3. Brooklyn
brOOKLYN
With a sigh of frustration, I slam my laptop closed.
“It’s insane what people are asking for rent on a decent apartment in this city,” I gripe to Mr. Kibbles, switching out my computer for the dog. He makes a much better lap warmer.
I’ve only been back in Chicago for three days and I’m already burned out.
I meant it when I told Luka I wanted a divorce—I have to mean it, for the sake of my heart—but when it comes to actually moving on, I’m paralyzed.
There’s no way I’m moving back in with my parents, and I’ve reconciled myself to the fact that I’ll be living on my own.
Unfortunately, it looks like I might have to sell a kidney in order to afford it.
Thankfully, a close, personal friend (a.k.a.
fuck buddy) of Mateo’s invited me to stay with her until I decide what I’m going to do.
I wish I could just stay at Mateo’s place in Chicago, but he already Airbnb’d the place for the entire time he’ll be out of town, and I couldn’t afford to cover his rent anyway.
I’ll be okay, though. I’ve met Shay a couple of times in the past. She’s nice, a little aloof, and basically never home thanks to her bartending job, which suits me fine.
I’m not up for late-night girl chats, and I prefer being alone considering my emotional state right now.
But this living situation is obviously temporary. I need to figure out what’s next.
All I really cared about was that Shay didn’t bat an eye at allowing Mr. Kibbles to stay too (which was essential), and that she had no connection to Luka.
I know plenty of other models that are good enough friends that they’d happily take me in with no questions asked—in fact, it’s pretty common in the industry to have other models for roommates when you’re starting out, since nobody is raking in the big money yet—but I don’t want my husband to know where I am.
On top of that, assumptions would be made and then the rumors would start to fly.
Our breakup is exactly the kind of gossip that would spread through the modeling world like wildfire.
I can’t stand the thought of everyone talking about our failed relationship behind our backs, wondering how things fell apart so fast. Especially Monica Shore.
It would also be easy enough to call Emzee and ask to stay at her place, but I’ve been low-key avoiding her and Tori ever since I walked out on Luka.
As far as I know, they have no idea that we’ve separated, and I’m not ready to talk to them about it yet.
Especially because it hurts knowing that we won’t be sisters-in-law anymore.
I’ve answered a few texts here and there, but only to say that I was on a short vacation in LA or that I was super busy doing a photo shoot.
At some point, though, they’re going to find out the truth. I’m dreading it.
As for Luka, I haven’t heard a peep from my husband since I left him, nor do I expect to (not that it’s stopped me from checking my phone more often than I should).
I haven’t reached out to him either, and it’s left me feeling hollow and adrift.
I’m used to our texts full of emojis and banter, or at the very least the bare minimum check-in calls we’d have a few times a day.
It’s been a while since we’ve gone an entire day without talking. I miss it.
Even Mr. Kibbles seems sad not to have Luka around for their nightly ear-scratch sessions. I feel a little guilty that the dog is depressed. I try to give him the same scritches, but it’s not the same. I can tell by the melancholy haze in the pup’s eyes after I’m done.
Realizing my Bloody Mary is just about gone, I get up off the couch for a refill from the premade mix in the fridge.
But there’s no more celery left, and no woman with any self-respect would dream of touching a Bloody without celery.
I’ve got to keep it fancy somehow, considering I just gave up the hottest man in Chicago and a multimillion-dollar penthouse.
I realize we’re low on lettuce, too. And coffee creamer. And eggs. All the essentials.
With a groan, I shut the fridge and make a mental shopping list. Might as well get more vodka while I’m out, too. I certainly owe it to Shay since she won’t let me throw in for rent.
Just then, my phone pings with a text. My heart skips a beat and my stomach twinges with a flutter of hope. Disgusted with myself for hoping it might be my husband, I grab a glass of water, taking my time before checking to see who texted me. Ah. It’s Mateo.
At a shoot, but I heard about the Luka thing today. Chin up, girl.
My heart rate skyrockets as I read the message over again, completely confused. I know better than to expect a reply when Mateo’s working, but I text back anyway: What Luka thing??
His reply comes back right away. Oh shit. Can’t talk rn, will call you as soon as we wrap up. xoxoxxoxo
What is it, Mat? Just tell me.
There’s no response. I take a deep breath and stare into space for a minute, realizing I’ve been way too absent from the world—and social media.
But burying my head in the sand is the only thing that’s been keeping me sane.
Is Luka already dating someone else? Was he seen out and about with Monica?
Did he release a statement about our impending divorce?
There’s no point speculating right now, and I’m sure as hell not ready to turn on the news until I have a fresh drink in my hand. Guess that means it’s time to get out of the apartment.
After changing out of the yoga pants and ratty T-shirt I’ve been wearing for the last two days, I pull a baseball hat over my messy ponytail and de-grease my face with a quick swipe of loose powder, applying a few drops of liquid lip and cheek tint for good measure.
That’s about all I have the energy for. By now, Mr. Kibbles has started running around in excited circles, anticipating our departure.
