The days pass in a flurry of confusion and pain. Ryker just up and left The Baldwin Corporation, hanging us out to dry. And we’ve been dealing with the fallout of everything. The press has been hounding us constantly about what we’re going to do—about Ryker stepping down, about Cade’s apparent lawsuit against us suing for assault and career damages. And about me.

Cade decided it wasn’t enough to play innocent in what happened. He had an interview with ESPN the other day and told them I was the reason for all this. That Ryker beat him up because I lied and claimed Cade tried to assault me. That I did it all because I wanted to blackmail Cade for money when I found out he was considering leaving our company due to dissatisfaction with our services. And even better, he suggested that Ryker only hired me in the first place because I promised to do “anything and everything” I could to get ahead—which people are assuming is true. Otherwise, why would Ryker bring on an experienced girl fresh out of college? Couldn’t be because I’m intelligent or know my shit. No, it had to be because I’m a woman in a man’s industry and therefore incompetent and/or a slut.

The insinuations against me are brutal and gutting.

All bullshit, of course. But so many people believe him. My name is slandered all over social media and the internet as the young, money-grubbing whore who caused a media sensation and brought down a billion-dollar company.

I’ve spent every night crying and every day struggling with how to make it through without having a breakdown. And Ryker is nowhere to be found. Not returning anyone’s calls, even mine. He’s letting his lawyers speak to the company on his behalf.

Was it all a lie? I stupidly fell for the man, and now when I need him the most, he abandons me. My stomach is sick over it.

“You have to eat,” Daria is telling me. We’re sitting at the dinner table. It’s been a week since Ryker quit, a week of stress and emotional pain. I’ve stopped trying to reach him. Thankfully, the media isn’t camped out in front of our apartment anymore, but they’re still querying me daily for interviews, and still talking on their sites about me and Ryker.

Speculation on our relationship. On how I tried to hurt Cade’s career and advance my own through blackmail. Right now, it’s hard to feel positive about humanity in general. Or to have an appetite for eating.

I shove the chicken away and sigh. “I’m just not hungry.”

She frowns and reaches over to rub my back. “I know. I’m sorry. I’m worried to death about you. I wish I knew what to do to help. I still think you should do an interview and tell your side of the story. Screw Cade. He’s a liar.”

“But what if they drag my name through the mud even more?” I counter. “If I just stay quiet and out of the way, the story will fade. If I grant an interview, Cade will just find a way to use it as more ammunition against me. You see how he plays the innocent country boy bit.”

“I can’t blame Ryker for beating him up,” she growls. I blink, and she shrugs. “What? It’s true. Cade is a piece of shit, and he deserved it. Look at how he’s treating you and manipulating what happened. Bald-faced lying about it. Guys like that don’t deserve to get away with this crap.”

“I know.” I poke my fork in the chicken. “Life is so fucking unfair.”

“Still no word from him, huh?” She’s talking about Ryker now.

I shake my head. I came clean to her several days ago about everything—including my feelings for Ryker and how I fell for him. Daria just held me as I cried in her arms, broken and feeling lost and alone.

“Well, if I ever see that scumbag, he’s going to regret hurting you,” she says hotly. “They’ll never find his body.”

I lean over and hug her. “You’ve been there for me through all this mess, and I don’t know how to thank you enough.”

She gives me a sad smile. “I just wish you would change your mind. You belong here, in New York City.”

Right before dinner, I told her I quit the company and am returning to Connecticut. I already turned in my resignation this morning at work, effective immediately. Today was my last day.

Going home, just as my father and brothers predicted—tail tucked between my legs from having messed everything up. I called my mom this morning and asked if it was okay. She told me she’s here for me and that it’s still my home if I want it to be.

“I don’t have any other options,” I tell Daria honestly. “I’m so sorry to leave you in the lurch, but I didn’t work at the company long enough to have a nest egg for living off of so I can hunt for a new job. I’m barely going to have enough to return home. Besides, no one here will even take me on at this point. I’m poison.” Hot tears well in my eyes, and I blink. I gave her my entire bonus from signing Cade to help pay the rent and bills until she can replace me here.

“Oh, honey, it isn’t true. You’re amazing, and any company would be lucky to have you. Any man, too. If he’s wise enough to recognize it.” Her voice is so warm and empathetic. I’m fortunate to have her as my best friend.

