Not an invitation to still come, but a polite message that leaves no doubt she’s moved on from waiting for me.
My steps drag across the linoleum as I move through the empty corridors.
Outside, the cold hits my face like a slap. My breath fogs the air as I cross the empty parking lot to my car, the only vehicle left.
As I fumble for my keys, the realization settles in.
Carson never forbade me from leaving. He never ordered me to stay.
He simply made leaving too costly.
The driver’s door creaks open, and I slide behind the wheel, the leather seat cold through my coat. In the rearview mirror,Pinecrest Academy looms dark except for a single lit window in Carson’s office, watching.
The engine turns over. Cold air blasts from the vents.
My phone buzzes.
Carson
Thanks for staying late to address those concerns. Your dedication will be noted in your quarterly review.
My stomach turns.
Tonight was a test of how long I would stay. How far I would bend.
And I played right into his hands.
I can’t keep living in both worlds. Sooner or later Carson will force a choice between my life with Emily and my place here.
And when that moment comes, I’m not sure I’ll be strong enough to choose the right one.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Emily
The sponge squeaks across the ceramic plate as I scrub at a spot of dried gravy that refuses to budge. Water runs over my hands, too hot for comfort but not hot enough to distract from the third place setting I’d laid out with such care.
The plate still sits on the table, clean and empty, the napkin folded into a perfect triangle beside it. Leif’s place. Waiting for someone who never came.
“You can leave that to soak,” Jared says from behind me.
I ignore him, putting more pressure on the sponge until my knuckles whiten. The gravy spot surrenders, finally, and I rinse the plate with a frustrated twist of my wrist.
“The stew turned out good,” Jared adds.
I grunt in response and reach for another dirty dish. My own plate. The food had dried out after an hour of waiting.
Nine thirty now. Dinner was meant to be at seven. The bread I baked sits on the cutting board, its crust hardened beyond salvation. I’d pulled it from the oven at the perfect moment, when the top had turned golden brown, filling the air with yeast and warmth. By the time we gave up waiting and ate without Leif, it had cooled past its prime.
The screen of my phone lights up on the counter, and I check it, hope rising before I squash it flat. Not Leif. A news alert about a winter storm warning.
His last message circles through my mind for the hundredth time tonight.Got held up with urgent school business. Leaving now.
Dish soap bubbles rise up my wrists as I plunge my hands back into the sink. “What kind of school business keeps him until nine at night? What meeting runs two hours past schedule without a single text message to let us know?”
No anger rises in me, though I wish it would. Anger would be easier than this quiet, heavy disappointment that settles under my ribs.
Jared leans against the refrigerator, watching me, his salt-air scent wrapping around me with a need to comfort, even if he doesn’t realize he’s doing it. “He didn’t say?”