Layla
. . .
The hustle and bustle of Santa Monica hums outside my window, a blur of traffic and voices, but inside my apartment, it’s suffocatingly quiet.
My phone is warm against my ear as Amelia’s voice fills the silence, telling me about Maverick, her words spilling fast and sweet. I smile, even as my chest aches, staring out at the Santa Monica pier lights blinking against the dark water.
“He still hasn’t sold it,” she says, and I can hear the smile in her voice. “My apartment in LA. He said it’s ours. For whenever we want to come back, or when we go to Moss Cove, we’ll always have a place for us.”
I sink onto the couch, pushing my knees under me. My throat constricts as I fight back the tears threatening to escape.
God, she says it so casually, but it knocks the air right out of me. Maverick refuses to let go, so that they’ll always have a place to return to, to cherish the spot they have together.
Someone who fucking cares about her and the little things, someone who cherishes the things she loves, despite the cost.
I want that. I want someone to care about me like that—to stay, to think about me before I even think about myself, to want to spoil me without anything in return.
My memory drifts back to the glass vase on my acrylic desk in my office. The tulips inside are wilted, their stems drooping, petals browned at the edges. They resemble an apology that was never truly sincere. I clench my jaw, heat bubbling beneath my ribs.
Anger tends to sneak in, right beneath the sadness. And that’s what I’ve been feeling lately, sad. Despite having this “sunny demeanor,” as Catalina says, no one truly knows how I really feel.
Amelia keeps talking, giggling between words as I hear Maverick kissing her, laughing between kisses. I swipe the tear threatening to escape beneath my lower lash line. I murmur something supportive back because she deserves to gush.
She deserves to have this.
When the call ends, the silence is worse than before.
I grab my phone, my thumb hovering over the screen, my pulse pounding in my throat. I type quickly before I can overthink it.
Layla
Hey Reed, would Friday work for me to come by? I mean, it’s not like I can teleport there lol
I stare at my message, the cursor blinking as if daring me to take it back. My thumb hovers, hesitating, then I hit send.
My phone lands on the couch beside me, screen fading to black.
After sending the text, I stay busy doing the dishes that didn’t really need scrubbing, refolding clothes that were already folded, and then folding them again. Anything to keep my hands moving so my mind won’t spin.
Minutes drag on, and my phone remains silent. I try to tell myself not to care, that this is just business anyway—filming, content, the excuse I’m telling myself, but beneath that, my chest tightens with something that feels suspiciously like hope.
Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.
I snatch my phone before I can second-guess, sucking in a breath when I see his name glowing on my screen.
Reed
Friday works.
That’s it. Nothing more. But it’s enough to make me smile.
A sliver of light in the darkness.
“Why the fuck are you smiling?”
My head snaps up. Brian’s standing in the doorway, keys jangling in his hand, his brows furrowed.
“Nothing,” I say quickly, tucking the phone against my chest before slipping it into my pocket.
He scoffs, his lips curling into that smirk I’ve come to hate. “Don’t wait up. I’m hanging with Rebecca tonight, going to Downtown.”
I swallow hard, rise to my feet, and walk past him before he can see how much it affects me.
In my room, I grab my phone and open the group chat with my girls. Fingers flying before I can lose my nerve.
Layla
Change of plans. Leaving for Tennessee next Monday turned into leaving early bc i hate it here
Catalina
bitch, spill
Catalina
If Brian did something, tell me right now so I can fly to LA and set his shit on fire.
Amelia
Same.
Amelia
Except I can’t fly since I’m 9 months pregnant. I’ll mail him Rex’s shit
Catalina
Who even thinks like that
Catalina
Anyway, come here early. Carter can deal. I’ll make him sleep in the barn if he complains.
Layla
You and I both know that man is glued to your hip
Layla
Brian didn’t do anything
Amelia
ur lying
Catalina
don’t lie bc i will find out
Catalina
Okay, but are we talking Ruby Ridge early, like tomorrow?
Layla
Yes bitch, aren’t you paying attention?
Amelia
good i need girls time.
Catalina
wow layla rude
Layla
catalina shut up
For the first time all day, my smile doesn’t feel forced; my girls, my soul sisters.
But it kills me that I lie to them about how Brian really treats me. I just don’t want to say anything, I can’t.
I stand there, that small spark still in my chest, and begin opening drawers. My duffel bag falls onto the bed with a thud. I fold clothes, roll up jeans, and pack toiletries into side pockets.
Our bedroom door creaks open again. Brian’s heavy footsteps reverberate off the wood, and the soft jangle of his keys comes into auditory reach. My stomach drops before I even hear his voice.
“Where the hell do you think you’re going?”
He leans against the doorway with his arms crossed, his eyes narrowing at the half-packed bag on our bed. He scoffs. “You think you can just dip out? Who’s gonna make us money?”
I straighten slowly, my hands stilling on the zipper. My heart pounds, but my voice comes out even. “I’m going to Tennessee. Trying out some new content.”
He stares at me, long enough that the silence stretches, prickling across my skin. He scoffs again, rolling his eyes this time. “Whatever. It won’t work because you need me.”
Need him? But I suppose I’m the idiot for staying.
I refuse to flinch at his cruel words. Instead, I bend, grab my bag, and sling it onto my shoulder. My jaw aches from how hard I’m clenching it, but I don’t look away.
He pushes off the doorframe, his lips curling into that sly smirk that makes my stomach twist. “Pay for your own shit,” he tosses over his shoulder, already walking out. “Gonna go hang with my girl.”
That fucker.
The sound of the door slamming rattles the walls, but I don’t let myself crumble.
Not this time.
I suck in a breath through my nose, then let it out through my mouth, forcing my shoulders back, and focusing on the weight of my bag digging into my palm.
Tennessee is waiting.