“I’m sure we’ll find someone to rent my room in no time,” I tell her as I squeeze her hand. “These places go fast.”

“Well, I’m not going to put an ad out for it yet. I’ll wait a couple of months in case you change your mind. I can float until then.” Daria eyes me with a stubborn clench of her jaw. “You’re just in a bad place right now and you need time to figure shit out. I’ll be here when you’re ready to come back. And I know you will be. This won’t defeat you.”

I wish I had her confidence. I paste on a brave smile. “You’re amazing, you know that? Waitress is lucky to have you.”

“It’s Becca,” she says, punching my upper arm. We both laugh.

I clear plates while Daria gets ready for her movie date with Becca tonight. I’m glad she won’t be home. It’ll be hard enough packing up my things without her around, upset and trying to talk me out of it.

* * *

The bus ride to Connecticut is dreary. It’s cold and snowy outside, so it takes a while for us to get to the bus station. Every mile closer, a knot of dread ties my stomach. I haven’t talked to my father since everything went down. Or my brothers. And after all the shit happened, I didn’t want to hear what they had to say.

Maybe I can avoid them until I get on my feet. Rent a little apartment of my own, or a room, and find a local job. There has to be something else I am qualified at.

The fact that I was living my dream and then it died on me is so bittersweet painful. Would it have been better to never have gone through this experience at all? Right now, I don’t know. I just feel so much sadness and anger.

And as much as I’m angry with Ryker for how he treated me, I miss him like crazy. I know he beat Cade up for me. But then why did he just dump me like that? Ghost out on me without a word? It’s too confusing and hurtful to examine. Because maybe in the end, I wasn’t as important to him as I thought.

Maybe in the end, it was easier for him to pull a scorched-earth move and abandon everything instead of trying to fix it all.

And I don’t know how to deal with someone who could do that to me. Not when I was still there and trying and being dragged through the mud.

The bus finally arrives, groaning to a stop at the depot. We file off, stepping into slushy snow, and I grab my suitcases. Pull them by the handle into the station to wait for Mom to come get me.

“Andrea,” comes a familiar low voice. My stomach sinks. Shit. I wasn’t prepared to see my dad.

I spin around and face him, giving a cool nod. He doesn’t look any different—still always has that slight furrow in his brow. “Coming.”

When I reach him, he grabs both of my suitcases without saying anything else.

I shoulder my duffel bag higher and reach for one of the suitcases. “Oh, I can get that—”

“It’s fine,” he says gruffly. “Let’s just get home.”

We make our way in the parking lot to the car in silence. He pops my bags in the trunk, and then we’re driving home.

I stare out the window for a few minutes, drinking in the sights I haven’t seen in months. Everything still looks the same. It’s both comforting and sad. Familiar gas stations, restaurants, places I used to hang out with friends.

All this hard work I did to get out of here, and I’m right back where I started. No, even worse off now, because at least then I wasn’t a pariah.

“Your mom had to run to the store,” Dad says. He clears his throat. “Told her I’d come get you.”

“Thanks, I appreciate it.” I don’t turn away from the window.

We don’t say anything else the rest of the way home. I’m stuck in my head, and my dad stinks at small talk. The only thing we ever talked about anyway was sports, and I think it’s pretty clear that topic is off limits right now.

Dad pulls into the driveway finally. I dart out of the car and grab as much as I can carry. We lug my stuff inside.

“Your room is the same,” he says as he dumps my suitcase in the middle of the room. “Figured you might not want us to change anything when you returned.” And on that cheery note, he leaves and clomps back down the stairs.

I didn’t miss that he said when, not if. I knew they were expecting me to fail. That there was no way in their mind a young woman could somehow succeed in the sports industry, in New York City. But hearing him spell it out like that…

I sit on the edge of the bed and give in to the tears that have been brewing for hours.

The days pass with painful slowness at home. I try to stay gone from home as much as I can. Even if it means hiding out at the library and researching jobs, like I’m doing right now. No big bites right now, but I won’t quit. I’ll look in neighboring cities too.

My phone vibrates. It’s a text from Daria. Upon seeing her name, I’m filled with a renewed pang of missing her. I read her message.

