Page 109 of Four Seconds to Lose

They may come out wobbly, but they are unyielding. “Goodbye, Sam.”

Shutting the burner phone off, I toss it in the trash as a wave of relief washes over me.

I am done with Sam.

That was the easy part.

Not wasting any time, I pick up my real phone. I take a deep, calming breath. And hit “send” on the text that I’ve struggled to type out for an entire hour. I know he called me last night—I see the notification of a message—and yet I can’t bear to listen to whatever he said. Just hearing his voice might crack my resolve, which would be catastrophic. I’ve already set too many wheels in motion this morning. I need a clean break.

Cain gave me that last night.

The only reason I’m texting him now is because of that voice in the back of my conscience that says I don’t want him to worry about me. Because, despite what he may think of me right now, he might grow concerned when I don’t come to pick up my things, when no one hears from me again.

I wait for the indication that the message has been delivered, and then I quickly shut the power off, strip it of its memory chip, and toss it into the trash.

I wrap my arms around my knapsack and bury my face so no one sees the tears that begin pouring.

Waiting for the second wave of relief.

The one that never comes.

chapter forty-one

¦¦¦

CAIN

The chime of my phone startles me awake.

The words staring out at me from the screen turn my blood cold:

I hope you can forgive me one day. Please give my apartment to Ben and anything of mine at your place to Ginger.

It takes me another few moments to fully process what’s going on.

Charlie is saying goodbye.

No.

Did she even listen to my message? She couldn’t have. She wouldn’t be leaving me if she had.

I rush to dial her number—number one on my favorites. It goes straight to voice mail.

Fuck. No.

With quick fingers, I punch out a message:

Call me. Now.

I get an error message back, saying the text was never delivered.

I try again.

I try ten more times.

Each time, the message bounces back. It’s as if Charlie has disconnected her phone.

As if I’m never going to hear from her again.

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