17| Back in the game

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My first instinct is to make excuses like I'd always done with Lucas. Maybe there's a good explanation for why Milo's ex messaged him. Maybe Can't wait to see you doesn't mean Milo invited her to the cabin before me.

Maybe I'm not the second choice.

I turn on my side to watch Milo, feeling uneasy. He looks peaceful as he sleeps, his features cast in the soft glow of moonlight filtering through the window. His prominent cheekbones stand out against the pillow, and I can't help but reach out and trace their lines with my fingers.

My heart breaks – shatters and splinters into pieces kind of breaks. I had let my guard down –allowed myself to trust him – which is why I can't comprehend that he'd do this, but ignoring the evidence is a fool's error. Hadn't I made this same mistake with Lucas? I'd blindly believed he'd put me before all else, including the promotion, and he didn't. The second Laurelle gave him that ultimatum, I became the second choice - now it's happening all over again. I'm sorry I couldn't make it implies an invite. An invite implies Milo asked somebody else to the cabin - someone who was not me.

Hands shaking, I peel back the covers, careful not to wake him, and get to my feet. God, I want to trust him. I want to forget everything that happened with Lucas because Milo isn't him, but it's hard when you've been burned. Instinct tells me not to protect my heart - react now and ask questions later.

I take a deep breath, then another, trying not to do anything rash. I'll just wake Milo up, ask him about the message, and all will be right in the world. But as I turn, ready to place my fingertips on the curve of his cheek, the vibration of his phone stops me dead. I swallow hard, glancing at the bright white screen as the words glare back at me. This time it's a photo attachment, so I can't see the content from his phone's lock screen, but the message that follows makes me nauseous.

Something to keep you going until you see me. Xoxo

A red haze takes over as I scoop up my things and shove them into my bag. If I thought things with Lucas was bad, this feels a thousand times worse. My lungs feel tight as I fight to keep calm, but the build-up in my chest is unbearable. Anna's words play on repeat in my head, and I feel like an idiot. Worse than an idiot - a fool, and that's the scariest part about this, the part that makes me sick to my core: it's not the fact that Milo played me.

It's that I let him.

As soon as I'm ready, I tiptoe toward the door before pausing to risk a last look at Milo. Despite the fact I'm trying my best to hold it together, my heart breaks all over again. Less than an hour ago, I was contemplating what a life with Milo might possibly be like, and now I'll never know.

Tears prick my eyes as I head downstairs to find Mulan. The sensible, grown-up thing to do would be to wake Milo up, but if my relationship with Lucas taught me anything, confrontation is a terrible idea.

Heartbroken Kennedy believes every lie spun in the moment. Heartbroken Kennedy is gullible, vulnerable, a hopeless romantic who wants to see the best in people, even when they're showing her the worst. And maybe if I'd taken a step back with Lucas, I'd have seen through his mask, but I didn't. I clung to his lies like a sweet lullaby, letting them rock me to sleep; I'm not about to make that same mistake.

Mulan, as usual, is stretched out in front of the fire. She's so intent on staying that when I lift her to put her in the carrier, she clings to the rug for dear life. "If you cooperate now, there is a tin of tuna with your name on it back home," I say, tugging on her belly, but she hisses in return. Jaw clenched, I add, "You are making my life exceptionally harder than it needs to be."

With a final tug, I hurry her into the carrier and lock the door. She whines softly as I pull out my phone and send for an Uber. Then I wait in the dark, Mulan's carrier pulled tightly to my chest, and cry. The thought of returning to my empty apartment fills me with dread, but what choice do I have? I've been burned before - doused and set on fire, in fact - and I'm sure as hell not doing it again.

Mulan gives me this look through the bars as if to say, Stop being dramatic, but I can't help it. I keep wracking my brain for an explanation for Anna's messages that makes even the slightest bit of sense, but nothing comes to mind. There is no good reason, no excuse or justification for Anna to be messaging Milo, not unless something is going on.

When the Uber pulls up, I grab Mulan's carrier and hotfoot it through the snow before sliding into the backseat. The driver mumbles something that resembles How are you, but I'm too busy staring at the cabin's second floor, where a light slowly flickers to life.

"I'm fine," I manage as I turn to the front, "let's go."

The driver inputs something on his phone as a figure emerges in the bedroom window. I swallow hard as Milo appears, and there is a second where our eyes meet, where confusion lines his sleepy features before realization settles in. Guilt settles over me as I buckle my seatbelt, but I try to push it down. Maybe I'm being cruel or hotheaded for taking off like this, but sobbing in front of Milo is the last thing I need.