Hey girl. How goes the job hunt?

I shift in my seat and sigh. Around me, fellow patrons are doing research or reading news articles online. I flinch out of habit, fear that someone will see something about me. Oh, it sucks. LOL. But you know how this place is. How’s the city?

Cold as hell! But the Christmas spirit is alive. Even the old lady next door is playing holiday music. I bout fell off the couch when I heard it thru the wall.

That makes me smile. Our next-door neighbor is surly, with a thick mustache that rivals any cowboy. The first time I met her, I waved. She just stared at me until I crept inside the apartment to escape her death stare. What kind of music is she playing? Older classics?

You’re gonna die. It’s a Justin Bieber Christmas album.

I laugh for the first time since I arrived back in Connecticut. Okay, never would have imagined that.

Gotta go. Just wanted to say hi. XO come home

The smile that spread across my face is sad and wistful. Daria has signed off on every text that way. XOXO luv u

I put my phone away and redouble my efforts to find a job. Once I get work, it’ll help me move forward. Get me out of the house and in my own place.

I’ve heard the little jibes my brothers have made about me when they think I’m not around. Their whispers about Cade, wondering if it’s true what he said. The fact that they even would think about me cuts me to the bone.

To my face, they’re not as harsh, though they still are relentless with lording it over me.

I give up on the search today and walk back home. The streets are covered in a fresh layer of snow, and stomping through the sidewalk gives me a moment of joy. Daria and I used to love being outside in the snow as much as we could. We wouldn’t go in our houses until we were half frozen.

Every day, I’ve been checking the weather in NYC. Remembering how it felt standing in Rockefeller Center, one of many people in a crowd there to celebrate the holiday in the city. Holding Ryker’s hand and skating, laughing as he fell repeatedly. He was right—he does suck at skating.

I return my attention to the present. I don’t want to think about him. He’s not a part of my life anymore. At least Marietta has been checking on me though, wishing me the best and saying she misses having me around. That the office isn’t the same without my energy. I told her I miss her too and if I ever visit the city again, we should have coffee.

I get home and stomp the snow off my feet, then get inside.

“City girl,” my oldest brother Tommy says from his spot on the couch. He’s shoving popcorn in his face. “Just in time for dinner.”

“Stop calling me that,” I say flatly as I hang up my coat and scarf. My hands are freezing, so I rub them together to warm them.

“How’s that job search going?” he prods.

I spin around and face him. “How’s yours? You ever gonna get off your ass and do something other than bust my balls?”

“Language,” my dad hollers from the kitchen.

Anger boils in me, and I clamp my jaw shut. I’m about to lose my mind here. How much more of this can I take? Since I came back home, it’s been ten times worse than before I left. The teasing comments about how I wasn’t cut out for it. How if I wanna make it in a man’s world, I’m gonna have to adjust my attitude and listen to them. Because, yanno, they’re men and they clearly have all the answers.

John, my brother who is the middle child, stomps inside the house and leaves the door open, letting in a blast of cold air. He whips off his coat and tosses it on the nearby chair. “It’s colder than a witch’s tit outside!” When he spies Tommy on the couch, he goes over and plops down, grabbing popcorn and shoving it in his mouth. “Ooh, I was wondering when they were gonna show more about that.” He casts a glance at me. “Oh. You probably don’t wanna watch this, Andrea. It’s sports-related.”

I’ve had enough. I move toward them and stand in front of the TV.

“Hey, turd, get out of the way,” Tommy says, shooing me out of his line of sight.

“You know what? I’m done with you guys.” My voice is raised, enough so that my dad comes out of the kitchen and frowns.

“What are you crabbing about?” he says to me.

“I like how easy it is for all three of you to point fingers at me, mock me because I ‘failed.’ Meanwhile, the best you guys have ever done is sit on your asses and armchair quarterback for the teams.”

Dad glowers. “You watch your mouth, missy. Don’t you dare talk to me that way.”

