Owned by Fate (Serve #1)(45)

They were just two people who couldn’t seem to stay away from each other.

At some point, Caroline lifted her head and looked into his eyes. When she spoke, he had to strain to hear. “It’s time for me to go.”

Keeping his features schooled to hide his disappointment, Jonah nodded and pulled out his wallet. His disappointment vexed him momentarily. What the hell had he expected? After paying the small tab and tipping the waitress, he led her out of the club and back up the stairs. As opposed to before when they’d entered the club, there was nothing playful about leaving. Neither one of them spoke as Jonah stood, one foot in the street, to hail down a yellow cab for Caroline. It pulled up alongside them, and he opened the back door, trying to ignore the sense of panic sitting on his lungs. God, he was getting sick to death of parting ways with her, not knowing whether or not he would see her again.

Before she could stoop down to climb into the backseat, Jonah captured her chin in his hand and tilted her face up for a deep, thorough kiss. Remember how this feels, he mentally implored her. “Good night, Caroline.”

“’Bye, Jonah.”

This time when Caroline drove away, she didn’t look back.





Chapter Fifteen


Wednesday afternoon in Bryant Park was unusually busy. The crisp fall weather had gone on hiatus, replaced with unseasonably warm temperatures. Businessmen were sprawled out on the lawn eating hot dogs purchased from street vendors. Tourists, mangled maps in their hands, wound among the suits on their way to the library or a Broadway show.

Nearby where Caroline sat on a shaded bench, someone had music blasting though his headphones, the distant, tinny noise tunneling past her eardrums to assault her fuzzy brain.

She stared down at her untouched smoothie, unable to remember where she’d procured it or even paying for it. At this very moment, I could be a smoothie fugitive. A slightly hysterical laugh bubbled from her throat, cut off when a passing woman sent her a strange glance.

Eliza plopped down next to her unannounced. “You going to drink that?”

Wordlessly, Caroline handed it over, the movement lethargic. She was so damn tired that responding verbally required too much energy. How many nights had it been since she’d slept? A hundred? One? She knew the precise answer, but acknowledging it made her feel sick and angry and confused. Not to mention a thousand other emotions for which she couldn’t account. To keep her mind from returning to painful thoughts, she focused on the blaring music, letting the obnoxious sound ramp up her ever-present headache even more, until the pulsing ache in her temple drowned everything out.

“—roline!”

Her head jerked up when Eliza’s frantic voice broke through her carefully constructed haze. “What?”

“What? I’ve been calling your name, zombie.” Eliza’s fingers plowed through her blond hair. “A couple of tourists thought we were doing performance art.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. Not exactly Shakespeare in the Park.”

Caroline looked down at her empty hands. “Wherefore art thou, smoothie?”

Eliza made a sound of disgust. “You gave it to me. I drank it.”

“Really?” She felt the corners of her mouth quirk up. “Was it As You Like It?” Before the ridiculous pun had fully left her mouth, Caroline doubled over with laughter. At first, it felt glorious, releasing any part of what had been pent up inside her for days, but it very quickly started to hurt. Her chest felt weighted down, bright lights pricked behind her eyes, and before she knew it, her laughter had turned to giant, racking sobs.

Never in her life had she cried like this. What was left of her functioning brain recognized that fact, and it terrified her. When her mother passed away, they’d known it was coming and had months to prepare. She’d been more resigned than anything. This, this felt like a mutiny on her senses. She couldn’t withstand it or stop it. It just kept coming.

This would pass. She had to be positive of that fact. As soon as her body gave in to the demands of sleep, she would wake up replenished. A new woman. Time healed all wounds. Clichés, clichés, more clichés. She had everything she wanted at this very moment. The final piece of her Ponzi scheme exposé had fallen into place, and her father was handing over the magazine to her. She was on her way to a f*cking Pulitzer if she played her cards right. As soon as she figured out how to focus and speak again, she would be fine. Time. She just needed time.

Eliza put an arm around her shaking shoulders and drew her close on the bench, hissing at a teenage passerby who stopped to gape. Why? Oh, right. She was crying hysterically in public. “You have to tell me what’s wrong, Ro. This is getting out of control.” The distress in her friend’s voice forced Caroline to make an attempt at calming herself. “I-I… Should I call Oliver? Your dad?”

“No,” Caroline said quickly, swiping at her wet cheeks. “I’m fine, I swear. Just need some rest. It can’t feel like this forever. It won’t.”

“What won’t? You have to talk to me.” Understanding dawned on Eliza’s face, and she slumped a little. “Oh my God, it’s Jonah. Isn’t it? The club owner.”

Caroline’s breath left her in a rush. No one had said his name out loud in days, and it felt like she’d been nailed in the stomach by a two-by-four. She struggled to pull herself together. Jonah had just been a phase. A stupid, ill-advised phase that needed to be put behind her now. Right now. “Yes. Fine. It’s…him. But please don’t make me talk about it. I can’t, Eliza.”