Page 30 of Hard to Break

“It’s not the money. I’m concerned.”

Mom never says she’s worried because worrying sounds as though you’re out of control.

But she’s scared. She doesn’t know how to manage this.

As much as I want to tell her off, I can’t bring myself to do it.

I take a breath. “It was an accident. Miles wasn’t doing drugs. None of our friends do. You can sleep at night.”

We walk in silence for a few minutes.

“The campaign is having a dinner next week.” Her words tilting up at the end. It’s her good cop voice, not her bad cop one. “It would be good if you were there.”

“There are people you still trust me to charm despite my problematic choices?” My voice is drier than crisp leaves clustered in snowless patches of the trail.

“You can sit with whomever you like. I’ll make sure my assistant has a note of it.”

I turn that over.

I do want to help her. She makes a genuine difference in the world, provides hope and opportunities for a lot of women, and works tirelessly to do it.

Plus, I can solve this Kevin problem myself.

9

BROOKE

When I enter the condo, two suitcases rest by the door—both mine. Already packed, my coat hanging on one of them.

When I moved in, I knew there would be an expiry date on my living here. I had put one on it myself in the form of the calendar I’d crossed days off on for an entire month.

But since we started hooking up, I’d forgotten that this wasn’t really my home.

My stomach free-falls.

Waffles trots over from his bed in the corner, looking between me and the luggage as if asking the same question I am.

When Miles appears in sweatpants and no shirt, no bags in sight, it deepens my unease.

“What’s all this?” I ask, trying to sound casual.

He bends to scratch Waffles’s ears, looking relaxed as anything. “Valentine’s Day. I wanted to go big.”

“Eviction?”

He laughs as he straightens. “A date. One with a little commute.”

The knot in my gut loosens, and I can breathe again. Now I’m intrigued—by the possibilities and the boyish grin on his face. “You planned a travel date?” There are two days left before the season resumes.

“I got us tickets to New York Fashion Week.”

My jaw drops. “Are you joking?”

I’ve never been because the timing didn’t work out between school and other commitments, but it’s always been a dream.

“Nope.” Miles crosses to me and cups my face. “I wanted to do better than the club after the all-star game. My memory of that night is spotty at best. Please tell me I wasn’t a huge asshole.”

I pretend to consider. “Only a moderate asshole.”

---