Chapter 21
The Aftermath
Nate
After leaving Julian’s apartment, something ugly and necessary finally catches up with me. All the avoidance, excuses, and pretending I hadn’t detonated my own life … corners me. I’m being so suffocated by my own choices that I’m done being kind to myself, and even more done being Tessa’s Nice Guy.
Andrzej and my mom tried to tell me what it looked like from the outside, but I didn’t listen because I was so terrified to look inward.
I’d spent months blaming Robyn’s schedule for the way things cracked between us. But it was all me. What I let happen. What I allowed my understanding of love to become. The mess with Tessa wasn’t an accident. It was a weakness I fed by not drawing the line sooner.
So Monday morning, on my lunch break, I walk to her marketing agency, 3Ds, and press the elevator button.
Inside my pockets, I clench my fists, uncaring about how my words could affect her, only worried about having Tessa dealt with.
Once the door slides open, the lights to the company’s lobby are unnaturally bright, with a sterile buzzing.
My stomach churns with the kind of anger you have to throw at someone.
Tessa looks up from her cubicle as I approach.
For a split second, her smile flickers to something I’ve seen but only now figured out it wasn’t affection.
It is calculation and entitlement tangled into one expression she’s worn for years—because I allowed her to think she owned parts of me she’s never had.
I press my hand flat against her desk, steadying the tremor in my fingers. This isn’t a pleasant chat to rekindle shit. “What did I tell you would happen if you messed with Robyn again, Tessa?” I ask, voice low and dangerous, restraint she doesn’t deserve wrapped tight around every word.
She leans back in her office chair and pouts her bottom lip. “What did she make you think I did now?” She spins slightly and crosses her legs. Months ago, my gaze would’ve dropped. Another betrayal I let happen. Not today.
“She didn’t make me think anything. Andrzej showed me your profile. I saw the caption.”
Her pout turns into a smirk. “So, what now? You were all too happy to hang out with me after my last video.”
My skin crawls, and I force a breath through my nose. “I need you to take those videos down. Both of them. And apologize to Robyn.”
“Why? I heard she’s not even in the state anymore.” She shrugs, scrolling her phone like she’s bored. “Leaves room for all kinds of new dalliances, doesn’t it?”
Rage flares so hard I taste metal. “I’m not here to explain why I don’t want to be with you.
My reasons haven’t changed since we were twenty and you argued we made ‘sense’, or when I finally pushed you away too gently and too late.
” I lean in, lowering my voice so only she hears the threat.
“I should have seen it sooner, but it’s three times you crossed a line with me and three times I told you no. ”
She smirks. “The last time I made a move, you kissed me back.” She trails the edge of her desk with a manicured finger, and I pull away when she gets close to my hand. She scoffs. “I don’t know what’s gotten into you. You were all too happy to pretty much date me.”
“I never dated you. I never wanted to. I wanted to—”
“Say it, Nate. What did you want?”
I know what I wanted, it’s shameful, but it isn’t for Tessa to hear. She’s not the one I owe answers to. “Take them down,” I growl.
She lets out a brittle laugh. “I won’t. Besides, sooner or later, you’ll need me. Nobody else has managed to make you feel big and needed the way I have since we were teens, Nate.”
“Do it. Or I promise you—I’ll make your life hell.”
“You wouldn’t even know where to begin. Don’t make threats you can’t enforce.” She chuckles.
“I wouldn’t be so sure I can’t enforce them. Where there’s a will, there’s a way. And I’m feeling really fucking determined.”
I turn and head back toward the elevator. A pair of heels clicks behind me, getting closer until a sharp voice pierces the silence.
“Excuse me.”
I look back over my shoulder. A short woman stands there, ashy-blonde curls streaked with black framing her warm, dark skin, her mouth pulled into an unimpressed, razor-thin line.
“You were extremely loud. And I’d love to discuss your issue further in the privacy of a small conference room.”
She gestures toward the row of glass-walled rooms lining the corridor and walks toward the room, turning her head once to confirm I’m following.
