When we pulled up to the house, Rory sat on the porch, wrapped up in a secondhand coat, a pile of reusable grocery bags beside her.
“Welcome home!” she said, rushing toward me the moment I was out of the car. “How are you?”
“Glad to be home,” I said, smiling weakly.
Tristan pulled up behind us in Cole’s sports car but didn’t get out.
“Tell him to leave,” I said quietly.
My father gave me a considering look then walked up to Tristan’s window. I couldn’t hear their conversation, but Tristan’s expression was stricken. I hated how much it hurt when he nodded sharply then drove away.
Rory helped me up the stairs while Dad brought in the groceries. She’d gotten us real food, not just ramen and canned soup. There were fresh vegetables, meat, and coffee—realcoffee.
“Rory, this is too much?—”
“Shut up,” she said cheerfully and plunked herself down on the couch beside me while my father put the food away.
Rory pulled a sleek black credit card from her coat pocket and pressed it into my hand.
I stared at the embossed name—Colton Carter.
“What the fuck?”
“Massi gave it to me,” Rory said, her voice carefully neutral, like I wouldn’t notice the tension when she spoke his name.
“Does Cole know?” My heart started to pound. I hadn’t told them we’d broken up, hadn’t told them anything.
“Eva, I don’t know what happened this weekend, and I’m going to follow our no questions rule, but woman, spend the fucker’s money. I suspect it’s the least he can do.”
I tried to hand it back. “I can’t.”
“The fuck you can’t,” Rory said. “He can afford it.”
Long after she left, I sat alone in the dim living room, my father heading out to the docks to work after several days off. The house creaked around me, settling into the cold.
I turned the card over in my hands, over and over and over again.
Then, I opened a web browser on my phone.
First, premium access to legal databases for $500 amonth. My hands shook as I entered the card number, half-expecting it to decline. It went through.
Next, access to federal court records for $100.
And then, a high-end laptop with expedited shipping for $2,500, followed by two phones I could use as burners for $150 each.
And then finally, access to databases for corporate filings for $800 a year.
Each purchase felt like stealing back a piece of myself, making Cole pay for hurting me. I wondered if he was watching, if he’d see these charges and figure out what I was planning, or if he’d report the card as stolen just to hurt me one more time.
Part of me hoped he would. It would make hating him so much easier.
If he didn’t—if he let me spend his money without a fight—I’d use every fucking dollar to burn his father’s empire to the ground.
I opened a new browser tab and kept shopping.
13
COLE