James’s eyes darted back and forth guiltily. He shifted his weight and ran his hand through his hair. Rowan’s heart sank. She recognized this look too. She’d lived through it countless times when James brought one girl to a party and left with another.
But she’d never thought he would do it to her.
“Jesus,” she spat, a hard shell forming around her. Then she wheeled around toward the street, suddenly desperate to escape.
“Rowan!” James cried, darting after her. “Wait! Please!”
Her walk turned to a run. She sped to the end of the street, her eyes blurring with shameful tears. Fucking idiot, a voice inside her chided. And she’d thought James had changed. It was sickening how blindsided she felt, when really, she should have seen this coming from miles away.
“Rowan!” James’s voice receded down the street.
She walked downtown, focusing on a forward point and nothing else. If she stopped walking, she thought, she might perish. If she stopped walking, she might start thinking about what had just happened. And she might crumble to sand.
“Rowan!” James screamed, a half block away. “Rowan, come back here!”
His words washed over her. She thought of a million horrible things she could say to him, but she couldn’t imagine even looking at him right then. So she picked up the pace, turning off the avenue and zigzagging down a side street. Two small blocks later, she realized James’s calls had ceased. She looked over her shoulder, and James was gone. She was filled partly with satisfaction and partly with loathing. He hadn’t even bothered to keep up with her.
She turned a corner onto a street she didn’t recognize. Abandoned slaughterhouses loomed above her like old iron carcasses. Rowan heard traffic sounds, but her head was spinning so manically that she couldn’t tell which way Tenth Avenue was. Her heart started to thud. How was it that she had no idea where she was in her hometown?
She ran, her heels twisting, her arms pumping. When she stepped off a curb, her ankle turned. She felt her body launch into the air and screamed. Her knee hit the brick street first, and then her elbow. White-hot pain shot through her body, and she scrambled up as fast as she could. But then she felt a rush of wind to her left, and a horn honked in her ear. The headlights were bearing down on her as she turned her head.
“Rowan!” someone screamed behind her, and she felt a force pulling her back.
She stumbled up the curb again as the cab whipped past, the driver still laying on his horn. “Oh my God!” Corinne cried, spinning Rowan around and looking into her eyes. She pulled Rowan close and flung her arms around her.
“That car came out of nowhere,” Rowan whispered, feeling her heart bang against her rib cage. She gazed out at the empty street. The cab’s taillights disappeared around a corner. Thank God her cousin had been there.
Rowan began to quietly sob. Corinne might have been able to save her from a head-on collision, but who would rescue her from the free fall of a broken heart?
19
Corinne swept through the doors of her apartment building. “Miss Saybrook!” her doorman called out to her. Corinne turned warily. He was holding a large file folder in his hand. “For you. From that redhead.”
Corinne breezed over and took it from him, saying a clipped thank-you. “Turkey—New Hires,” it said in round handwriting on the front. She undid the closure and pulled out a few fat résumés. A pink Post-it was on the top one. “Sorry to hit you with work, but I need these approved by tomorrow. Thanks, Danielle.”
“Is she single?” Markus called after her as she clicked to the elevator.
Corinne tucked the files in her purse. “I don’t think so,” she called over her shoulder. She remembered Danielle bringing an attractive man named Brett Verdoorn to the Christmas party last year.
She unlocked her apartment and dropped her keys on the enormous marble kitchen island. Dixon, still in his work suit and loafers, was sitting in the den, the TV flashing against his face. Four players sat at a poker table, trading cards out to the dealer. Corinne slammed kitchen drawers and cabinets open and closed, sighing loudly when she noticed that Dixon had left an unwashed bowl of melted ice cream in the porcelain farmhouse sink—couldn’t he even wash a dish? She opened the fridge and pushed it shut again, hating its contents. She kicked off her shoes and didn’t care that they went skidding across the marble floor.
“Hey, babe,” he called out pleasantly, then slung an arm over the couch and tilted his neck back to get a view of her. “Where were you? More wedding stuff?”
Corinne plopped down next to him, irritated that he didn’t seem to sense her distress. “I just saw something awful,” she blurted.
Dixon crossed his arms over his chest. “Something on that website?”
“No. Worse.” Corinne told him about finding James with Evan. “I just hope Rowan’s okay. She’s not picking up.”