I sleep in the next morning, dragging my body from bed at 9:00AM. I feel sore and disjointed, almost in a fog. My phone has several messages from Ria and one from Barrington, all of which remain unanswered.

I pop a pod into the Nespresso machine and wait until my hands are wrapped around a steaming mug of coffee until I take stock of myself.

I'm fine.

Everything is okay.

Carter's a guy. Just like every guy I've ever known. Except I thought he was different. One of the good ones. The realization that I was wrong makes me feel hollow inside, as if I can’t trust my own judgement. I hate the self-doubt that wiggles into my thought process. I’ve had enough of if during the immediate aftermath of the accident and felt like I was finally moving forward.

I drink some of the coffee and pull a handful of grapes from the refrigerator. Tugging on a light knit cardigan, I open the sliding doors and sit on the back deck, enjoying the feel of the breeze over my skin and the gentle music of the wind chimes.

What the hell am I doing? Allowing myself to become lost in a guy, even one who I thought was amazing and great and unlike any man I’ve ever known, is pretty much the same thing as sacrificing my goals for Barrington. For putting my own happiness on hold to help Daddy’s business and the Clarke brand. In the end, it's me giving up on what I want for someone else.

It's making a choice about love that is more strategic than just feeling. Then free falling.

And damn, do I want to free fall.

But if this falling out with Carter taught me anything, it's that I need to start dictating the terms. Living by my own rules.

For so long, I did everything I was supposed to do. I graduated college, bought my own townhouse, financially supported myself. I helped grow my father’s business, attended the right social events, and met my responsibilities with a smile.

I dated the right men and angled my body to make the best photographs. I worked out rigorously and cut sugar and carbs from my diet. I routinely applied face masks and hair masks and foot balms and lotions. I did everything the way I was supposed to.

And I was rewarded. I really was. A great salary, high profile modeling campaigns, and high-profile men to hold on to. For a long time, I loved it. Reveled in it. Enjoyed it.

My commitment and dedication earned me more money, more jobs, and more nights out. It also resulted in more loneliness and isolation.

That’s when I turned to books and became a vigorous reader. Reading provided an escape for me.

And then the accident happened and flipped my life and everything I thought I knew upside down.

I met Carter and even though the circumstances were bizarre, he made me feel a million new things. It was as if I was existing without living before I met him. My feelings were muted, and they suddenly burst forth, liberated.

Except now, he stole them away and left me with doubt eating my stomach and vulnerability clawing my heart. I hate feeling like this.

I deserve better. Because I deserve what I give, and I already gave it all.

Tucking my feet underneath me, I rest my head against the cushion and sip my coffee. And I begin to think of a new future for myself.

Reclaim all my old modeling contracts.

Apply to an education program.

Become a teacher. A reading specialist.

Most importantly, live a life that I control.

The ringing of my cell cuts through my thoughts, and I frown when a number I don't recognize flashes across the screen. Could it be Mom and Daddy checking in on me?

"Hello?"

"Taylor?"

"Speaking." I sit up straighter at the girl's voice.

"It's Daisy. Hey."

"Oh, hi." I clutch my cardigan closed in front of my chest, hanging on to her words, my heart soaring and then diving because she called me. Did Carter ask her to call? Is she calling because we're sort of friends? Did something happen?

"Carter asked me to call you to make sure that you're all right. But I would have checked in on you anyway. I have no idea what happened between you two, but I promise my brother is normally a great guy, when he isn't messing up a bunch of shit. And I saw you guys together; you have something real, Taylor."

"I'm fine. He could have called me himself."

"I told him that, but he didn't think you would answer the phone. He's really worried about you."

"I can take care of myself."

"I'm sure you can. I just, well, I'm sorry if he hurt you. He seems torn up about a bunch of things, and I've seen my brother with a lot of women—"

My chest aches at the admission.

"And he's never cared even a third about any of them the way he cares about you."

And now my heart gallops like a racehorse.

"Do you really think he cares?" I close my eyes, embarrassed by the admission to another woman, one I don't even know that well, that I am so desperately still hung up on Carter Kane. Isabella would laugh at me if she could hear this conversation.

But Daisy sighs and when she speaks, her tone is rounded out with understanding and compassion. "I know he cares. A lot more than he wants to. If you need anything, at all, this is my number. Please, call me."

I nod before realizing she can't see me. "Yeah, okay. Thanks for calling, Daisy."

“Of course. Don't be a stranger."

"I won't."

"Well, take care."

"You too." I end the call and stare at the screen for a few moments, the backdrop a selfie of Carter kissing me in front of the fountain at Forsyth Park. I had changed it on my phone immediately after capturing it. Only yesterday. Was that only yesterday?

Delete.

Sighing, I stand from the deck chair and force myself back inside. Opening up my laptop, I open the browser and begin filling in an application for the University of Georgia’s education program.