He opens his mouth and closes it, his jaw tight as steel beneath the fine layer of scruff.
“You should have trusted me,” I continue. “Just like you should have trusted me with the truth about San Francisco.” And then my heart breaks all over again as I realize that no matter what happens, I’m not fighting for us anymore. He already chose.
Damien was right. Locke was always going to leave me.
The walls of the supply closet press in and the air feels thick and sour and I can’t breathe, I can’t breathe, I can’t breathe. Fire licks through my lungs, a searing burn, and tears course down my face, unbidden. I need to get out of here before I completely lose my shit.
I push past Locke and reach for the door handle. With one hand on the knob, I look back over my shoulder at the one man who’s been through so much with me. My best friend, who I’ve loved in so many ways. My best friend, who I’m losing and I’ve lost.
“This was my biggest fear,” I whisper.
A tear glitters on Locke’s cheek, and he swipes it away. Another follows it, trailing from his eye to the corner of his mouth. “I’m so sorry, Greer,” he says, his voice thick and raw.
I nod once before I push open the door and walk away. I’ve won, but it’s an empty victory. Locke’s leaving.
It’s already too late.
26
Locke
Eden frowns at me over the top of her laptop on Monday. “When exactly did you say you’re leaving?”
I stare at the calendar summoned on my own computer and groan. “I didn’t.”
Eden and I are huddled up on the couches at the far end of the open office to discuss content strategy and how I’ll be handing off responsibilities while I transition to my new role. Our normal writing crew is noticeably down one member, and I can’t say I blame her.
Greer is…well…somewhere. I didn’t get an out of office message from her when I sent the meeting invitation this morning, though I wasn’t holding my breath that she’d show up, either.
“Is San Francisco hoping to have you there for the new year? Are they giving you two weeks to switch?” Eden wrinkles her nose as she stares at the computer. “I mean, I don’t know when you’d exactly count the starting point with all the vacation days coming up.”
“Yeah.” Christmas Eve is tomorrow. Historically, the WanderWell offices run only the barest crew during the stretch between Christmas and New Year’s Day, and with my seniority, I usually take the whole thing off.
My shoulders knot with tension as I realize just how little I’ve figured out about this whole San Francisco thing. The weight of it’s starting to sink in—I need to give notice to my landlord that I’m leaving, look for a new apartment while still living here, pack up my life, tell my family, fake my way through Christmas.
All of it without Greer.
Everything, everything, feels like a gaping wound and an open plan.
I hate every part of it.
“Excuse me?”
I look up and spot the same guy who originally moved Damien’s stuff into the office. He carries a large cardboard box in his hands. Empty.
For Greer? My heart lurches even though I don’t have any reason to believe she’s leaving. Other than what I did to her.
“Yes?” I ask.
“Am I remembering correctly that Mr. Price sits in the far row of this office?”
I nod in stunned silence, and the guy offers his thanks and heads toward Damien’s desk. Eden’s gaze follows him all the way there.
“Holy shit,” she whispers to me. “He couldn’t even come in to save face.”
“What do you mean?”
Eden gives me a look like I’m an idiot and then sighs. “Damien. Didn’t you see the message?”
“What message?”
“Oh, lord.” She taps a few keys on her computer and a company-wide email lands in my inbox.
I skim the message and my skin prickles with unease.
In accordance with our zero-tolerance policy about sexual harassment, a member of our staff was let go early this morning. For their privacy, their name will not be disclosed, however we want to assure each of our valued staff members that WanderWell seeks to be a safe, supportive environment for all our employees, and we will not tolerate unwelcome behavior.
With Damien out of the office and a moving crew asking for his desk, it doesn’t take a genius to connect the dots.
“She wasn’t shitting me,” I blurt out, not bothering to read to the end.
Eden narrows her eyes at me. “Who?”
I swallow hard. “Greer.” She was right to be pissed at me for not trusting her. My stupid ego just ruined everything for me. For us.
“About that.” Eden closes her laptop and crosses her arms over her chest, signaling that we’re moving from professional to personal territory. “What’s going on?” she asks in a lowered voice. “When you guys aren’t talking, it’s like there’s something wrong with the universe.”
“We’re not…” I don’t even know where to go with that.
Eden scoots toward the edge of the couch and says, “Locke, seriously? First, you take this job, then Armageddon goes down in the supply closet on Friday, and now Greer’s gone.” Her features twist in disappointment. “After all that work I did to make sure you’d get her for your Secret Santa recipient, you can’t drop the ball now.”
My jaw drops. “You set us up?”
“What?” Eden shrugs. “I just nudged you. It’s obvious how crazy you are about each other.”
My mind reels back to when Greer first walked in the doors at WanderWell. “I thought you told me to back off.”
Eden flicks a strand of hair over her shoulder. “For, like, a week, Locke, to let her get adjusted when she first started. Not a lifetime.” She pokes me in the knee with a single finger. “For the record, you totally ruined my
