She’s scrappy yes, but she can’t hold her own against a man who wants to hurt her. I’m not giving anyone the chance.
“I’m calling Ty,” I say. “To pick you up. I’ll leave. Give you the chance to pack in peace. I won’t ask anything else from you. Do what you want with the next five days. After I make sure you get home okay.”
Her eyes narrow. “You’re not doing a noble thing.”
“Even so.”
She turns, putting her back to me. “Fine.” Her voice just barely steadies. “If you leave right now.”
“Okay.”
“Not soon. This instant.”
Fuck, this might be the last time I see her. It swallows me whole. The fear of losing her. A need to hold her close. To inhale every detail. “Goodbye, Eve.”
She says nothing.
“Take care. Please.” I give her a moment to respond, but she doesn’t.
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Eve
Ty arrives quickly. Fixes two drinks—gin, on the rocks, of course—brings my things to a cab, whisks me into the back seat.
He doesn’t try to reason with me. Or ask what’s wrong. Or offer some explanation for his brother.
He doesn’t remind me of the promise I made in New York.
Or how I don’t really have a say in where I go. If Ian wanted, he could demand I stay in his apartment until the end of day thirty.
He doesn’t suggest that this—Ian only insisting on arranging safe transportation—is generous.
I don’t have to say it’s bullshit. I’m an adult. I’ve taken care of myself, in New York City, for a long time. I can find my way around London. I can get to the airport.
I can.
But it’s different being here. Unfamiliar. In an exciting way. And an unnerving one. I don’t know the subway map. I don’t know the best way to the airport. I don’t know the places with the best tea.
Ian does.
This is still his city.
And I…
Ugh.
The cab stops at a quiet street. Mostly apartments, a nearby park, a pub. It’s still early, but I know where I want to go.
Ty helps me out of the car. After he pays the driver, he grabs my suitcase and leads me to a new apartment building.
Through a lux lounge. Up the elevator to the penthouse. It’s beautiful—all white tile and hardwood and wide windows.
Clean. Modern. Sparse.
No. Not sparse exactly. It isn’t like Ian’s place in New York. It isn’t free of the things that make a house a home. It’s just the touches are subtle. Small. Framed photos of family. Packed bookshelf. Pots of flowers.
And missing spaces where framed photos used to be. Has he already started to erase his ex from his life? Or does he need time to process?
Is it better to forget someone who hurt you? It can’t be better to forget.
“I’ll put you in the spare bedroom.” He looks to me for permission. When I nod, he carries my suitcase to a room down the hall. Leaves it there. Returns. “Rory left some toiletries.” He pushes through the hurt in his voice. “If you need anything else.”
“It’s only for today.”
“You’re not going to shower today?”
Right. He’s not the one who lied to me. I shouldn’t let my resting bitch face escalate to active bitch face. “Thanks, Ty.”
He nods of course. “Are you hungry?”
I shake my head.
“Thirsty?”
“What do you drink here?”
His laugh is soft. Easy. “Anything you like.”
“What if I like hard seltzer?”
He offers me a sad smile. It hurts him too, filling this role. Because he likes me? Or because he doesn’t want his brother to get hurt? “Anything a reasonable person would like.”
“Were you really a bartender?”
He nods.
“How’s your Manhattan?”
“Homesick?”
“Maybe…” I don’t usually drink bourbon. And I certainly didn’t have many Manhattans at Devil’s Point. There’s no way our bitters were worthy of any bourbon. “I thought… I don’t know. Whatever you’re having.”
He nods. Fills two glasses with filtered water from the fridge door. Looks to me. “The couch or the counter?” He motions to the kitchen island.
“Couch.”
He brings the glasses to the couch. Motions for me to sit.
I hug the pastel purple blanket as I sit. It’s not enough to comfort, but it’s something. It’s all I have.
Ty watches me for a moment, then he moves into the kitchen. And, well, he still keeps one eye on me—it’s all one, big room—but the other stays on drinks.
He really does have everything. Bitters, orange peel, maraschino cherry, Vermouth, shaker, cocktail glass.
He finishes the drinks. Brings them to the table. Hands one to me. “Cheers.” He holds his glass to toast.
“Cheers.” I tap my glass against his. Take a long sip. It’s been awhile since I’ve had a Manhattan. It’s sweeter than I remember. And stronger. My head is already spinning.
But that must be my imagination. Alcohol doesn’t absorb this quickly.
And I…
Maybe that’s it. I need to get drunk, cry to Addie, go home… cry to Addie more. Not think about how I’m three thousand miles from home in a near-stranger’s apartment.