I watch as Sara pushes her way out the front door, Patrick in hot pursuit, calling after her. She stops and turns toward him on the sidewalk in front of the window. He says something that stuns her, and she reaches out, hand clutched around his bicep. He keeps pushing her hand away, but she keeps grabbing him, mouth moving fast as she explains herself.

I did it for you.

I just wanted you to see her for who she really is.

You’re too good for someone like her.

I still love you.

Whatever she’s saying, Patrick stands quietly and listens, a bland expression on his face. When she finally runs out of steam, he says something to her before turning and disappearing around the corner.

I slide into an empty stool at the bar, and Tess sets a pint glass full of ice in front of me, giving it a long pour of Kettle One. Aiming the gun over the rim, she tops it with club soda.

“You don’t get to drink it until you tell me what happened,” she says, adding a lime wedge into my glass.

I give her the Cliff-notes, the lawsuit against Patrick is being dropped. James is probably going to jail. Someone’s going to have to stop Con from suing Jackson Howard for his daughter’s part in releasing my video.

“Stop him?” Tess says, digging a couple of longnecks out of the cooler. “If Con’s burning that fucker to the ground, I’m bringing the marshmallows.” She uses an opener to take their caps off before passing the bottles across the bar.

“It’s not Mr. Howard’s fault his daughter got sucked into all this,” I say, “And in the end, Sara did the right thing. That should stand for something.”

“She only spoke up to save Patrick,” Tess says, eyes wide. “She didn’t blow the whistle until after she snuck into James office and posted that video from his computer. That should stand for something.”

“I just want to put this week behind me, Tess,” I tell her, trying to explain. “I want to forget it ever happened, okay.”

She opens her mouth to argue some more but snaps it shut. “Okay.” She nods. “Whatever you want. Whatever you need.”

“I need a place to stay,” I say. “Just for a few days, until I can get myself situated.”

Again, Tess opens her mouth like she’s going to say something. Again, she clamps it closed and nods. “Okay.”

At the other end of the bar, Declan pops the tops on a round of expensive imports for a tight cluster of white-collars—not Gilroy’s usual crowd.

Every once in a while, one of them looks at me until one of them get brave enough to approach me. I recognize him. He’s a friend of James’.

Shit.

“Hey, Cari,” he says, sidling up to the bar, wedging himself between my stool and the empty stool next to me. “Remember me?”

I stare straight ahead. Catching sight of Tess from the corner of my eye, I give her a small head shake, telling her to stay out of it. “Vaguely.”

Laughing like I said something funny, he leans in a bit closer. “How about I buy you a drink. We can catch-up.” He reaches into his breast pocket and pulls out a wad of cash, held together with a gold money clip. Nice suit. Expensive watch. Slicked back hair.

A week ago, I’d be eating out of this guy’s hand. Knowing that about myself makes me sad and a little sick.

I look at the untouched drink in front of me before looking him in the eye. “I’m good, but thank you.”

“You sure are,” he says, dragging a soft, manicured finger down the length of my bare arm, making my flesh crawl.

“Excuse me?” jerking my arm away from his touch.

“You’re famous,” he says, angling his body closer, leaning close so he can whisper in my ear. “My buddies and I’ve been watching your video all day—to be honest, you’re the reason we’re here. We were hoping you’d be down for some fun.”

“Fun?” I scoff. “With you? I’d rather run into a burning building.” I turn in my seat, sliding off in the other direction.

He snatches me by my arm and jerks me back into my seat, spinning me around to look at him. “You don’t have to be such a fucking bitch about it,” he sneers in my face.

“Unfortunately, I do have to be a bitch about it,” I say through clenched teeth. “That’s the only way assholes like you get the picture.”

“What’s the big deal, sugar—we all know what you are. The whole world knows by now.” He snarls at me, a split second before a baseball bat cracks against the hard surface of the bar—the ear-splitting sound of it ringing off the walls.

I’d been so focused on keeping Tess at bay, I forgot about Declan.

“Get your hands off her,” he barks, one hand gripped around the bat while the other one grapples with Tess, keeping her from launching herself across the bar.

“Who the fuck are you,” the guy says, shifting his sneer toward Declan. “Her pimp?”

“I’m her family,” Declan says, lifting the bat to push the top of it against the guy’s chest. “Nobody fucks with my family.”

“This doesn’t have anything to do with you,” the guy says, his grip going slack. “We’re just having some fun.”

I jerk myself out of his grip and stagger back when someone wedges a shoulder between us. “You want some fun, you piece of shit?” Patrick says over the high-pitched yowl, erupting from the floor. He reaches across the bar for the bat and Declan gives it to him without protest. “I’m the guy to give it to you.”

“What did you do?” I say, grabbing onto Patrick’s arm, trying to make him look at me but he’s ignoring me. He has his empty hand clenched, but as far as I could tell, he hadn’t taken a swing. I finally work my way around Patrick to find the guy sprawled out on the floor, howling—blood pouring from his nose like someone turned on a spigot. I aim a questioning look at Conner, looking for answers.

“Cracked him in the nose,” Conner says, tapping his index finger against the hard bone of his forehead. “That’s how we Gilroys shake hands.” Conner stands on the other side of him, assessing the tight knot of white-collars at the end of the bar. “At least one of you is thinking about getting in on this,” he says, jerking his chin at the guy bleeding on the floor. “That guy, whoever he is, is trying to get the rest of you killed. Don’t be that guy.”

Beside me, I can feel Patrick vibrating with rage, his hands still clenched into fists. His mouth a thin, hard line slashed across his face. I’m sure he’s seconds away from taking this guy’s head off with the bat. Instead, he passes it to Conner. “Take care of this for me.”

