I didn’t call Freya, but I did have a courier deliver Amy’s journal to her apartment. I was surprised to find her at her desk on Monday morning. Red blotches covered her face, and her eyes were puffy like she’d been crying. I hated to see her that way but resolved to hold onto my newfound principles. Our confrontation had been unpleasant, but now that it was over, I felt like a huge weight had been lifted from my shoulders.

After Freya had left my apartment yesterday, Bronte and I had spent the afternoon together, walking around the city, holding hands and enjoying each other’s company. It was the best weekend I’d had in years. Now, facing Freya, I fought to curb the buoyancy in my step and the huge, stupid grin I’d been wearing all morning.

“Morning, Freya.” I stood in front of her desk and waited.

She pressed a stack of messages into my hand, gaze downturned. “You have a nine-thirty conference call, and Mrs. Seaforth wants to meet with you at eleven.”

“Thanks.” I flipped through the mass of phone calls and emails. “Did you transfer these to my computer?”

“Yes.”

“Anything else?”

“No.” Her chin jutted stubbornly.

“Okay.” I sighed. It was going to be a long day. I’d expected her to have an attitude. From experience, Freya’s fits of temper could last a very long time. Up until now, it had been easier to appease her than deal with her wrath. Amy had been the same way. Thank goodness, Bronte seemed to have a more even personality, despite her challenges.

As I walked toward my office, the legs of Freya’s chair scraped across the floor and her footsteps echoed at my heels. I walked through the door and turned around to face her. She shut the door behind us.

“There is something else. I want you to know that I forgive you. Grieving is a long and unpredictable process. I’m sure this deal with Bronte is just a phase in your journey to healing. She’s your rebound girl. And I want you to know that when you’re done with her, I’ll be waiting.” Tears glistened in the corners of her eyes. She sniffed and turned her gaze to the left.

“Freya, no.” A rush of sympathy replaced my irritation. She’d lost her best friend, her twin sister, someone who shared identical DNA. This had been rough for her. And now she was losing me, or thought she was.

“No?” She flashed a sideways glance in my direction, brow furrowing.

“I don’t want you to wait. Even if this thing with Bronte doesn’t work out, you and I are not going to be together. Ever. Do you understand?”

“You don’t know that. I mean, there’s always a chance, right?” Her chin trembled.

I sat on the edge of my desk and clasped my hands together to keep from hugging her. She looked so vulnerable, so broken. “I don’t want to lie to you or lead you on. There is zero chance that we’ll ever be together. I love you, but not in that way. You’re like a sister to me, and that’s all you’ll ever be.”

“Is it because I look like her?”

“Maybe. But not really.” Her lower lip quivered. I drew in a deep breath and searched for the right words. “I’ll always be here for you. Always.”

“That’s not enough for me.” Her words ended on a choked sob.

“It has to be. I can’t make myself have feelings that don’t exist.” She sniffled. I handed her a tissue and waited while she dabbed at the tears on her cheeks. “Look, why don’t you take the rest of the day off? Think about what you want to do. I understand if you don’t want to work for me anymore. I’ll give you a fantastic recommendation.”

* * *

That evening, Carter showed up at my apartment with his pickup truck. I’d enlisted his help to clear the apartment of the past so I could make way for the future. He brushed past me and through the door, wearing a pair of camouflage pants and a tight black T-shirt. His long hair was pulled into a man-bun on top his head. Only a guy like Carter, with muscles bulging and fierce features, could pull off that kind of look.

“About fucking time,” he said, by way of greeting.

“I know,” I said. “Apparently, I’m a slow learner.”

“I’ll say.” He snorted. The bruises of his double black eyes had faded into a vague greenish tint to his skin. “But then again, so am I.” We bumped fists. “Let’s get this party started. What’s the plan?”

“Everything goes,” I replied. “I’ve got new furniture coming this week. And all the pictures and stuff goes into storage for Freya, if she should ever decide she wants it.”

“So, what happened? You never did tell me. Did you two break up?” He snorted at his cleverness.

“Sort of.” I didn’t want to go into the details out of respect for Freya. “I’m seeing Bronte.”

“No shit!” Carter froze mid-step and set the box he was holding back on the floor. “The coffee shop genius?”

“Yeah.” I couldn’t hold back a shit-eating grin. “We’re giving it a go.”

“Nice.” He picked up the box again and was silent until we boarded the elevator. “How did Freya take the news?”

“It was a little rough, but she’ll be fine.” I pressed the button for the ground floor.

“I bet she’s got a voodoo doll of you on her dresser, sticking pins in it as we speak.”

“Probably.” The car jolted into action and began the slow descent.

“Mind if I hit that?” Carter asked.

I choked on a laugh. “Excuse me?”

“Freya. Your sister-wife. Or would that be too incestuous for you?”

“It’s a free world,” I replied with a shrug. “I didn’t realize you were into her.”

A devilish light sparkled in his eyes. “Well, she’s probably pissed as hell, and in my experience, an angry fuck is a thing of beauty.”

“You’re a disgusting pig, you know that?” The elevator doors slid apart. I held them open while he dragged out the boxes.

“Not a pig, an opportunist. You’d do well to take a page from my book, bro.”

His words, if not his motives, hit home with me. I was doing my best to make a fresh start. I had no idea where this path would lead me, but wherever it went had to be better than where I’d been. My phone vibrated with an incoming text from Bronte. I grinned and read the message.

Bronte: I want to buy a car. Will you help me?

Me: Shouldn’t you learn to drive first?

Yep, I had no fucking idea where we were going, but I couldn’t wait to get there.