Page 32

Stevie

“I think I’m going to move back to New York.”

Saylor and I have been on the flight for two hours, sitting in almost complete silence as she works on her laptop and I stare off at nothing.

Thinking.

Wishing things could be different.

Hoping I’m doing the right thing.

“You’re what?” Saylor looks up in confusion.

“I think it’s best for everyone.”

“I disagree.” She closes her laptop and stares at me. “What’s going on, Stevie?”

I haven’t told her what I’ve done. Haven’t told anyone really. Chey and Ivan think this is a normal business trip with Saylor. That I’ll be back in a week or so, but I brought three suitcases worth of clothes with me, and I’ve booked a suite at a new boutique hotel that has kitchenettes and a separate living area.

Since I have the money to buy something, it’s just a matter of figuring out where exactly I want to live and how big of a place to get.

“I’m causing Marty problems with his custody hearing, and the nightmares have come back full force, which means my own mental health is at risk. Both of those things are bad.”

“Have you talked to your therapist?”

“Almost every day.”

“And what does she say?”

“All the usual shit. Meditation. Journaling. Exercise. None of it is helping.”

“Why do you think that is?”

“Because I love him but it’s never going to work.”

She sighs. “You know, not six months ago I thought the same thing about me and Canyon. He needed to focus on Ally, make sure he stepped into the role of being her dad, uncle, and all the other roles because she has no one else. Turns out, we’re stronger together.”

“Yes, but there was no one fighting him for custody of her. It’s different.”

“What does he say?”

“He sounded shocked and hurt.”

“Did you explain all of this?”

“Maybe not as articulately as I could have, but yes. I told him my mental health was suffering and that it would be better for both of us if we took…a break.”

She grimaces. “That’s a horrible word.”

“I know.”

“It’s right up there with ‘it’s not you, it’s me.’”

“Thanks,” I say dryly. “Super helpful.”

“I’m sorry.” She reaches for my hand. “Come on—you know you don’t want to do this. Talk to him. There has to be a solution. Or at least a work around.”

“I can’t,” I whisper, shaking my head as tears form in my eyes. “I don’t have it in me to get into another relationship that’s already impacting me so negatively. I thought I was, because he’s so wonderful, but the truth is that I’m not ready.” A tear leaks from one eye, and I swipe at it angrily. “I love him. So much. But I can’t do something that could potentially break me. I’m already so broken.”

“You’re not,” she whispers harshly, squeezing my hand. “You are not broken, dammit! Don’t ever say that. Injured. Maybe a little fragile. But not broken!” Her voice is quiet but vehement, and I can’t help but love her for her support.

“How would we have a future if I somehow cost him the custody of his kids? No matter what he says now, he would resent me. And that would eventually break me all over again.”

She sighs.

Because it’s true.

“Even so, why move back to New York?”

“Lots of work here. My agent is here. And frankly, I couldn’t be around you guys now. How would that work? My two best girlfriends are involved with his teammates. We’d run into each other and that would be too hard. For me, at least.”

There’s resignation in her eyes as she nods. “I suppose there’s that. I’m really going to miss having you at the gallery.”

“I’m going to miss a lot of things about my life in L.A.,” I admit. “Especially my convertible.” My car is the one thing I splurged on when I moved there. “No place for that in Manhattan.”

“Don’t make any rushed decisions,” she says softly. “Maybe just hang out there until after the trial. Once that’s over you may want to make a clean break.”

I nod. “Yeah, I thought of that. I’ve always wanted to live in Paris, so that’s on the table too.”

She looks like she wants to protest but she just nods instead. “I understand.”

I don’t think she does.

How can she?

I don’t even understand this need to run.

If I could figure out what I’m running from, it would be easier.

It’s not Marty.

It’s not the life I’ve built in L.A.

Deep down, I know I’m running from myself, but I don’t know what else to do. Or how else to protect the man I love. He needs me to be the strong one—he can’t choose between me and his kids.

So I chose for him.

And despite what I told Saylor, I’m pretty sure I’m already starting to break again.

* * *

My hotel suite is quiet.

Almost too quiet.

So much so I can’t stay there for long.

I’m meeting Saylor tomorrow to go with her to visit the artists she has appointments with, but beyond that, I have no plans. I have friends but I suddenly don’t feel like calling anyone. I’m lonelier than I’ve been in a long time and I can’t even be angry because I did it to myself.

Well, I did it for Marty.

He must be so hurt.

Maybe a little mad.

And he must be lonely too.

I itch to call him, so much it’s almost painful, but I can’t.

It’s better if I don’t.

A text pops up on my phone and I look down warily.

MARCIE: Hey! I saw you were in town on socials…want to meet me and Cassius for dinner?

STEVIE: Cassius? You call him Cassius?! When did this happen?

MARCIE: Well, I’m not going to call the man I’m sleeping with ‘Barracuda.’ That’s just weird. And it’s been a few weeks. Since you introduced us that night.

STEVIE: Oh my God! Are you guys just hooking up or actually dating?

MARCIE: We’re dating. It’s not serious—it’s really hard to find time to be together—but for now it’s fun and casual.

STEVIE: It might be nice to get out. There’s a lot going on.

MARCIE: Are you okay?

STEVIE: I will be. Things are a little tough right now. I’ll tell you when I see you.

She gives me the name and address of the restaurant, and I pad into the bathroom to get ready.

I look tired. Pale. Not like the smiling, vibrant woman of the last couple of months.

The woman who was in love with a sweet, strong, protective hockey player.

This woman just looks…sad.

But I’ve spent most of my life falling in love with love, so I need to pull up my big girl pants and get past this.

Because it’s better for him.

I have to keep reminding myself of that so I don’t call him, beg him to take me back.

I’m not that girl anymore, the one who’s afraid to be single.

I put some bronzer on my cheeks, add a layer of mascara, and dab some gloss on my lips.

A few minutes later I’m in a cab heading to the restaurant.

There’s an energy in New York City that I love.

It’s different from L.A., but it’s not bad.

I always wanted to live here.

I was so proud when I bought that brownstone.

But moving to L.A. to be close to Chey and Saylor and Effie made sense.

It still does.

This whole thing sucks, and I’m momentarily furious with Brenna.

She’s the one who cheated, the one who fucked up her marriage and her husband’s life. Why does she still get to impact the lives of others who had nothing to do with any of it? I’m basically a casualty of her infidelity and it pisses me off.

I don’t deserve this.

Marty really doesn’t deserve it.

But he does deserve his children.

I can’t be the reason he doesn’t have them.

Ugh.

It’s like a vicious circle in my brain, coming back to the same things over and over. It needs to stop before I drive myself insane.

I love him, truly, but we can’t have everything we want in life.

I’ve learned that lesson the hard way.

One thing I thought of on the flight, however, was something I’ve never considered before: Adoption.

Not now.

I’m still too raw from the traumas of my past, but in a few years, once I’m past the worst of it, I might consider it. There are so many children who aren’t wanted, in foster care, who need homes. And I could provide a good one.

When the time is right, I’ll be a good mom.

At least, I’ll try my best.

There has to be a kid out there who needs my love.

I haven’t worked out any logistics of what, when, or where, but I will.

I have time. I’m only twenty-seven, and despite thinking that it’s time to slow down, maybe it’s not.

If I can spend the next few years focusing on my career—making money and investing it wisely—I could retire and not have to worry about money ever again. I would still do something, and though I’m not sure what, I have time to figure it out.

The canvas of my life is blank again.

All I can do now is start painting a new future.

A future without Marty.

I just didn’t realize how much this would hurt.