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“There are other agencies,” she says finally.

“I know, but I’m respecting what she wants, too. If ITA is really her goal, that’s her prerogative.”

“For once in your life, you should think about yourself.”

“That’s not my job, Marion.”

My voice goes firm, slipping into my corporate tone that scares most people straight. Not Marion, though, she sighs but doesn’t protest. I’m not the person standing in the spotlight; I’ve never been. My work is what gets me up in the morning, and my work is ensuring that others get where they’re trying to go. That means I am an endlessly selfless, helpful person. I don’t snark at my client. I don’t argue. I answer calls and fix people’s lives. I make introductions and make dreams come true.

I’m last on the list. And I’m happy there.

“Alright,” she says. “What are you doing right now? Can you call Lenny?”

My mouth opens. The words sit on my tongue. Then, I think about what’s waiting for me when I get to New York and for the first time, I choose to be selfish.

“No,” I say. “I’m flying to see her tonight. Just one more time. Lenny can sit and nurse his wounds for a few days.”

She’s shocked, I can tell by her silence. Then she laughs. “Good for you. I’ll hold everyone at bay for a few nights.”

I’m also not great at accepting help. But Serena makes me different; she makes me desperate. And bad at my job, apparently. I’ll have to snap out of it eventually because I know who I am and how many people are depending on me.

I just need tonight.

“Thank you,” I say.

She hangs up, and I’m left watching the airport lights get closer by the minute.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

SERENA

He caught me at my lowest, curled up against my headboard with my phone face down on the bed. Normally, I don’t let those little comments back and forth bother me, but tonight, one really got under my skin. I still haven’t told Mom about the whole posting music online—she’s blocked online—so I had nobody to pull me out of my spiral. She’s not at home, anyway.

I was dipping pretty low this time. Then, my phone screen lit up.

Now, I’m in front of the mirror, curling my freshly washed hair. My makeup is piled on the sink. I’m having trouble finishing this last curl because my hands keep shaking, and I’ve almost burned myself twice. I don’t know why I’m getting ready. I’m sure he’s going to take me up to a hotel room and all my carefully done mascara and lipstick will end up smeared across the pillow. But I want him to see me and think I’m beautiful. Maybe that’s pathetic, but it’s real.

My phone buzzes. I drop the unplugged curler into the sink and grab it.

Car’s on its way, I text.

I might faint. My heart races, heat surges up my neck. I go to my closet, yanking open the sliding doors.

I can’t go too casual. I also can’t do a dress and heels.

My fingers skim over the clothing, thinking of the last time we were together. At the back of the closet hang a half dozen unworn lingerie sets. The ones I bought at the mall and wondered whether he would ever see me in them. Pale pink, white lace, satin straps.

Fuck it, I’m going in. Taking one down, I slip on the panties and adjust the little bows at my hips. The bra is more complicated, with a lot of straps that have to be arranged around my ribs to get everything to lay correctly. Over it, I pull on a pink sweatsuit and grab my slip-on shoes, going for my wallet on the bedside table. Mom and Hugh are gone on an overnight trip again, this time to the coast.

I tiptoe downstairs. Derry is out cold on his bed, snoring so loud he can’t hear my footsteps. I glance at the clock on the stove as I pass by. Almost midnight. I pull out a notepad from the junk drawer and find a broken pencil.

What do I write?

Heading out of town overnight. Call you in the morning!

Don’t worry about me.

Serena.