Chapter Forty-Nine: The Wall

Marissa was at the couch, glass of red wine on the coffee table, half consumed already. It was dark out now, hours had passed. And her fingers hovered over her phone. wondering who she should text—if she should text anyone at all.

Her hand ached, she’d punched the wall after Olivia left, she shouldn’t have done that. Marissa hadn’t punched anyone or anything since Becky Smith in sixth grade. And that had been well-deserved. Becky had told everyone at recess that she had kissed Tom Adam’s, which she most certainly had not.

Leah, that was the first name. Leah was after all her best friend, had held her hand through drunken nights, and made her laugh after Olivia’s fall out. Leah would roast her alive, but at least she’d show up with tequila and hot Cheetos.

But Marissa wasn’t sure that she could handle Leah’s brand of chaotic honesty right now.

Her mother? She could always tell her mom anything. She’d been helping her through this whole thing, but right now her mom and dad had decided to escape the New York oppressive heat and had left to spend two weeks in Vermont, somewhere green and quiet.

Her mom would answer the phone, of course—she always did—but she’d be soft, worried, mothering. And Marissa wasn’t sure she could handle soft right now either.

Her thumb hovered over Daniel’s name next.

The thought alone made her chest tighten.

She placed her phone face down and on the coffee table, she reached for the wine and drank.

Every rational bone in her body reminded her that they were messy, that they were bound together by hurt, betrayal, bad timing, and a night that neither of them should have had in the first place.

But she remembered him, remembered that night together. She remembered how he made her feel safe, how his strange body felt. His weight atop her, the way he had looked at her like he understood, like they spoke the same language.

He felt safe.

Maybe that was a danger.

Maybe that’s why she stood up, after finishing her glass of wine.

Why she got up and left her apartment. She could internally say she didn’t know where she was going. But deep down she did.

——

She debated it almost immediately—when she slid into the back seat of the Uber, when she stared out the window at the blur of lights cutting across the night. While her hand still hovered over Daniela contact. As if she wanted to text:

I’m coming over.

She wasn’t drunk—not even close. One glass of wine wasn’t enough to loosen her this much. But she wasn’t sober either, not in the way that mattered. Her judgment was fogged with something heavier than ****. Hurt. Loneliness. The sharp echo of Olivia’s perfume still clinging in her apartment.

Daniel had told her where he was staying, almost offhandedly, during lunch. A nice place, clean and modern, the kind of temporary apartment lawyers rented when they were between homes but still wanted to look like they belonged in the city’s inner ring of success.

And now here she was, walking into the marble lobby, past the bored security guard who barely glanced at her. Her heels clicked against the floor like a metronome, each step underscoring the question she hadn’t stopped asking herself: What the hell am I doing?

Daniel had told her where he was staying—an upscale rental with too much chrome, not enough warmth. Temporary, he’d said. Just a place until he figured things out. She had nodded when he told her, filed the information away without thinking she’d ever use it.

Now she was in his elevator, pressing the button with a hand that still ached from earlier.

She stopped at his door, fourth floor, number twenty-four.

Her chest rose and fell with shallow breaths. She was still debating, still unsure what she wanted, unsure of what she was about to do. Every rational part of her screamed that this was a mistake. Text Leah, go home, cry it out, eat ice cream.

But instinct won. Her knuckles tapped the wood before she could think better of it.

The sound echoed louder than it should have.

And there was still time. Time to run, to flee, to tell herself she was being reckless, stupid, self-destructive.

Until the lock clicked and the door opened. Daniel stood there, framed by the soft glow of the hallway light.

And despite herself, Marissa froze.

His hair was damp, still dripping faintly at the ends, dark curls falling unruly across his forehead. His skin carried that post-shower flush, golden and warm against the soft white of the T-shirt that clung to him in all the places it shouldn’t. His shoulders, broad. His chest, unmistakably defined.

And his eyes, those green eyes, glassy from the steam, but alert now, locking on hers with startled clarity.

Daniel blinked once, twice. “Marissa?” His voice was low, rough at the edges, like he hadn’t expected anyone to show up tonight, let alone her.

She swallowed hard, her throat suddenly dry. “Hey.”

The word was pitiful, small, unworthy of the storm inside her.

“Can I come in?”

He looked at her, could see the way she looked. Slightly disheveled, eyes puffy, hand hurt. And he didn’t think twice. Just stepped aside and said, “Of course you can.”