Page 109 of The Golden Scoop

“I—no, just⁠—”

I’m stuck on that last word.

Bleed. Make him bleed.

“Mills?”

My head turns to him at the sound of my name.

Martha’s cutthroat. And I’m not actually an editor. I write The Golden Scoop and I’m pretty sure I’m royally fucked.

I want to tell him. Let it all out, and deal with the fallout if there is any.

But I can’t.

My contract was already broken—twice—with Julia and Harrison. They haven’t, and would never say a word, but that doesn’t mean it didn’t cross the line.

Matt’s eyes are full of worry. My chest tightens, begging me to trust him, but my brain is already listing the consequences. I could lose my job. Get blacklisted from every decent publication in the city.

A couple more days. I need to make it out of the column, then I can come clean. All I have to do is convince Martha this version will spike the ratings as is.

“I have to go.” I’m already getting up before I say something I shouldn’t. “I’ll text you.”

He looks so confused he doesn’t even move.

I lean forward and kiss his cheek a little longer than normal.

Just in case I’m about to ruin this.

TWENTY-FIVE

Matt

The rollercoaster stalls at the top. It’s dangling at the edge for that awful second stretching too long… before dumping us into the void.

That’s how I’ve been feeling since Emma left. My heart’s lodged in my throat, thoughts slipping through my fingers.

I try to ignore it. She’s an editor, after all. It might not even be about me. That’s what I keep telling myself as I clean up from breakfast.

Almost works. Then, I pick up her coffee mug.

Just like that, time rewinds, putting me back outside with her beside me.

Honestly, I feel like I’m going through withdrawals.

The memory’s vivid enough to catch the cloudiness in her eyes when she finally looked up at me. The usual blush in her cheeks gone. A faint shakiness in her hand as she clutched her phone so hard her knuckles went white.

I can lie to myself for hours. At the end of the day, though, I know. If it weren’t about me—about us—she wouldn’t have left.

I check my phone for what has to be the fiftieth time. Still nothing. My fingers type out a message and send it before I can overthink it.

You made it okay?

The typing bubbles pop up. Her reply comes in. Short, and stripped of her usual spark.

Mills

Yes. I’ll probably have to stay home all day.