It’s easy to avoid the reporters.

They’re looking for Altin Yang, the lead attorney for the joint defense of Angel Lopez and José Garcia, not any of his minions.

I round the corner to the front of the courthouse and see the man himself, speaking somberly into the multiple mics shoved in his face. At his right hand, is Mike.

I’d seen Mike in the courtroom, along with Taryn. Altin had made his Hunger Games duo into a triple threat, and the three of us stood by his side as he argued the arraignments of both Lopez and Garcia. Mike kept it professional and so did I. Even he was smart enough not to hiss insults at me in front of Altin, and I wasn’t dumb enough to stoop to his level.

Unsurprisingly, the defendants weren’t granted bail. There was no way the judge was going to allow either of the two to be released on their own recognizance when they have expedited access to Mexico whenever they choose to invoke it.

None of us assumed we’d win. Altin simply wanted to stage a show in front of Spencer Rolfe, to let the state know we wouldn’t go down without a fight.

For once, I’m thankful for Mike wanting to take the spotlight. I have no green feelings about him standing next to Altin and being on national news, broadcasting his grim, serious-lawyer face all the United States. All I want to do is find a car, disappear behind the tinted windows, and leave.

Ben Donahue is Ryan Delaney.

It’s fact. One I’m angry at myself for not seeing sooner, and pissed at hearing from his lips. I’m upset, because I don’t know what to do with it. Him. The man who broke my heart and hid the remnants behind an assumed identity.

I spot a cab idling at the corner, and sprint toward it—an excellent runner in heels. The driver, leaning against the passenger side, flicks his cigarette to the ground and nods that he’ll take my fare.

“Thank God,” I mutter, and slip into the back.

I look up as I’m sliding on my seatbelt, and notice Mike’s attention on me.

His brows furrow, he makes a move to break away from the throng, but I say to the driver, “Drive.”

He turns the engine and we merge into traffic. I pretend deep interest in my phone, refusing to glance anywhere but at the screen…but I feel him, anyway.

As we motor away, I glance back through the rear window. Ben appears from the side of the courthouse, his sports duffel like a blue beacon of light among so much grey brick and black outfits. We lock eyes, but I flip around before he fades into the distance.

I tell myself that my clenched jaw, the hot rise in temperature behind my eyes, are nothing but an expression of stressful overload.

A heart, once broken, can’t break into the same pieces a second time.

I distract myself by reading through Taryn’s texts about an hour ago:

Taryn: At the courthouse. Meet us there, dammit, because Mike is here too. Yang doesn’t need the info yet, but will expect a full briefing after the hearing.

I text Taryn back, Don’t give Yang anything. I made a mistake tracing the funds. I’ll explain when I see you, but whatever you do, do NOT give it to Yang!

Taryn: Ok, but this is why Yang let us come to the arraignment today. An excuse is better than giving him wrong info. I’ll think of something, but you owe me.

Hopefully, this is enough of a delay that I’m gifted the time to figure out my next steps. More people are involved here, not simply Ben and I. There’s Taryn, too.

I glance at my phone when there’s another ding.

Ben: You have to talk to me. I’ll give you time, but don’t give up on me.

Ryan.

I black the screen on my phone and shove it into my tote. Tilt my head back and close my eyes.

Pretend the sounds of the outside city traffic and screaming sirens isn’t my world crashing down on my shoulders.

I make it back to my apartment in record time. Midday traffic, surprisingly, wasn’t too bad.

There’s no way I’m going back to the office, so I send an email to Altin, cc Taryn and Mike, and tell them I’m not feeling well and have to take the afternoon off.

As I kick off my shoes and dump my tote on the floor in my entranceway, I don’t think I’ve ever, in my entire career, taken a day.

Sighing, I peel off my blazer and throw it over one of the kitchen stools as I pass, and raid the fridge for wine.

That’s right. I’m day drinking on a Tuesday. Fuck it.

There’s a satisfying pop as I uncork a crisp bottle of Chardonnay—Mom’s favorite—and as it sloshes into my wine glass, it’s a soothing sound in such a quiet room.

If Mike were here, music would be playing somewhere in our hidden speakers, the Red Zone would be displaying talking heads at top volume on the TV, and I’d be in the bedroom, on my laptop, going over caselaw and yelling at him to at least choose one over the other.

I stand in the center of my kitchen and take in the empty surroundings as I hold the full wine glass near my chest.

The chime of the doorbell jolts me out of the fugue I fell into, and I frown. Don’t move.

“Who is it? Mike, I swear, if that’s you…”

“It’s me!”

