse the program of buying them. I will lie shamelessly and agree. Some rules I am apparently still willing to break.
I enter the break room. It’s set up as it always is for staff meetings, but there are a few fewer pizzas than usual. Lines of soda. Junk food. I like that about Carter—he might be a health nut, but he knows when to let loose.
I recognize the pizza boxes—he’s ordered from my favorite place, Michelangelo’s.
I read the sticker on the top box. It’s Hawaiian chicken.
My all-time favorite. I peek in the box and the sight of the chicken and melty cheese, dotted with barbeque sauce and grilled pineapple has my mouth watering.
I haven’t been eating much and suddenly, I’m starving. My stomach growls.
“Hungry?”
I look up at Carter. He fills the doorway. His muscles bulge beneath his tight black shirt. It’s the shirt that makes him look so ridiculously hot, it has all the women giggling and whispering when he wears it to teach class.
His eyes smile softly beneath his disheveled blond hair, giving him an adorable look to compliment his rock-hard body.
My pussy tightens. My heart heaves in my chest.
I can’t believe he’s no longer mine. I feel as if the wind has been knocked from me.
I put the tip of my tongue to the roof of my mouth—a trick I once read in a magazine that helps you stop yourself from crying. I break his gaze, no longer able to stare into those green eyes—it hurts too damn much. Instead, I look around. I clear my throat and ask, “Where’s everyone else?”
He shrugs. “They’re all at a Monster Truck Rally in Poughkeepsie.”
My brows raise. “We weren’t invited?”
He looks at his sneakers. “I think we turned them down too many times. They’ve stopped inviting us to stuff.”
We. Us.
“Right,” I say.
“They forgot to tell me they were going tonight, until after I’d already ordered the pizza. They took most of it with them, but I told them to leave the Hawaiian.”
His gaze rests on mine. He looks about as lost as I feel.
“Well, let’s eat. We’re still staff, and I’m hungry.” I take a paper plate from the table he’s set up and hold it out to him.
A peace offering.
He hesitates. He takes the plate.
We prepare our food in silence. Awkwardly leaning over one another. Would you like a drink? Yes, please. Napkin? Sure.
We sit down at the big round table. It seats eight. We are as far apart from one another as we can get. The room is quiet. Too quiet.
“Hang on. I think I know what we need.” He leaves the room.
While he’s gone, I go to the sound system. I plug in my phone. I put on his favorite station, Techno Mix. Why not? He’s gotten me the pizza.
I feel a little hope well in my heart—maybe we can be friends.
I sit down, waiting for him to return.
He comes back into the room. He’s holding a fifth of rum.
“No way. You had that in the back?” I ask.
He shrugs. “Toby gave it to me when he left last week. A little thank you for being a great boss present.”
I smile and say, “You are a great boss.”
He gives me a look, hesitates, then half smiles and opens the stopper, pouring some into my glass of cola.
I take a sip. It’s sweet and it burns on the way down. It hits my empty stomach and I take another, bigger gulp. A moment later, I feel relaxed, floaty. “Thank you.”
I take a bite of the pizza. It’s delicious. Sweet and spicy. I wash it down with more of my drink. I giggle.
“What?” he asks between bites.
“I don’t know,” I say. I giggle again.
He chuckles.
I laugh. I drink some more.
We eat. We gossip about the staff. Who’s dating who. Who’s hooking up behind our backs with members. Who teaches the worst classes. We stuff our faces with pizza. He refills our drinks.
For twenty minutes, the breakup disappears.
He does the terrible impression of my mother that always makes me snort.
I remind him of the time he tried to teach my father American football and nearly got tackled into a lemon tree.
He knows which pineapple pieces I pick off my pizza and steals them before I can complain.
I know he is worried before he says a word because he rubs the back of his neck twice.
This is the part of losing Carter no one warned me about.
I did not only lose the man I sleep with.
I lost the person who speaks my private language.
For the first time in weeks, things feel comfortable between us.
I move my plate over a few spaces. I slide into a seat closer to him. I say, “This is nice.”
“The food?” he asks.
“No. You know, this.” I gesture at the space between us. “Hanging out. Being friends.”
His smile fades. His sparkling eyes go cold.
My heart sinks. The color drains from my cheeks.
I’m a fool.
The atmosphere in the room completely changes. The light, fun evening is gone. I feel a chill. A little shudder runs through me as his jaw clenches and he stands from his chair.
He stares me down. “We’ll never be friends.”
I feel as if the wind has been knocked out of me. I can’t breathe.
He grabs his cup. He turns, leaving the room. On the way out, he yanks my phone cord from the speaker, cutting the music.
I count to ten slowly in my mind. When I’m sure he’s gone, I burst into tears.