“It would be my pleasure,” Conner says. Levering the bat against his shoulder, he reaches down to hook his grip around the collar of the guy’s shirt, dragging his across the bar.

He gets as far as the pool table before Patrick grabs my hand and drag me upstairs.

Patrick leads me to the couch, sitting me down gently like I’m made of glass. I’m worked up, adrenaline pumping through my system, heart cannonballing against my rib-cage, pumping so fast and hard, it hurts. As soon as I’m seated, he sits on the coffee table across from me, so close our knees are touching.

Neither of us talk. We just sit there, watching each other. Finally, I find my voice. “Someone should check on Conner.”

“Con’s fine.” Patrick laughs, swiping a rough hand over his face. “Are you?”

“Yes,” I lie.

He knows I’m lying but doesn’t press the issue. “Look, about what you said this morning, about the video,” he says, gaze focused on my chin. “You’re right. I shouldn’t have watched it. But I want you to know that I didn’t go looking for it. I would never do something like that to you.” His mouth quirks a little, and he shakes his head. “I’ve done a lot of things over the last few days that would seem to argue the contrary but I... care about you. The last thing I would ever do is hurt you on purpose.”

Not I love you. I care about you. Because he said it once and that’s what I did.

I hurt him on purpose.

“And you don’t have to move out,” he tells me, pulling me back into the conversation.

“I—” I open my mouth, but he talks over me.

“I have a few vacant rental properties across town,” he says, finally dragging his gaze up to meet mine. “I’m going to move into one of them. You can have this place. As long as you want it.”

“What?” I shake my head. “No, I can’t do that.”

“It makes sense—the apartment building I’m looking at needs some renovation. I can live there while I’m working on it.”

“You love it here,” I say, my throat tight.

“I do, but it’s too far from the office for me.” He says it like it’s final. Already been decided. “Living here has been inconvenient for a while now.” Now he’s the one who’s lying. “Besides, this place is only a ten-minute drive to the gallery.” He smiles at me. “With the way you like to drag your feet in the morning, you need to be as close to work as possible.”

“Miranda fired me.”

“What?” My words wipe the smile off his face. “She fired you? She can’t—”

“She fired me because she loved my paintings. She wants to show them.” Pride swells in my chest. “She says I’m going to be too busy painting full-time to answer her phones and fetch her coffee.”

“Holy shit.” He gives me a smile. Not the cocky grin or snarky little half-smile he’s been addicted to lately. A real smile. Open and genuine. The kind he used to give me before I started this whole thing. “That’s the best news I’ve heard today,” he says, dropping a hand on my knee. As soon as he makes contact, he pulls back, and the smile fades around its edges. “Now you really have to stay.” He nods his head, looking around the living room. “You’ve done some of your best work here.”

Because you were here with me.

“I’m moving back home, Patrick,” I say it quick like I’m ripping off a bandage.

“What? Home?” His voice spikes and I hear it. Confusion. Disbelief. Anger. “Wher—this is your home.”

“Ohio,” I say quietly. “I’m moving home to Ohio.”

He drops his head and runs his hand over the back of it. “I thought you said Miranda wants you to paint full-time.”

“She does,” I say. “But she also fired me. Without a real job, without real money coming in, I can’t afford to live on my own. At least not right now.”

“You don’t have to live on your own. You can live here.” He says it slowly like he’s fighting to stay calm. Like he doesn’t get it. “You don’t have to pay rent. You don’t have to pay anything. Just—”

“I am not living off you like some—” Gold digger. I almost say it. “charity case.” Brushing my fingertips across my cheek, they come away wet. “Besides, stuff like what happened downstairs with that guy—it’s just going to keep happening. I... I think it’s best just to slink off and lick my wounds for a while.”

“Oh.” Patrick stiffens for a second before he drops his hand, giving me a nod. “Wounds. Right. Okay.” He thinks I’m talking about him. That he’s the reason I’m leaving. That he hurt me. Instead of telling him the truth, I let him believe it. It’s easier this way. “When?”

“Saturday morning,” I tell him.

He looks at me like he’s done the math and it doesn’t add up. “That’s two days from now.”

“Miranda is sending someone to pack and transport the paintings to the gallery.” I say it like I’m reading it all off a cue card. Like none of it is real. “I want to be here to supervise but after that...”

His mouth quirks again. It’s an expression I’ve come to recognize. It’s bitterness. “There’s no reason for you to stay.”

I look away, so I don’t have to see it. The hurt. The resignation. The same way he looked at me this morning when I told him it was over between us. “I’ll stay with Tess until it’s time for me to go.”

“No.” The word comes out, hard and fast and he stops himself, taking a deep slow breath. “You don’t have to do that. This is your home—you shouldn’t have to do that... because of me.” He swipes another hand over his face before standing. “I’ll keep my distance. Hands to myself,” he says, lifting them to shoulder height, palms out, fingers spread wide. “Best behavior. Just... stay here. Okay?”

I don’t want him to keep his distance. I don’t want him to keep his hands to himself. I want him to kiss me. Tell me he loves me. Ask me to stay. Not just for tonight or tomorrow. I want him to ask me to stay forever. But I know he won’t. Patrick’s a fast learner. He reached for me once and it stung. He won’t do it again.

I look up at him and nod my head. “Okay.”

He takes a step back, away from me. “I’m gonna go downstairs and help Declan prep for tonight.” He smiles at me, but he has the dazed look of a survivor, like someone who’s just watched a tornado rip their house from its foundation or been pulled from a raging fire.

That’s what I am. Something to be survived.

It’s what I do. Destroy everything good I touch.