The familiar female trill has me more curious than annoyed. “Carter?”

“Yes! Can we come in?”

We?

On another sigh, I set my glass down on the marble top and pad to the door, figuring I should have the decency to explain that I want to be left alone to their face instead of through metal.

“Seriously, Carter,” I say as I swing open the door. “If you and Locke are here to—oh. Not Locke.”

“Definitely not,” says a perky, small blonde in giant black-framed glasses standing behind Carter.

She’s in black, ripped denim with puffy navy jacket, and beside her, I can barely see Carter’s eerie, golden eyes under her maroon knit cap with a giant fluffy pom-pom on top.

“Hi,” Carter says again.

“Hey,” I say, with much less perkiness. “What are you guys doing here?”

“Locke said you were home,” Carter says.

“How’d he know I was here?”

“Twin sense?” the girl in the back chimes in.

“I’m sorry, who are you?” I ask.

“Whoops,” Carter says apologetically. “This is—”

“Sophie.” The girl shoves out her hand, and I shake it on automatic.

“How’d Locke know I was taking the day off?”

“—I thought I’d take the opportunity to come over. And you know, hang out a while. I heard about the hearing thing at court. You probably weren’t going to make it to lunch.”

What’s left unsaid is, I’m not gonna give you the chance to cancel, Astor.

Ugh, friends. I forget how much they care and want to make things better.

“Come on in,” I say, and back away from the door with reluctance and shame. Carter was willing to wait for me around my office for a few hours today. The least I can do is let her in for a while.

“Pretty sure your brother has put a GPS tracker in your phone,” Sophie says as she passes me.

I raise my eyes to the ceiling and follow behind them after shutting the door.

Sophie thunks her boots near my hallway closet, but quickly becomes distracted. “Oh! Wine! My kind of girl. Can I pour us some glasses?”

“Sure,” I say. “Doesn’t look like I’m getting rid of you any time soon.”

“Not if I like you.” Sophie grins, then makes herself at home in my kitchen.

Carter sits on my wide gray-suede couch, and pats the seat next to her. “Come take a load off.”

I can spot a trap when I see one, but I’m too tired to put up a fight. Plus, Mike and I bought top-of-the-line furniture. That couch is really comfy and my feet are aching to be raised.

Sophie clatters around my cupboards, and I swipe my wine glass on the way and sit next to Carter.

She smiles, rests her arm on the back of the couch, and curls up her legs to face me, her body language practically screaming, LET ME BE YOUR THERAPIST.

I take a long, quenching, sip of wine.

“Seriously, how did you know I was here?” I ask her.

“Ben texted Locke. Locke texted me.”

I pretend not to feel hurt over the idea that Ben summoned his best friend and my brother to do any emotional clean-up I may require. “What the hell do they want? Did Locke think sending a female in his place would somehow get me to regurgitate my feelings?”

“No, it’s because I’m the least annoying of the three,” Carter says. “And we’re all worried about you.”

“The case is almost over,” I say on a sigh. “By the time trial starts, if there is a trial—”

“That’s not what I’m talking about.”

I delay any response by taking another sip.

“Something else is going on with you, Astor. Something personal. And I want you to know—”

“Mike and I broke up.”

Carter sits ramrod straight. “What?”

I stare at my glass of wine, now one-third full, blaming it for the sudden confession.

Yet…it feels rather freeing, blurting it out like that, no longer containing it in the cold, steel vault within my heart. Not to mention, it’s a hell of a lot better than saying, Ben’s in the witness protection program and I might’ve screwed it all up for him.

Sophie swoops in at that moment, laying down three very full glasses of wine on my marble coffee table. She gently pries my mostly-empty one from my hand. “You need a refill, new friend.”

“What happened?” Carter asks, scooting closer.

“He cheated.”

Another, wondrous thrill courses through me, almost like exorcising a demon.

“That rat bastard,” Carter mutters. “I fucking knew it.”

After she refills it, Sophie cups the bottom of my glass and tips it to my mouth. “There, there.”

“Multiple times,” I say after a gulp of wine.

“Whiskey. We need hard brown stuff,” Sophie says, and goes on a new search.

“In the bottom cupboard,” I say.

“Do you mind that Soph’s here?” Carter asks once Sophie’s out of earshot. “I can ask her to…”

“No, no, it’s fine.” I wave it off. “I have a difficult time opening up to people I know. Strangers, I have no problem dumping on.”

Carter pats my leg. “Eventually, you’re going to see this as a good thing. Mike wasn’t the right man for you.”

