Emerson laughs, shaking her head and acknowledging her own private joke. “That’s what all the girls say. Why don’t you have a chat with Farrah? I’m sure Wesley has spun the same story, and that’s how he wooed you into bed.”
I turn to face her, quick and sharp. “What makes you think that Wesley wooed me into bed? You don’t think it’s possible for two people to be sexually attracted to each other and make a joint decision to be intimate with each other?”
“Milana. Trust me when I say this to you… Wesley is no good. He will hurt you. He’s destructive by nature. You’re smart, you’ve got good morals. Run while you can.”
“If y
ou think he’s so destructive, then why are you still business partners? Why won’t you let go of him? Are you still in love with him? Is that why you’re so worked up about us?”
With an incredulous look, Emerson stiffens her shoulders and crosses her arms with a slight huff. “I love Logan. I love my family. I’m offended that you’ve suggested such a thing. We’re business partners because he won’t let go. I’m not giving up what I built from nothing. This is my dream, not his. And, of course, because he’s being an asshole, he holds onto it. Or maybe, because he’s still in love with me.”
The words cut deep exposing a wound that’s surfacing slowly. My silence speaks volumes, my stare outside equally painful. For the rest of the flight, I run every moment with Wesley through my tired brain. The way he treats me, the way he smiles, our intimate moments when it’s just him and me. Alone with our souls. The way he laughs at my silly jokes. The way he romances me and opens his heart. All things he can’t have done if he’s in love with her.
Halfway into our flight, I fall asleep. I dream of Mama sitting on my bed watching me read to her. She laughs, holds me tight, and sometimes, if I’m lucky, she falls asleep beside me.
The voice, loud and rudely awakening me from my blissful sleep, is the captain announcing our descent. I rub my eyes, unaware that I had fell asleep for hours. Beside me, Emerson is sitting, still staring at the chair in front of her.
“I shouldn’t have said what I said. I’m sorry,” Emerson apologizes, quietly and keeping our conversation low again. “I don’t know where that came from. That’s Logan talking, not me. He has an obsession with Wesley. I get it, sort of. He’s my ex, and Logan’s jealousy is unruly at the best of times. But what I said, Milana, it was uncalled for.”
It doesn’t erase the humiliation that follows. I have no words to say despite her apology. Part of me so desperately wants to apologize to her. She risked her reputation and gave me a job. It allows me to support Mama and Flynn. But I can’t say the words. They’re trapped, buried beneath a pile of jealous resentment that creates this undefined layer between us.
“Milana.” Emerson places her hand on my arm, resting it gently. “If Logan finds out, which he will, it will be very difficult for me to work with you.”
“Then I should quit.”
“C’mon, let me talk to him. I don’t want to lose you. Not just because you’re a great assistant but because you’re a friend. This hurts, okay? I feel betrayed.” Her voice wavers, the warmth of her hand removes from my arm.
She has no idea what it feels like.
She feels betrayed? I am humiliated.
Everywhere I turn, I’m doing something wrong. Losing friends because of my actions, losing a perfectly suitable job because I allow my personal life to interfere.
And it all has one thing in common—Wesley Rich.
All I have left is my family.
As soon as the plane touches the tarmac, I switch on my phone. I have nothing from Wesley, a dozen texts from random people in my contacts list asking me about my relationship, and a voicemail from Mama.
“Sweetie, it’s me. I’m sorry I missed your call. I’ve been tired lately. It must be the change in weather. I hope it is nothing too important. I miss you, and your brother. Maybe a trip back home might be in order. I know you’re busy but maybe Grandpapa can come over and cook for us. We’ll talk soon. I love you.”
Around me, voices call my name. My vision is blurred, spots of colors that make no images or sense. Everything is echoing. I squeeze my eyes shut, ignoring it all, and shutting down the noise by covering my ears.
“I know you’re busy but maybe Grandpapa can come over and cook for us.”
“Grandpapa? Grandpapa…”
He’s gone.
He’s a memory.
And just like that—my nightmare begins.
Mom’s Alzheimer’s is fast becoming a reality.
Chapter Twenty-Three
“What you’ve experienced is called a panic attack.”