A Warm Reception

FREYA

I watched Paris roll by through the taxi window.

After a while, I didn’t see any of it; my eyes grew unfocused, trapped on some distant plane.

“We’re here,” said the driver in a thick French accent, turning to look back at me.

“Oh. Thanks.”

I climbed out of the cab with just my purse and a backpack containing my sketchbook and an extra hoodie, in case I got cold.

None of the other clothes or shoes, or anything in my luggage, actually belonged to me. It ~wasn’t~ me.

As the driver pulled off, I stood frozen for a moment, my feet unwilling to carry me forward.

To carry me away.

I knew this first step would be the hardest, and that the next few would probably be equally unbearable.

But each step—each day—would bring me closer to the future I wanted for myself.

With that resolution, I picked myself up and walked into the airport.

After the weeks of being on Liam’s payroll, I had more than enough money to get my own flight back to New York. Beyond that, I didn’t know what lay ahead.

***

“Do I know you?” said a girl’s voice, ripping me from my fleeting moment of serenity.

Or what serenity I could get in coach.

We hadn’t taken off yet, but I still wasn’t keen on flying, so I’d put on an eye mask as soon as I found my seat in hopes of just sleeping through most of the flight.

I slid the eye mask up my forehead and turned to locate the source of the voice.

It belonged to a teenage girl with braces and a cell phone sitting beside me in the crowded cabin of the plane.

“No,” I replied, looking away.

“Are you sure?” she pressed on. “You look really familiar…”

I watched as realization spilled across her face, groaning internally.

“Oh my God! You’re what’s-her-face. Liam Henderson’s bitchy girlfriend.” She smirked, raising her phone to take a picture of me.

“Good to know,” I muttered, glancing around to see if there were any empty seats I could move to.

No such luck.

“So, is it true?” she demanded, texting furiously away on her phone.

“Is ~what~ true?” I asked.

“It’s all over the news,” she gushed as she held up a grainy photo of me from literally just a couple of hours before. It was of me walking into the airport by myself. “You left him?”

~Shit.~

***

My flight landed at LaGuardia around nine in the morning local time, and I cursed silently at the teenage girl with the boundaries problem who hadn’t shut up for the last several hours.

I was running practically off of fumes.

Fumes and airport granola bars.

As I made my way down the escalator, I caught sight of a crowd—friends and family members, waiting to welcome their loved ones back home.

~Must be nice.~

My eyes habitually scanned the line of uniform-clad drivers, waiting for clients with their names on fancy, white cards.

I paused.

My name was on one of them.

In utter disbelief, I read it again.

~Freya Coleman~, clear as day.

~There’s got to be a mistake.~

I marched over to the driver, a balding, middle-aged man, and hesitated.

“Miss Coleman?” he asked, lowering the sign.

“Um…yeah. I didn’t order a car, though.”

The driver nodded understandingly. “Mr. Henderson called us about an hour ago. He said you’d be needing a ride home.”

~He is unbelievable.~

He couldn’t just allow me to leave on my own terms.

For a moment, I considered telling the driver to forget it, and taking the train, or a bus, or ~whatever~, but the weight of my unrested eyes became overwhelming.

“Thank you,” I said finally.

“This way, Miss Coleman.”

As I followed the driver to the exit, I fished my phone out of my pocket and shot Liam a chastising text.

Freya

You shouldn’t have sent a car.

Freya

I’m perfectly capable of finding my way home from the airport.

I shoved my phone into the side pocket of my backpack; I didn’t want to see his response.

He would, no doubt, try to reason with me. To say that he would change.

To my chagrin, a black limo waited for me at the curb outside.

~This is too much.~

The driver opened the door to the back seat, then hurried around the side to lift the hatch to the trunk.

“May I take your bag, miss?” He gestured to my backpack.

“Oh. Sure.” I handed him the bag before climbing into the back of the car and resting my head against the window.

~I cannot wait to be in my own bed again.~

~Wherever that is.~

LIAM

I blinked my burning eyes as consciousness slowly filled my body.

~Where am I?~

I was in bed with my shoes still on, facedown in a puddle of drool.

My throat felt like sandpaper.

~Need water…~

I sat up a little too quickly and suddenly felt a dull, pounding sensation forming in my temples.

~What time is it?~

Looking up at the clock on the wall, the hour hand was nearing the three.

~In the afternoon?~

~What happened last night?~

Swinging a leg over the side of the couch, I slowly raised myself, testing my balance.

It was decent.

My first move was to close the curtains, which ferried in the unforgiving morning light, then to the kitchenette in search of as much water as I could possibly chug down.

The next was to the bathroom, to hastily regurgitate the water along with the mystery cocktail in my stomach.

I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, groaning.

~The last thing I remember is Jeb handing me a flaming shot of…Patron? 151? Maker’s Mark? Fuck…~

Then suddenly it dawned on me.

~Freya.~

A dreadful sinking feeling took the place of the nausea still residing in my lower abdomen.

I pictured her waiting for me, staring at the clock, her mind daring to imagine what I could possibly be up to.

Then my faulty memory slowly patched together the events of the previous night.

~Oh, God. Jeb…~

How close Jeb had come.

Freya’s cries of terror.

And it was all my fault. I had to see Freya.

To talk to her.

To apologize.

To make sure she was okay.

Using the wall to steady myself, I shuffled to the bedroom.

Freya was nowhere in sight.

