Unprofessional (Under editing)

Chapter 35: The Six Letter Word

I locked Rowan's office door behind me, fingers lingering longer than necessary on the handle.

The room was still warm with her scent, faintly floral and clean. I turned on my heel, back straight, breath tight. My inbox was a mess, three projects were past deadline, and the board wanted an answer by next week about the downtown development.

And Sabrina—Jesus, Sabrina had been calling, texting, emailing. I'd ignored every single message. Eventually I just blocked her. For now, the demon was at bay.

But Cassie.

Her name crept into my mind like a shadow slipping under a locked door. No matter how many times I tried to shut it out, it always found a way in.

Grief was a strange thing. It didn't always hit you like a punch—it lingered like smoke, clinging to everything, especially the parts of me I wanted to protect.

There were days I could pretend. Days I convinced myself I'd let her go, that I'd mourned and moved on. But then I would feel that empty space she'd left in Nolen, Benji, Noah and I's friend's group, and it would hit me all over again.

The guilt was always waiting. I didn't do enough. I wasn't enough. And now I was living in a world Cassie wasn't part of.

I hated myself for that sometimes.

I shook the thoughts off, forcing myself to stare at my screen.

Focus.

___

Dropping Lovey off at school, she asked me to buy her wiped cream so we could eat it together on Friday and draw. A strange request, but when has the young girl ever been normal? I told her I'd get it, and I meant to. I still would. Before I headed home.

Home.

The word used to mean nothing. Now it meant bedtime stories and pasta stains on the kitchen counter. It meant Lovey falling asleep on my chest during movie night. It meant Rowan's soft kiss on my cheek before she curled into her side of the bed.

God, it was late. I checked the time again. She said she'd drop by. Maybe she got sidetracked. I smirked to myself—I'd tease her about it when I get back.

I stepped out of the building, the city's cool breath wrapping around me. I was halfway across the parking lot when I saw her.

Standing by my car like she had every right to be there.

My stomach dropped, then immediately curled into a tight knot. I kept walking like I hadn't seen her, but I knew it was too late. Her eyes locked with mine, and there was no backing out.

"Isaac—please," she said, stepping toward me.

I stood there quietly, fuming.

She reached out, touched my arm. I pulled back.

"Don't touch me."

"Just wait—please," she begged, stepping in my path. "Can we talk?"

"There's nothing to say," I snapped. "I don't even want to see your face."

"There's nothing left to say," I snapped, words sharper than I intended, but I didn't care. "You've texted, emailed, called—I blocked everything. You think cornering me in a parking lot is going to change anything?"

Her face twisted. "You're acting like you're some kind of saint."

I laughed—bitter and tired. "You think I'm not a victim of this? You think I don't carry this shit with me every day? That I don't—"