The Night of the Storm, I Walked Home Alone

The hurricane made landfall in New York just as I got off work.

I was standing outside the office with a coworker, waiting for a ride, while my boyfriend's texts came in one after another.

"It's pouring. Don't forget your umbrella."

"Don't cut through the parking garage on the way home. The water's freezing and the floor's slippery."

"Take a hot shower when you get in, and make yourself some tea. Your hands and feet always get cold. Stay warm."

My screen brightness was turned all the way up, and my coworker couldn't miss it. She nudged me.

"Claire, look at you, showing off. You never talk about your boyfriend anymore. Afraid someone's going to steal him?"

The words were barely out of her mouth when a black Mercedes tore past and drenched me from head to toe.

I wiped my face and pointed at the car, already nothing but taillights.

"Somebody already did. That's my best friend in his passenger seat."

My coworker clapped a hand over her mouth.

I held up my phone. The Uber queue had over a hundred people ahead of me.

"We're not getting a car tonight. Let's take the subway."

When we said goodbye at the station, my phone was still chiming with new iMessages.

I didn't open a single one. I just opened my email, calmly, and replied to the transfer offer that was about to expire.

"I'll report to the Miami office next Monday."

Then I turned around and took a different street, one with less water on it.

I can get myself home in the rain.

Chapter One

Even with an umbrella, the rain was so heavy that by the time I got home I was soaked nearly to the skin.

When I pushed the door open, I heard the hum of a hair dryer.

Serena was curled up on the couch in a bath towel. The man standing behind her was carefully drying her hair.

Every movement, every lift of his hand, was gentle and doting.

The room was so cozy that no one even noticed me come in.

Lucas sounded a little exasperated.

"Which hair oil do you want? Gardenia?"

Serena made a sweet, sulky little sound.

"Which scent do you like better?"

Lucas picked out a bottle of hair oil like he'd done it a hundred times, squeezed some into his palm, and worked it carefully, attentively, through every strand of her hair.

As solemn as if he were handling something precious.

I stood there and stared, my wet clothes clinging to me, clammy and cold.

Serena saw me first.

Her eyes curved, and she let out a soft laugh.

"Claire, why are you so late? Is it really bad out there? You're completely soaked!"

Three questions in a row, and somehow I didn't know how to answer any of them.

Lucas paused. His gaze landed on me, and he frowned slightly.

"Didn't I tell you to dress warm and bring an umbrella? You forgot again?"

For Serena, he did pickups and drop-offs, every single day without fail.

For me, all I got were reminders.

So which one of us was his girlfriend, exactly?

Feeling my eyes on him, Lucas stiffened, then explained, a little awkwardly:

"Serena got off early, so I picked her up first."

"Besides, you've been independent your whole life. You can manage on your own."

That clammy feeling crept along my skin until it finally settled over my heart.

I dropped my umbrella and kicked off my heels, ruined by the rain.

I looked at him.

"Lucas, let's break up."

With a sharp crack, the bottle of oil slipped from Lucas's hand and shattered on the floor.

A heavy, cloying scent filled the living room.

Lucas frowned, his eyes fixed on me, unmoving.

Before he could say anything, Serena got to her feet.

She put on a flustered act and rushed to explain:

"Oh no, Claire, this is all my fault. I forgot to tell Lucas to go get you."

"I got caught in the rain downstairs, and he was busy drying my hair. He didn't have a free hand."

"Be reasonable, okay? Don't throw another tantrum and pick a fight with him."

I looked at Serena calmly.

Six months ago, she'd gotten divorced. Three years as a stay-at-home wife, and in the end her ex-husband's prenup left her with nothing.

She'd gotten drunk and called me in the middle of the night, crouched on a curb somewhere, sobbing so hard she could barely get the words out.

I was the one who dropped everything and brought her from Ohio to New York. I was the one who stuck my neck out to get her a job at my company, and taught her the work, one step at a time.

And now?

This was how she repaid me.

All of a sudden, I was cold all over.

I pushed past her and headed for the bathroom.

Lucas grabbed my arm. His voice went cold.

"So you got a little wet. It's not enough to take it out on me, you have to give Serena attitude too?"

"Claire Bennett, are you serious right now?"

I stared at the bra sitting in the sink, half-washed and still soaking.

Everything I'd been holding back broke loose at once.

Like a madwoman, I swept everything off the counter, grabbed that lacy bra, and threw it hard in Lucas's face.

"No, I'm not!"

"Not as serious as you are about hand-washing another woman's underwear! Lucas, you're nothing but a—"

Smack!

Before I could finish, his palm cracked across my face.

Lucas had reached his limit.

"Claire, show some respect!"

"Don't forget, you're the orphan who got passed from one foster home to the next because nobody wanted you!"