Page 6 of Redamancy (Fated Fixation #2)

Chapter four

T his doesn't change anything.

Really, it doesn’t.

My life is no different now than it was last night when I opened Google, typed Adrian’s name into the search bar, and let the internet compile ten years' worth of history.

I’m still Poppy, still twenty-eight years old, still living in a tiny two-bedroom tucked in Two Bridges, Manhattan, and still single.

And yet…

For years now, I’ve been treating Adrian Ellis like a memory, not a man. Like a polaroid picture sitting in the top drawer of my nightstand that I can take out or stow away as I please. A souvenir of the past.

But now he’s real.

A real billionaire, a real resident doctor living in Maryland, saving the world one free heart transplant at a time, and—

A liar.

He promised he was going to hunt me down and collect me like a prize, but here I am, ten years later, still un-hunted and un-collected.

Which means he hasn’t been looking.

He hasn’t even tried.

And that’s good news.

Totally happy, good news that brings me nothing but relief, and definitely doesn’t sting at all.

I rub my temples.

Not even a little.

“Good morning!” LuAnne strides into the kitchen, already dressed in a pair of navy scrubs, looking more radiant than I’ve ever looked at 7 AM.

“Good morning,” I yawn, chin cradled in my palm as I scroll half-heartedly through the morning news.

This is how I know I’m getting older—my day doesn’t feel like it’s begun till I’ve consumed at least eighty-milligrams of caffeine and caught up on world events.

“You stay up late painting?” LuAnne asks, sidling past me and toward the fridge.

Well, that’s a generous term—really, it’s more like a glorified cooler. The internal thermostat is broken, rendering everything inside about five-degrees warmer than it should be, and us, dangerously close to food poisoning any time we cook an egg.

Joe was horrified the first time he came over and realized we use ice packs to keep our yogurt cold.

Unfortunately, our landlord, Yoshi, has been dragging his feet for months about replacing it (he’s convinced we broke the fridge to scam him into buying us a brand new one), and neither LuAnne nor I have anything close to new-fridge-money.

So, we settle for lukewarm yogurt.

“Yeah, painting. Definitely,” I lie.

She snags a protein shake from the bottom shelf and turns around. “You want some—Poppy!” Her eyes drop to the can in front of me, her disapproval clear. “I thought you were quitting.”

“I didn’t get any sleep last night,” I tell her, too sleep-deprived to feel guilty. “And I was—I am— quitting.” I grab the almost-empty Red Bull can and gulp down the rest. “This is it. My last one.”

And that last mouthful of citrusy, chemical sweetness tastes heavenly.

So heavenly I want another one.

She purses her lips. “You’ve been saying that for two years. I’m one more Red Bull away from calling an intervention or something.”

“You know, these have less caffeine than a cup of coffee—”

“And ten times more sugar,” she cuts in, glancing disdainfully at the empty can. “I’m not a health nut by any means, you know that, but those are terrible for you—especially when you drink as many as you do. I’m just looking out for your future heart health here.”

I almost roll my eyes, but suddenly, the thought of having to see a cardiovascular surgeon in any capacity…

“Maybe you’re right,” I say. “I should quit.”

She smiles. “Agreed.”

I open my mouth to reply, but a loud, insistent yowl suddenly cuts through the apartment.

“Did you feed Toby already?” LuAnne asks, already reaching for a can of his prescription weight loss food.

“An hour ago,” I nod, and a moment later, our slightly overweight, gray tabby trots into the kitchen. “Don’t listen to him. He’s just trying to swindle you.”

As if he can understand I’m sabotaging his plan, Toby jumps onto the side table and nearly knocks over my favorite thing in this apartment—a Nordic Bonbon lamp I thrifted in Williamsburg. “Toby!”

I save the lamp just in time, and Toby heads for the perch on the window, staring longingly at the unopened canned cat food.

Clearly, I’m not the only one struggling with addiction in this house.

I’ll admit it: I was skeptical when LuAnne brought Toby home from work three years ago. A malnourished stray someone found in Bed Stuy, Toby (somehow) captured her heart between administering his flea medication and bath time—and LuAnne couldn’t bear to surrender him to another overfilled shelter.

He’s still working on capturing mine, though.

“He’s too smart for his own good,” LuAnne stuffs her hands into her scrub pockets, eyes suddenly widening with panic. “Oh, shit.”

“What is it?”

From her left pocket, she pulls out a wide notepad barely larger than a checkbook.

“My prescription pad,” she sighs. “I accidentally brought it home. Again.” She blows out a breath.

“I could get in serious trouble for this. It’s supposed to be locked up in the office.

