Delaney James seems to have it all-a successful husband, a stylish Manhattan townhouse, and a thriving career in fashion journalism-until it all falls apart. Her husband leaves her, shattering the perfect life she once knew. Heartbroken and desperat...
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I want to walk home. My parents dropped me off on their way to dinner, but Jenkins is only about four blocks from our house, so it's not out of the question. Besides, it's a beautiful night and I think the cool air might help me clear my head, but I only get a block before Jo pulls up next to me on the sidewalk.
"Get in, loser. We're going home."
I shove my hands in the front pockets of my jeans and keep walking. "It's okay, Jo. I'd rather walk."
"I'm just going to follow you until you're home, so you might as well get in and save us the awkwardness of me driving two miles an hour next to you for the next four blocks."
I stop and turn to her, pursing my lips, but the goofy smile on her face causes the corners of my mouth to turn up. How can I turn her down now?
Plus, the shoes on my feet are very expensive, and I'll never forgive myself if I ruin them simply because I'm too stubborn to accept a ride home.
"Fine, but I'm not talking about Greyson."
She leans across the passenger seat and opens the door for me. "Greyson who?"
We ride in silence the rest of the way home. The volume on the radio is turned down, but the faint thrum of a James Bay song plays throughout the car, and my eyes involuntarily well with tears.
Jo pulls into my driveway and turns off the ignition.
"Are you okay?" she asks.
"No." I drop my eyes to my hands and pick at the hangnail on my thumb. "I'm not okay. I don't think I'll ever be okay again."
She sighs and stares straight ahead. "That was hard to watch."
"Try being on the receiving end." I wipe my eyes with the back of my hand, mascara smudges on my skin. "Ugh! I'm so sick of crying!"
Jo pulls a tissue from the glove compartment and hands it to me. "Thanks," I say. "Tissues are a far cry from when you used to offer me your sleeve."
She laughs. "Yeah, well, my sleeves are kind of reserved for someone else these days."
I wipe under my eyes – make-up smeared on the tissue as I pull it away – and toss it in the plastic trash bag Jo has hanging off the center console.
"You know, I used to think things happened for a reason. I thought getting into NYU was a sign. A sign that there was more for me out there other being Greyson McKinnie's girlfriend. I thought our break-up was proof that we didn't belong together. I mean, if he couldn't do long distance for a few years, how would we survive his travel schedule once he made it to the pros? I met Will and I believed he was the right person for me. We were in the same city and planned to stay there. The bones of our relationship were solid. I knew if I married him, I'd be taken care of. There'd be stability and consistency, you know?" I ask, slapping the back of my hand against my palm to emphasize my point. "But I always knew something wasn't right between us. There was always something missing. Be it the same amount of love, or respect, or trust, I'm not sure. I still love him and probably always will, but I think I've known for a while that our relationship isn't healthy. It's toxic, and manipulative, and I think maybe even borderline abusive. Despite the discouraging path my life has taken, I can't regret any of the decisions I've made, because they've gotten me here – with you – but there isn't a day that's gone by that I don't wonder how my life would've turned out had I gone with Greyson."