As the driver pulls away, the cabin door is thrown open. Milo stands under the archway, shirtless and disoriented. In just his socks, he hotfoots it through the sludge of snow and yanks on the car's door. The driver jerks to a sudden stop and curses at Milo, but either Milo doesn't hear him, or he doesn't seem to care, because he ignores the driver completely.

Instead, he leans forward, resting his arm on the curve of the door, and stares down at me. "Get out of the car, Kennedy."

I shake my head, the lump in my throat rendering me speechless. He looks a mix of confused and hurt, which doesn't bode well for my guilt. Mulan whines incessantly next to me, pining to be back inside. If I hadn't just read those messages from Anna, I'd feel the same too.

Milo's eyes darken, but there's a level of panic behind them. "I know what you saw. Just-" he runs a hand down his stubbled jaw, clearly unraveled, "-Come back inside and let me explain."

That's it. No, it's not what you think or there's nothing going on, just, I know what you saw. The sliver of hope I'd been clinging to dissipates. I'd gotten too ahead of myself with the fairytale ending, and now reality comes knocking once again.

"I'll come back inside if you answer me one thing," I say. "No buts, no excuses, just yes or no, okay?" He doesn't speak, but the brief nod he gives makes me take a deep breath. "Did you invite Anna to the cabin before you invited me?"

He goes to speak before stopping again. His eyes are careful as they take in my face, the muscles in his jaw contracted. Before he even opens his mouth, I know. His voice is low and almost inaudible. "Yes."

The lump in my throat presses tears to my eyes, but I refuse to let them fall. Milo leans closer, and just as he opens his mouth to explain, I turn to the driver. "Go."

The driver, to his credit, doesn't hesitate. As soon as I've closed my door, the car surges forward down a stark, wintry lane. This place no longer feels like a winter wonderland but a nightmare: fallen tree branches line the barren road, stripped of all leaves, clawing at the ashy grey sky. I hold my breath, trying to stave off the wave of emotion until I'm safely tucked in bed, but it threatens to take hold. The chill from the window seeps through my bones as I glance outside, watching the world blur by. I should be grateful for the silence - the last thing I need is the driver making small talk - but the silence is making it all too easy to listen to that haunting thought: Milo is not the man I thought he was.

By the time I get home, I'm exhausted. Mulan hisses all the way to my apartment like she's furious with me, and a part of me doesn't blame her. As soon as I get inside, I rest the carrier on the floor and breathe in. The air inside the apartment is musty, and while the place looks sparse compared to the cabin, it's warm and familiar - a hug after a long day.

After letting Mulan out, I change into my coziest pajamas and make my way to the living room. Mulan lies lazily on the windowsill, her tail twitching in annoyance - a sign she's still mad at me. I scoop her up, feeling the warmth of her body against mine, and bury my face in her fur. God, my best friend is a cat. When did that happen? Mulan snuggles closer, resting a pink, chubby paw on my arm in a sign I've been forgiven, and just like that, I can't hold it in any longer.

The first sob erupts as I hold Mulan tighter. I'd done a good job of holding it together during the ride back home, but now that there's no one to witness my misery, it's all pouring out. The thought of facing Milo and the rest of the office after this is unbearable. There's stupid - hooking up with a coworker in the first place kind of stupid - and then there's this. But even though it hurts to admit it, I have no one to blame but myself. I knew the risks, the consequences, and I let myself fall for him anyway.

Somehow, through the not-so-attractive sobbing, I hear my phone vibrate. I peek out from Mulan's fur to see it's Milo calling, but I don't answer. Instead, I turn on my side, face pressed against Mulan, and curl into a ball. The idea of moving somewhere secluded, where I can raise fifteen cats and never have to worry, sounds way too appealing right now. I could live off the land and learn to be a farmhand or make my own cheese like they do in those Hallmark movies. I don't need to be in Real Estate, I don't need to move to seven, and I definitely don't need Milo.

Mulan's purr brings me back to reality. Running away from my problems won't solve anything. I need to face my demons head-on, and despite the gaping hole in my chest, I refuse to crumble this time. I refuse to let another breakup turn me into an empty shell. For once, I'll take this pain and channel it into something productive.

I gently place Mulan aside and stand up, determined to put Milo behind me. I have a job to do, and somehow amid the chaos of Christmas, I'd allowed myself to forget that, but it's a mistake I won't make twice. Instead, I pull out my notebook and start making a list of my clients, jotting down notes about their preferences and budget. I work for what feels like hours, well into the early morning, then lean back to survey my notes. My romantic life might be six feet under, but making it to seven is all I have wanted since I joined Long Bridge Real Estate.

I'll be damned if I don't get that promotion.

A/N

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