“And you all knew it.”

Carter pauses. “I think…everyone was letting you make your own decision on that.”

“Classic attorney answer. You missed your calling.”

“Astor…” Carter approaches her next words carefully. “I’m not sure you’re handling it okay.”

At that, I let out a loud guffaw. Mike, in all his inadequacies, is the last thing on my mind. But Carter can’t know that. “I’m coping as best I can.”

She frowns. “And Ben? Has he been helping you through it?”

My shoulders go stiff. “What does Ben have to do with this?”

“Well, I’ve noticed…I mean, it’s hard not to. The two of you in a room together, it’s like nothing else can exist. You two take up all the oxygen. I had to wonder—”

“If we’ve hooked up?” Yes. “No.”

“Okay, well, have you thought about trying?”

I stare at Carter like she just proposed that she, Sophie and I engage in a lesbian orgy. “Did you just say what I think you said?”

“Well, yeah.” Carter shrugs. “Nothing like letting off a little steam, and you and Ben would explode the roof off this apartment complex.”

She’s not wrong.

“There’s no sexual tension between us,” I say.

“Now you’re being a shit lawyer. You can lie better than that.” Carter smirks behind her wine glass.

“I’m not a believer in healing heartbreak by jumping into bed with another man,” I say a little too primly. Mostly because that’s exactly what I’ve done.

“Not what I’m getting at,” Carter says. She seems to think a while, rubbing her lips together and staring off in the direction Sophie went, before continuing, “I was really difficult on Locke.”

“Huh?”

“When I first met him. When I had to give Lily up to him. I was brutal.”

“I remember,” I say, then squint at her, wondering where she’s going with this.

“My best friend had just passed away, and the only piece of her that remained—that I loved—was going to someone who, I believed, had no idea how much of a precious person he was getting. I was broken, and saw Locke only through jagged edges. I didn’t give him a chance.”

“Carter, I know all of this. We’ve forgiven you. He’s forgiven you, if there’s even something to forgive. You were protecting a child who couldn’t speak for herself—”

“I often wonder if I could’ve healed my heart a lot faster by opening up to him sooner.” Carter shrugs. “Would’ve saved both of us a lot of suffering.”

I resume squinting at her. “You’re drawing a parallel to me and Ben. I don’t appreciate it.”

“I’m not telling you this to gather sympathy,” Carter says. “I’m telling you this because sometimes we can’t see past our own wounds, and that only makes us bleed longer. Locke’s a good, terrific man. And so is Ben.”

“I agree,” I say. “But Ben and I…” I stifle another forlorn laugh into my wine. How does one explain about the college dare-night-stand, the years of not speaking because of it, only to be trumped by him throwing me over a judge’s couch and fucking me from behind just before he admitted to having a secret identity involving a family massacre?

“He’s Locke’s best friend,” I mumble instead.

“Is that what’s holding you back? I’m sure if you talked to Locke…”

I shake my head. “Locke’s set in a lot of things. And screwing up his friendship with Ben would be up there.”

Locke knowing about the dare would definitely tear them apart.

Locke finding out about this afternoon would drive a deeper wedge.

Locke understanding that his friend is really Ryan Delaney would throw him so far for a loop, I don’t know if he’d ever forgive me.

I don’t want to talk about this anymore, especially considering how good Carter is at spotting any mistakes. I can’t, for Ben’s sake, let anyone know the truth.

“Besides, I just broke up with my fiancé. I don’t want to jump into something so very, incredibly complicated.”

Carter nods, but adds, “You were there for me during my darkest hours, so I’m going to be here for you. And I’m going to say that since I’ve met you, there’s been something between you and Ben. I wouldn’t have been surprised if you told me you broke up with Mike because of Ben.”

I whip toward her—

But she holds up a finger. “I don’t think you’re going to get to the root of your problem until you understand that aspect of yourself. Why you’re drawn to Ben. But, whatever you do, I’m here for you. Ignore Ben, yell at him, pretend to be friends, whatever you want. All I can say is, Mike is a very poor substitute to what you could allow yourself to have in your life.”

My jaw clenches and my traitor eyes go hot again, but I bat down any tears.

Sophie, God bless her, comes back into the room. “What’d I miss?”

I open my mouth to come up with something off the cuff, but Sophie preempts by saying, “Just kidding. Mike’s an abscessed turd and Ben’s the love of your life. I’m all caught up.” She holds up Mike’s thirty-year-old bottle of bourbon, meant only to be opened when he or I make partner. “Who wants?”

I throw my hand up. Hard. “Me.”