* * *

“Hi, Sam,” Grace, one of the teenagers who lived in the building, said as I walked in the door to my condo.

I reached inside my bag, getting the cash I had stashed in there, and placed it in her hand. “Everything go okay?” I moved back toward the door to walk her out.

“Yep, it went great. If you need me again, call anytime.”

I thanked her, locking up after her, and then I switched off most of the lights. As I made my way across the condo, I stopped outside Lucy’s door.

She was lying on her stomach in the middle of the bed, knees bent at her sides, her face tucked in somewhere in between. I called it the frog—a position she’d slept in since she was born.

Gently, I ran my fingers through her hair, brushing away the strands from her face. “I love you, baby,” I whispered. “I’ll see you in the morning. Please let me sleep in.”

She stirred and groaned.

I carefully kissed her forehead, making sure not to wake her, and I shut the door behind me, going straight to my room. In my closet, I tossed my jewelry in a drawer and dropped my clothes onto the floor.

I’d deal with it all tomorrow.

Tonight, I needed to be swallowed in a cloud of extra-soft cotton sheets and wrapped in a room full of darkness.

I needed to forget.

But I knew there was no way that could happen.

Even though Jack had never stepped foot in here, this space wasn’t free of him.

I felt his presence everywhere.

And, as I climbed into bed, my phone vibrating on the nightstand, I saw his name.

My pulse increased so fast, I felt it pounding in my temples.

It had been eight years since I saw his name on my phone.

Now, five words were written beneath it.

I wondered if he’d kept my number or if he’d asked someone for it. Either way, he had it, and now, I knew his hadn’t changed. I was sure he’d switched to a local area code after he moved from LA to Miami. At least that was what I’d told myself, so I never texted him when I was drunk.

It turned out, I was wrong, and I’d had his number all along.

That changed nothing.

Because, no matter what, I never would have reached out.

But that didn’t help with the position I was in now.

I pulled the blanket over my head and held my phone a few inches from my face.

Responding to him would mean nothing. It would just be words that assured my safety.

It wouldn’t be goading him, and it wouldn’t imply anything.

Just to be sure, I kept it short.

As I stared at what I’d typed, I tried to figure out why I’d never deleted his number. If a part of me had wished he’d reach out at some point. If it was the last thing I had to hold on to, and I just couldn’t let him go. If every time I scrolled through my Contacts, I needed to be reminded of the lesson he’d taught me.

I didn’t have an answer.

But I knew there was no reason to keep it.

All it would do was tempt me.

And temptation wasn’t a good thing when you had a history like ours. When just the tips of his fingers could evoke the most intense passion I’d ever felt. When the scent of him brought back every emotion, every thought, every fear.

So, I went to his Contact page, I clicked Edit, and I scrolled to Delete.

Before I pressed the button, another text from Jack came onto my screen.

I dropped the phone next to me and rolled in the opposite direction.

All the booze in my body should bring me right to sleep.

But I knew there was no way that would ever happen.