I paused when my eyes skimmed a piece of hotel stationery sitting atop one of the pillows.

Stumbling forward, I snatched the paper.

~Dear Liam,~

~I’m sorry for leaving. And I’m sorry that I can’t be who you need right now. I don’t think I’ll ever be that person.~

~It’s too much, Liam. As much as it hurts me to admit, I know that we aren’t good for each other, and I think that deep down you know it too.~

~I suppose, to you, it doesn’t matter why I’m leaving. But I want you to know that I didn’t have a choice.~

~I can’t live like this.~

~Please know that I don’t blame you, or your life. I only blame myself. I should have known better.~

~I also want you to know that I love you, Liam, but ours was a relationship that was never meant to last long.~

~I look forward to the day that we can be friends, if it comes at all. Until then, please know that I will always love you.~

~Take care of yourself.~

~Freya~

My tears splattered against the paper, mixing with the ink.

My finger carefully traced where she’d signed her name and the dreaded feeling of emptiness crept beneath my skin.

Took hold of me.

~She’s gone.~

~She left me.~

With each breath, I felt her presence—her smell, the feel of her skin against mine, all of it—slowly fading away.

~I pushed her away~, I thought.

Another one to add to the roster.

My sister, my father, my mother, and now Freya.

It was too much to bear.

I clamped my eyes shut, willing the last of my tears to flow out of me.

I wanted to be done with them.

~I fucked this up. Just like I knew I would!~

I felt the rage coming on, just like the last few times, but this time I didn’t care.

The heat—the sheer fury—pumped through my blood, coursing through my veins on a mission.

My hands felt like they were on fire.

I grabbed the closest thing to me—a floor lamp—and hurled it across the room. With a ~crash~, it hit the back wall, tearing down an expensive-looking painting with it.

I stormed to the living room, my hands grasping hold of anything and everything I could find and reducing it all to debris.

~She left me.~

~I MADE her leave me!~

I ripped a massive mirror from the wall and smashed it on the floor, stepping across the broken glass with my bare feet.

My enflamed fists, with no other immediate destination, flew against the wall, and suddenly I was beating down the drywall with my bare hands.

Blood began to pour out of my knuckles and down my forearms, but I didn’t care.

~I’m a fucking disease!~

I could no longer see my surroundings, just the faces of the ones who’d loved me and left me to rot.

I couldn’t take it.

I wouldn’t take it.

“Liam! What the fuck are you doing?” Two hands pulled me back from my rampage on the drywall, arms wrapping around my torso to restrain me.

Craning my neck around, I narrowed my eyes in disgust.

“Get the fuck off of me, Wyatt.”

“I’m only letting go if you promise you’ll calm down,” Wyatt insisted.

“Fine,” I replied, panting.

Wyatt dropped his bear hug and took several steps away from me, just as Lucinda burst into the room.

“Liam! Liam Henderson! Would you like to tell me why the hotel staff thinks you’re beating someone to death in here?”

She froze when she caught sight of ground zero, her eyes flying from the shattered glass on the floor to the walls, then down to my bloodied fists.

“Oh, God, Liam,” she murmured, catching her breath. “What happened?”

I watched her wince as I stepped on a particularly large deposit of broken glass.

“Freya left,” I proclaimed, my voice even.

I was still panting from my sudden surge, not entirely convinced that the episode was completely done.

A part of it still lived in my system.

~I’ll never be happy again.~

My cell phone, which was sitting faceup on the leather couch, suddenly chimed.

Inspired by a foolish wave of wishful thinking, I dove for the device and prayed it was Freya.

~Holy shit.~

~It IS her.~

Freya

You shouldn’t have sent a car.

Freya

I’m perfectly capable of finding my way home from the airport.

I glanced up from the screen, returning Lucinda’s gaze.

~What the hell is she talking about?~

“Did either of you send a car to pick up Freya from the airport?” I looked desperately from Luce to Wyatt, who rolled his eyes.

“No.”

“No.”

I glanced back down at the screen, bewildered.

And that’s when it hit me.

~If I didn’t send her a car…~

~Who did?~

FREYA

The limo hit a large pothole in the road, bouncing me out of the seat.

I squinted as I stared out of the window.

~Um…~

~Where the hell is he taking me?~

I watched as we passed a gas station, several liquor stores, and a handful of abandoned brick buildings—there was little else around.

From the looks of it, we were passing through a ghost town.

I glanced to the driver in the front of the car, but the privacy screen had been rolled up.

Fumbling with the controls, I tried to lower it, but nothing happened.

I located the intercom button and pressed it.

“Can I help you, Miss Coleman?” the driver’s voice came across the intercom.

“Hi! Yes—um, I’m not sure what address Liam gave you, but I don’t think this is the way to Manhattan,” I replied, glancing out the window again.

It was impossible to say how long I’d dozed off for, but we couldn’t be too far off course.

Maybe he’d made a wrong turn. Or was trying to avoid traffic.

“Don’t worry, miss. We’re taking you exactly where you’re supposed to go,” he replied.

“Are you sure, because I—”

~Hold up.~

“‘We’?”

The privacy screen suddenly came to life, retracting into the wall of the car, and I saw that there was someone sitting beside the driver in the passenger seat.

A head of brown hair covered by a blue baseball cap.

~No.~

~It’s not…~

~It can’t be…~

The man turned his head slowly, allowing his grinning face to come into view.

~I’m going to fucking die.~

“Hello, sweetheart.”