I scoff. “Are you kidding me? You’ve done nothing but berate and humiliate me since I returned. None of you bothered to ask what I’m going through. Or even what the truth is. No, I’ve heard your snide comments.” My body is trembling with my anger. “Sure, maybe you did good in sports in high school, and local people know your names. But you’re all big fish in the tiniest little pond, and you have no idea what it takes to make it in a real city.” I suck in a deep breath. “Yeah, maybe I did fail. But for a short time, I was making it. I know I have what it takes. I believe in myself, even if none of you ever could.” Tears sting my eyes, but I refuse to cry. I will not cry in front of them. “You know what? I’m done. I’m leaving, and I’m not coming back,” I continue. “I deserve to be treated better than this.”

“Andrea,” Dad starts, but I hold up a hand.

“It’s too late. I don’t want to hear anything you have to say. I’m so hurt and tired and I don’t want to deal with this anymore. So thanks for showing me who my real family is and who cares about me.” Every fucking person other than Daria has basically shit on me. My heart is broken, but screw it. I’m gonna go back to New York City and everyone who abandoned me or tried to break me can kiss my ass. “Merry Christmas.”

I run up the stairs and begin packing my belongings into my suitcase.

And I feel a weight off my chest with every piece of clothing I stuff into my bag. I stood up for myself. After letting them talk down to me for years, to belittle me, I put an end to that treatment.

I’m not perfect, but dammit, I know I don’t need to have that kind of toxic crap in my life anymore.

I grab my phone and call Daria.

She picks up on the second ring. “Hey! Everything okay? You get swept away by a Connecticut snowstorm?”

“I’m coming back,” I declare. “If I still can.”

She squeals so loud that I pull the phone away from my ear, but I’m smiling. I’m smiling big. “Duh! Your room is still here, goofball. And I knew you would! Oh my God, and just in time for Christmas. We’re going to have so much fun. We’ll decorate the apartment—I haven’t done it yet—and we’ll listen to the old lady next door play her CD on repeat.” Daria continues talking in a gush as I continue to pack my bags.

There’s a knock on my bedroom door. I ignore it.

“I’m gonna buy tickets online tonight and head back tomorrow morning,” I tell her.

“Becca has a car. We can come get you from the station if you want.”

“Oh, you don’t have to,” I say, “but I appreciate the thought.”

“Andrea.” Her voice is so gentle and chiding. “You’re my best friend. Let me help you, please? That’s what we’re here for. To support each other.”

God, I’m such a mess. I start crying on the phone and clenching it tightly. “Love you, sis,” I tell her through snotty tears.

And now she’s crying too. “Love you too. Are you okay though? What happened to make you change your mind?”

Another knock on my door. “Andrea?” It’s my dad. He tries to open the door but I locked it. The knob rattles. “Come out. We need to talk.”

“I’ll call you back later,” I whisper to her. “Let me get things finished up here first.”

“Okay, no prob.” We blow kisses in the phone and hang up.

I scrub a hand over my face to wipe away the tears and open the door a fraction. “I’m not going to discuss this and I have nothing else to say.”

My dad is standing there in the doorway, looking mad and helpless at the same time. “I deserve an explanation for that ridiculous outburst, young lady.”

“No, you don’t. You don’t deserve anything from me. I’m leaving tomorrow morning. And the only reason I’m waiting is so I can tell Mom goodbye tonight when she’s home from work.” My words are frosty. “Now leave me alone please. I have to finish packing.”

He just stares at me in shock. I know he doesn’t know what to think. I’ve never stood up for myself before, and certainly not like this. He must see something on my face that shows I’m not messing around, because he gives a brief nod and leaves, walking quietly down the staircase.

I feel emboldened. I feel like taking action. And there’s something even bigger I need to do before I lose my nerve.

I pull up my email and find a female reporter who messaged me a couple of days ago. She works for a sports radio station in NYC. Her email to me said that she feels I’ve been treated unfairly and she wants to give me the space to explain myself to the public. She left her number in case I ever decided I wanted to talk. That as a woman in the sports industry, she imagines I must be struggling right now.

I don’t know why I kept her message—I’d deleted pretty much all of the other requests for interviews. Maybe because of her empathy.

I dial her number, and she picks up quickly. “Hi, is this Nancy Spiro?”

“It is,” a warm, polite voice says on the other line. “How can I help you?”

My heart is racing, and my hands shake. “This is Andrea Bradshaw, who formerly worked at The Baldwin Corporation. I got your email, and I want to talk.”