Page 4

Don’t you dare cry while you’re in this man’s apartment building.

They didn’t get to witness my world fall apart. I’d been cut off at the knees once before by someone who’d meant way more to me than them. I’d survive this, too.

Younger Graciella would’ve begged and pleaded for her job back, craving their approval.

She’d been too naive to realize that if you had to beg for acceptance, you’d already been dismissed.

Muggy air melded with hot tears breaking free as I pushed back out into the Dallas heat. I stumbled through the courtyard, much faster now that I didn’t care who saw me.

“Ma’am?”

My head popped up, and I wiped at my tears to see more than a blurry silhouette leaned against the driver’s side door of a car. I fucking hated that I cried when I was angry.

The rideshare driver.

God, he deserves more than the twenty I gave him to stay until I was done.

He pushed off, and the glow of the parking lot lights showed a face creased with concern. “Are you…okay?” he asked, extending a hand, but letting it drop before it reached my shoulder.

“God no!” was on the tip of my tongue, but he’d dealt with enough of my shit for one night. He didn’t need a breakdown, too.

I kicked at an empty water bottle, eyes glued to the asphalt. “Can you just take me home now?” My quiet, lonely home. My stomach dropped. “And then to the airport?” I blurted, shoving away the panic threatening to take hold.

The driver’s brows furrowed, gaze scanning my body before darting over my shoulder, probably waiting to see if alarms would blare before agreeing to take a crying woman sporting freshly scraped elbows and a hockey stick to the damn airport.

“No one’s coming,” I said.

No one ever did.

And that was just fine with me.

TWO

GRACIELLA

MEN DESERVE FEWER RIGHTS AND SHOULD HAVE TO DO MANDATORY HARD LABOR.

“Here.” Ari dropped a pile of pale-pink cotton bedding. The fabric landed with a soft thud against the wood, the faint scent of detergent wafting up. Late-morning light spilled through the arched windows behind her, highlighting the caramel and coffee tones in her swinging ponytail.

“Clean towels are in the bathroom if you need them for your stay…”She arched a brow, pinning it up near her hairline, her silent question hanging between us: “Why are you staying here?”

Oh, how the roles had changed. Wasn’t long ago that she’d slept on my couch. But she’d been couch-surfing because she’d gotten a job, and now I was because I’d lost one.

Figures.

“Thanks.”

The word came out too high and squeaky. Too guilty.

I avoided eye contact, instead studying the cream-colored plastered walls, dotted with photographs in a kaleidoscope of colorful frames. Some of them had pictures of us, some pictures of her and Dalton. The newest edition had her kissing him in front of the Stanley Cup, silver gleaming under the arena lights. The rest of the team she coached was celebrating in the background.

I scanned it for one face in particular, spotting him almost immediately. Dark trimmed scruff peppered his hard-set jaw, blue eyes drilling into mine, like he was judging me through a damn photo.

“They really let you on the plane with that?” my cousin asked, the leather creaking under her weight as she sat on the sliver of the couch cushion I wasn’t hogging, drawing me out of my stare-off.

“Let me on with what?” I followed where she tipped her chin toward the corner of the airy living room.

“Yup.” I let the ‘p’ pop. “Didn’t give me any issues about Monica…kinda.”