Chapter Forty-One

Annabel

My chin is trembling like crazy, but I am not going to let myself cry over some asshole like Beau Bennett.

Even if I do love him.

Did love him. Past tense. It’s always going to be past tense with him because I was so stupid. I was so stupid to let myself get involved with a man like that. I let myself get comfortable, and that’s almost always a mistake. There’s a reason I’ve been living my life the way I have, and it’s because there’s no other way to avoid a broken heart.

I get down to the lobby and move quickly toward the doors, clutching at my purse. Is there anything I’ve left at his place? No. Everything of mine from the old place with Cynthia is going to be packed up and put in storage until we’ve both settled elsewhere. Together, perhaps, we decided over drinks, but nothing’s set in stone yet.

God, I wish it was set in stone.

I don’t know why I’m walking so fast. Beau’s not going to rush out after me and beg for my forgiveness. I saw the look in his eyes. He’s done with me.

At the door of his building, I steal a glance behind me to make sure. He’d have had to rush down all those flights of stairs or called the elevator up at some magical speed to be running after me right now, but there’s still a fledgling flare of hope in my chest.

The lobby is empty.

The hope dies.

I go out onto the sidewalk and look in my purse.

I have a dead phone and an ache in my heart that takes over my entire body. That’s what I left in Beau’s penthouse. My phone charger.

That idea is dead on arrival. There’s no way I’m going to ride the elevator back up there and ask him to please fetch me my charger from the bedside table. Not in a million years.

New plan.

First I’ll go to the drugstore. There will be a phone charger there to purchase. I will not cry in front of the cashier. Then I will go to the nearest open coffee shop or diner, take a table near the wall, and charge this stupid piece of shit until I can call Cynthia. She won’t be too happy with me—we drank too much wine, and it always makes her tired. Plus, I’m not sure how big her sister’s apartment is.

But I’m not going back to the Pearl.

And I’m not going back upstairs.

Time to make the leap.

*****

It takes a full forty minutes for my phone to charge enough to turn on. I should have expected it—the thing is probably on its last legs, even for an iPhone—but it’s shocking how slowly the time drags by.

The coffee in my mug has gone cold, but I keep sipping it. The white apple on the screen seems frozen. I pick up the phone and tap it gently against the surface of the table.

Nothing yet.

My chest is a giant bruise beneath a thick layer of buzzing numbness that makes my stomach turn. Worst of all, there’s nothing to distract me except this ridiculous quest to get my phone charged. How do I not have Cynthia’s sister’s address? A good roommate would have that information already.

A good roommate probably wouldn’t show up unannounced, either. It’s lose-lose.

How did this happen?

I ordered a BLT an hour ago, ate three bites, and put it back on the plate. Now it’s taunting me because it was a half-decent sandwich, but I can’t force myself to eat it.

Is it a breakup if you never said you were exclusive?

I put my head in my hands. What a high school question.

It’s not even a question I need to answer because I am never ever going to talk to Beau Bennett again. Never.

The phone chimes, and I snatch it victoriously from the table, but it’s a hollow victory. I’m still half-buzzed from the wine, but there’s no pleasant feeling left. I had a fight with Beau, and I’m crawling back to my roommate. My roommate’s sister. I’ve sunk so low.

Cynthia’s name is in my contacts, like it’s always been since we moved in together. I cross my fingers under the table and dial.

She answers on the fourth ring, right as I’m losing hope. This is already mortifying enough. I don’t want to call her a million times. It’s not even ten o’clock yet, but her voice sounds muffled. “Annabel?” There’s a shuffling, and then she comes through clearly. “What’s up?”

“Hey,” I say, and it all comes tumbling down on me. The fight. Having to get back into the elevator while Beau watched me. Worst of all, the truth. What he said was true. I am always looking for a way out, and this time there was a cost. A real cost.

I didn’t even get the chance to tell him it was different. That for once I was looking for ways to stay.

The wine and the heartbreak are a deadly mix.

Before I can stop them, tears come spilling out of my eyes, tracking down my cheeks right there in the diner. One strangled sob escapes from my throat.

“Annabel?” Cynthia’s tone is urgent. “Are you okay? No, you’re not okay. What’s going on?”

“This is the worst,” I tell her, grabbing at the napkin dispenser, pressing a handful to my face, and patting blindly. “I’ll be okay. It’s last minute, and you’re at your sister’s, and—”

“Take a breath,” she says. She waits while I collect myself. “What do you need?”

“A place to say,” I say, swallowing the next sob. “I don’t know who dumped who, but I’m not going back there.” My voice shakes.

To her everlasting credit, Cynthia doesn’t even hesitate. “Go outside, and get into a cab. I’ll text you the address.”