Page 8 of By His Rule

By the time I emerge from my bedroom, now dressed in a pair of too-big-for-me sweats, a tank and an ugly cardigan that I think might actually be Tate’s, the sun is setting outside and casting the living area in a gorgeous orange hue.

I don’t appreciate it like I should, and I hate myself for being so up in my head.

I love this apartment. I always have. But it’s not the same anymore.

We chose this place together the day after I secured my job. It was our first apartment as independent working girlies.

Tatum and me against the world. Or at least, our little slice of it.

I never imagined a time when one of us would move on.

Sure, I’ve always been looking for my Mr. Right—it’s a compulsion that I can’t quite kick; whereas, Tate was always looking for Mr. Right Now.

I guess, looking back, maybe I assumed I’d be the first one to disrupt life as we knew it here.

But that’s so far from the truth it’s laughable.

Tatum is married. Hell, she’s six months pregnant with her brother’s best friend’s baby. A man she’s hated all her life—well, until she ended up having to say “I do” if she wanted to secure her inheritance from her father.

A sigh falls from my lips as I stare out the window at the city that owns my heart.

I miss having Tate here more than I’d ever confess.

I miss Griz, her kitty, too.

There used to always be someone to talk to. Even if the little furball never actually looked like she cared about the drama in the human world, at least she was a pair of ears.

But while her aura might still permeate the walls, she’s no longer here. Neither of them are.

I’m alone.

My fingers grip the windowsill so tight my nails dig into the wood as I attempt to get a grip of myself.

I tried to convince Tate to give up the lease on this place once it became clear that she wouldn’t be moving back in after the timer runs out on her arranged marriage, but she wouldn’t have any of it.

So as much as I hate taking money from anyone—especially my best friend after everything she’s done for me over the past few years—I’ve had little choice but to stay.

She’s still paying her half of the rent despite the fact she hasn’t slept a night here since Kingston moved her into his flashy penthouse, and hell knows that I can’t afford to take it all on now. Even when I was employed, this place was well beyond my reach.

But what happens now?

A bitter laugh spills free.

I know exactly what will happen.

Tate will take over the rent, and she won’t accept anything else.

I love her. I really do. But I don’t need or want her money. That isn’t—and never has been—the reason why we’re friends. Of course, I love her big heart and her need to help. But I hate being anyone’s charity case. Even my best friend’s.

I earn what I have. I pay my way. For everything.

And, for what it’s worth, I don’t fucking steal.

“ARGH,” I groan loudly before spinning on my heels and marching toward the freezer.

There’s only one answer.

Vodka.

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