CHAPTER THIRTY TWO
We’ll be returning to New York in two days.
The words echo in my head as I have already sent Blake a message, that I’m ready to book him for therapy, no more pretending.
A sound tears out of my chest before I can stop it—a sharp, frustrated scream that fills the hotel room and bounces off the walls. I press my palms to my face, breath shaking.
“I don’t understand,” I whisper. “I don’t understand why Hardin is punishing me.”
My chest aches like it’s being slowly crushed. I wipe my tears angrily, as if that will erase how weak I feel. As if crying makes this any less real.
I go through my night routine on autopilot. Shower. Lotion. Pajamas. The motions are familiar, empty. I order drinks to the room, too many and drink until my head feels light and my thoughts blur.