Why the hell not?
The woman closes the glass door behind us. Outside, Tessa pretends to focus on her computer, though she inches forward with the need to eavesdrop. The curly-haired lady lowers the blinds so she can’t see us.
Her dark-brown eyes shift, and now, with the door clicked shut, her irritation melts into fire. “Sit,” she mutters.
I do, my pulse cracking against my ribs.
She crosses her arms and leans against the table. “I get the sense that you’re not the problem here.”
That startles me enough to look up.
“She’s been skating on thin ice since she started. She was hired by the CEO, who has some questionable views on work ethics. Her interpersonal conduct is … concerning. Maybe we can help each other.”
I let out a harsh laugh. “How would we be able to help each other?”
She doesn’t smile. “I heard enough to know she’s been harassing someone. Our employees’ social media presence must be impeccable.”
Cold satisfaction curls low in my gut. “What do I need to do?”
She tilts her head, red lips curling into an uneven smile that flashes her teeth. “Send me everything. I’ll loop in HR. And …” She lowers her voice. “I take harassment claims seriously here. Especially when they involve targeted content. We are in marketing, after all.”
My breath leaves me in one controlled exhale. “And there’ll be consequences for her? Not just a slap on the wrist?”
The woman taps her red acrylic nails on the glass tables.
“I just—” I exhale. “What do you get from this?”
She stands and smooths her blazer, then checks her impeccable nail polish. “Well, I enjoy a clean work environment and a good side of karma served cold.”
She straightens. “Find my email on the company website. I will handle it.”
“And your name is?”
“Carmen Camacho, Associate Creative Director. Lovely to meet you.”
I nod, throat tight. For the first time in months, I feel solid ground beneath me.
“Thank you,” I say.
Carmen gives a small, approving nod. “Don’t thank me yet.”
By the end of the day, I’m wiped but still unwilling to face the emptiness of my apartment.
I’d give anything to trip over her shoes in the hallway again or find her sweaters draped over the back of the couch.
I swear I’d never bitch about the mess or give her grief for not folding her clothes.
I’d just revel in every stray thing she left behind—my apartment and chest whole again.
So instead of going home, I’m staring into a pint of cheap beer at the dive bar around the corner, looking for answers on the foam to decide if this is the right thing to do.
The counter’s sticky from spilled alcohol.
My watch clunks against the wood every time I shift my wrist. The stool wobbles if I lean too far back.
The door to my right swings open with a chime, and a gust of cold air whooshes in.
To my surprise, Julian steps through in scrubs and a jacket, hair sticking up in every direction.
The shadows under his eyes are deeper than I’ve ever seen them.
He doesn’t look like Robyn’s suave best friend. He looks wrecked.
His gaze lands on me and his eyebrows rise, but he still walks over and drops onto the stool beside mine.
“What are you doing in Bucktown?” I ask, knowing his apartment’s closer to where Robyn’s is—closer to the hospital they work at. Robyn’s was. Worked at.
He rubs a hand over the back of his neck. “Tried to meet someone. Couldn’t get a hold of her.”
“Another girl best friend?”
He scoffs and signals the bartender for the same beer I have. “I wish.”
“Tessa’s boss is unhappy with her. She’s apparently a bitch at work too.”
“You’re surprised because …?”
“I’m thinking—”
He lets out a mocking sigh. “That’s new.”
“Just hear me out, will you?” I shift on the stool so I can look at him. “I talked to her boss. I’m pretty sure it’ll cost her the job. I need those videos taken down.”
Julian pinches the bridge of his nose, snorting. “Let me ask you something.” He takes a long sip. “When Tessa posted that video of Robyn and Daniel”—he keeps going, oblivious when I flinch at the guy’s name—“do you believe she crossed a line? That she was trying to jeopardize Robyn’s career?”
I nod. There’s no doubt in my mind that was her intention but—I exhale. “I think I led her on, man.”
Julian turns toward me.
“I’ve been thinking, she made a move when we were teenagers.