” She bites her lip. “If it fell out and someone found it…”

“They’d be able to forge prescriptions under your name,” I finish. “Yeah, that doesn’t sound great.”

LuAnne tucks the pad into her workbag. “This is the third time this month I’ve accidentally brought it home.

I need to set reminders or something.” She shakes her head in disappointment.

“The last thing I need is an open investigation or suspended license because I can’t remember to check my pockets. ”

She then glances toward the stack of unopened mail sitting on the counter. “We haven’t gotten our lease renewal letter yet, have we?”

I eye her with suspicion. “No. I haven’t seen it, but I’m sure it’ll come any day now.”

Has Joe asked her to move in already?

It wouldn’t entirely surprise me, given how gung-ho he was about the possibility the other night.

And I just gave him the green light.

“Alright,” she nods. “I’ll check the mail this afternoon. Here’s to hoping they don’t raise our rent by another hundred bucks this year.”

Hm…maybe he hasn’t.

LuAnne grabs her Patagonia jacket hanging from the coat hook, the one I bought her as a vet school graduation gift two years ago. Above the logo, it’s stitched with Dr. LuAnne Hart, DVM —an addition I had to dip into my savings for, but a worthwhile one.

“Let’s see,” she sighs again. “Keys, phone, bag, missing prescription pad—oh! There’s something I want to talk to you about before I forget.”

I lean forward, elbows propped on the counter. “What’s up?”

“I’ve got this charity work event this weekend,” she tells me. “The hospital is throwing a gala to celebrate its biggest donors. Attendance is mandatory for all doctors, and Joe was supposed to be my plus-one, but now, he’s bailing.”

“So, I’m second-choice arm candy for the night?” I tease.

She pouts playfully. “I know you’re super busy painting stuff for your art show, but there will be free champagne and appetizers. And we can make fun of all the really hoity-toity rich people together.”

Well, I am busy but…

“Why not?” I shrug. “I can think of worse ways to spend my night than dressing up, sipping free champagne, and flirting with a couple of really rich guys.”

Surprise flickers over face. “I thought dating wasn’t a priority.”

“Well…” I shift on the kitchen barstool. “I was thinking about what you said the other night. At the bar.”

“Okay.” She sets her keys down.

“And maybe…” I clear my throat. “Maybe there was some truth to it. Maybe that relationship, the one I told you about before…” I take a deep breath, swallowing down my hesitation.

This would be easier with rum.

“Maybe it has been holding me back,” I finally say.

LuAnne doesn’t try to mask her shock. “Really?”

“Yeah…” It feels like I’m choking on every word.

“Not intentionally, but when we broke up, it was very sudden. I told him I loved him, and he couldn’t say it back, and within twenty-four hours, I was on a plane to New York City.

” I fidget with the empty Red Bull can. “He was really upset, of course. We were supposed to have a future together, and I left without a word. In that last conversation, he made all sorts of promises about us being forever and getting back together.”

“We haven’t spoken since, but I think…” Another deep breath. “I think a part of me has been waiting for him to make good on those promises…even after all this time.”

Embarrassment colors my cheeks. Out loud, without context, I know it sounds crazy.

The only twenty-eight-year-old women still pining after their high school boyfriends are the ones married to them.

But Adrian wasn’t your average high-school boyfriend, and neither was our relationship.

We were bonded by murder, blackmail, and mutually assured destruction—not school dances and movie dates.

Well, not only dances and movie dates.

“That’s a…lot.” There’s no judgment in her tone as she leans her forearms on the counter. “Do you regret leaving?”

The question hangs heavy in the air between us, and I’m not sure I’ve ever thought about it so directly but…

“No,” I say, and I’m surprised by how much I mean it.

“If you’d asked me nine, eight, five, even three years ago, I think my answer would be different, but I don’t regret it now.

If I’d stayed with Adrian—” I pause, realizing it’s the first time I’ve named him to LuAnne.

To anyone. “I would’ve been happier than I could ever hope to be, but some part of me would’ve always been waiting for the other shoe to drop.

And it would’ve dropped. Eventually. The other shoe always drops.

The infatuation would’ve worn off. He would’ve grown tired of me.

He would’ve seen too much, and he would’ve left. Or forced me to leave.”

And then I would’ve had nothing.

A lump swells in my throat. “It’s better that I left my way. If I hadn’t, if I’d stayed and waited for him to leave instead, it would’ve…”

Shattered me.

Beyond repair.

When I look up, there’s understanding in her gaze—but something else too.

Sadness.

“I don’t regret it,” I repeat.