I wait for him to sit still before I clip on his leash, then slip into my flip-flops and head out the door.
The sun is bright and welcoming as we step outside, a perfect antidote to my low mood. Pausing on the stoop, I take a full breath of the clean air and let the heat seep into me.
My phone starts pinging with social media notifications, but I shove it to the bottom of my bag so I can take my walk in peace.
The only thing I’m interested in right now is hearing from Mateo, and he won’t be calling for a few hours.
I’d rather a close friend break the news to me than have to find out about whatever’s going on with Luka via random tweets or IG posts.
Besides, I’m sure the notifications are just a bunch of shares and likes and mentions of the images of Mateo and me that exploded all over TMZ and social media—as intended—while I was in LA.
The infuriating thing is, even with all the pictures and resulting chatter connected to my name, Luka never said a word to me.
Not even an angry text berating me for causing detriment to the DRM image.
Nothing. So I’ve taken to ignoring my social media alerts.
I have zero interest in what other people have to say about my nights of hard clubbing.
The only person I was trying to get at has gone radio silent.
It’s obvious he couldn’t care less about what I do.
I mean yes, I was the one who asked for the divorce, but there’s still a part of me that wants Luka to wish that I’d come back. To miss me. To fight for me. The fact that he hasn’t just proves that he never loved me to begin with. Maybe we’re both better off.
There’s a little family-owned grocery store a few blocks down, and luckily, they carry alcohol and organic produce because I’m going to need a vodka twist with my dinner. Lately it feels like the only things I can manage to do successfully are stuff my face and drink.
“I’ll be back in ten minutes,” I promise Mr. Kibbles, clipping him to the post outside the store where the owners always keep a few bowls of fresh water.
There’s a fabric awning overhead, so I know he’ll be comfortable in the shade.
He gives me a sad look, then curls into a ball on the sidewalk and rests his head on his paws.
When I go inside the market, it’s quiet. I take one last look out the huge glass windows to make sure Kibby is okay, then grab the ten or so items I came for and head to the checkout line.
“How do you think Mr. Zoric will react to seeing his son take the witness stand? Was he aware beforehand that his children would be subpoenaed?”
My head snaps up as the words reach my ears.
The voice sounds exactly like a news reporter asking questions.
Glancing desperately around, I find a small TV sitting on a shelf behind the cashier at the checkout.
I can barely see the screen thanks to the people in line in front of me, but I can tell it’s set to the local news.
I shift to my left to see the screen better.
The ticker on the bottom says something about the Konstantin Zoric trial…son Luka set to testify during today’s proceedings.
I can feel my face go hot, my chest suddenly tight.
“Oh my God,” I murmur.
The older woman in front of me turns around and gives a knowing nod. “I’ve been following the trial for weeks, and they only announced today that the son is testifying, like it was a big secret. Can you imagine testifying against your own father?”
She made a tsk-tsk sound and shakes her head.
I can’t even respond. Mateo’s text makes perfect sense now.
He must have seen something about this on the news.
And my phone notifications? Probably lots of speculation around why I haven’t been spotted supporting my husband at the courthouse.
My heart sinks. The rest of Luka’s family obviously knows that I’m not there.
I’m too afraid to check and see if Emzee and Tori have reached out.
I’m sure they’re wondering where the hell I am.
I can’t breathe.
Luka is testifying against his father and I’m not there to support him.
I never realized he’d get subpoenaed. How was I supposed to get that information? It’s not like we’re speaking, and he probably doesn’t even know I’m back from LA yet. In fact, he may have even assumed that I’d have no interest in supporting him anyway. But I would.
I will.
Of course I will.
Regardless of where we are in our relationship, I care about Luka. Deeply. My gut says I should be there right now at his side, not only to stand with him, but to hold him up.
Cursing softly under my breath, I dig some money out of my pocket. All I have is a hundred. I don’t even care about change as I cut around the line, holding my basket high as I weave through. Mid-swipe with a bag of chips in hand, the cashier looks up at me in surprise.
“I’m so sorry. I have an emergency. There’s like ten things in here. No way it adds up to more than this. Please, just keep the change. I have to go.”
I literally throw the money at her and bolt out the door, basket and all.
My phone keeps pinging as I grab Mr. Kibbles, hurry back to the apartment, put him in his kennel, and change in the middle of the living room.
I throw on slim dark slacks and a blouse, a pair of flats, then pull my hair into a tight bun.
I don’t even bother to take the groceries out of the basket to put them away, I just push whatever’s in the fridge to the side and slide the entire basket onto the shelf.
I’m out the door with my sunglasses on the moment my Uber pulls up.
The only thing running through my mind is that I have to get to Luka.
He must be so overwhelmed right now. I can’t imagine what it feels like to have to take the stand against your own father.
He knew this might happen. We all did. But the lawyers said it was doubtful that it would ever come to fruition.
And now, it’s happened. I silently chant for the Uber to go faster.
Luka may not want me…but in this moment, I know he needs me.