I brushed it off as a kid thing. Then again when we were finishing undergrad.
She asked me to move with her. Start fresh wherever she ended up.
” I stare into the beer. “She told me how much easier life would be if I came. And for a second … yeah, something tugged.” I tighten my fingers around the glass, more of a twitch than something conscious.
“But it was easy to say no. I wanted to help her, but I didn’t want her.
” I take a sip. “And she dated other people. So I thought she’d moved on, and I chalked it up to life-stage jitters. ”
Julian cuts in. “But the third time she made a move … you responded.”
I wince.
“So why, dude? If you’re supposedly head over heels for Robyn?”
I stare at the warped reflection of the bar lights in my beer. “It’s stupid.”
Julian doesn’t tease me about it. “My dad left my mom when I was nine,” I add.
He doesn’t interrupt, he just waits, as exhausted as he looks.
I’m starting to see why Robyn and him are so close.
“And … my mom’s like Robyn, you know? Ambitious, determined.
And her hours have always been insane.” He nods.
“But her demands just kept taking over more space and time and … I felt myself dwindling in Robyn’s life.
” I swipe a hand under my eyes. Julian stares at his drink.
“And a bunch of shit my father said took root. Including how it’s so much easier when someone’s just …
When you’re someone’s whole world.” I huff out a humorless breath.
“So when Tessa showed up acting like I was the best thing ever every time I helped her, I stopped feeling sidelined.”
Julian grimaces. “That’s so fucked up.”
“Don’t I know it.”
It falls quiet between us before he asks, “So what are you going to do now?”
I swallow. “I want to chase after Robyn.”
“Robyn needs something other than a stalker, man.” He rotates his glass, fingers trailing over the condensation. “And she’s … I kinda get where you’re coming from. This profession … Sometimes, I feel small in my own life, big in the OR. Replaceable everywhere else. What good’s someone like that?”
His sagged shoulders and droopy eyes have me concerned. “Are you good?”
He shrugs. “On top of the fucking world. If I wasn’t, she’d be here with bells on. So until I’m not … I’m going to figure this shit out on my own. Give her space. So are you.”
I narrow my eyes, determined to ignore his advice but also aware of this tenuous truce between us. “Well,” I mutter, bumping my shoulder into his, “if you ever need someone to drink cheap beer with …”
He glances at me. “You trying to be my friend?”
“You have an opening.”
He snorts. “Nah. You’re not pretty enough to look at.”
I bark out a short laugh and shove his shoulder. He shoves back, and my stool wobbles.
Julian’s phone beeps once. Then again.
“Are you on call?”
He shakes his head. “Oh, fuck. Look at this.” He tilts his phone my way.
It’s Tessa’s profile again, the photo’s still of her back, showing only her blonde hair.
This time, she’s posted a still picture of Robyn and me from the one time a year I post on social media.
She’s in scrubs, badge clipped to her pocket, holding a glass of wine she barely touched because she was worried she’d fall asleep on the train.
I’m in a wrinkled button-down. I recognize it from our rushed Valentine’s Day lunch—after her shift and before she crashed at home.
With her turned halfway to me, smiling, we both look every bit as in love as I felt, no matter how much I fucked up.
Then I see the caption. Because why would Tessa be reposting some photo of Robyn and me? As I’m learning, with Tessa, captions always make it worse. Look at this doctor drinking in the middle of the day. How do we know she wasn’t on call? #UnprofessionalMuch #baddoctors.
Somehow, I’d missed who this friend of mine really was.
I thought she was just intense and misunderstood.
I’m not stupid. I build homes and offices out of nothing.
I can look at angles and make informed guesses where the foundation’s gone wrong.
And somehow, with this person, the reality of who she’s been was hovering just out of reach, mocking me all this time.
Because I’d been too blind by my own emotional wound.
My relationship with Robyn didn’t collapse. It was demolished. I tighten my jaw and grind my teeth. “Well, that does it.” I make eye contact for the check. “She’s going fucking down.”
And I feel the clarity from finally choosing the right side of the line.