Page 47 of False God

“Charles, it’s Asher Cotes. How are you?”

Foreboding slithers down my spine. I don’t know Asher very well, but I got to know his cheery tone during our meeting last week. It’s conspicuously absent now.

“I’m good,” I lie, struggling to keep the defeat out of my voice. “How are you?”

“Good, good. Unfortunately, I’m calling with some bad news.”

My stomach drops in response to the confirmation. “You’re not investing.”

“Afraid not. The hotels are valuable pieces of real estate, and it’s an enticing offer. But we have some internal changes happening at the company—nothing bad and nothing I can share details on—but it means the board has decided to press pause on any new investments during the transition phase.”

I release a long breath, hoping Asher can’t hear it. “I understand.”

“I’m sure it’s not what you were hoping to hear. But it’s a great opportunity, Charles. Someone else will snap it up.”

I hum in what I hope sounds like an agreement, biting my bottom lip until I taste the coppery tang of blood. My voice sounds even as I reply, “No problem. Thanks for letting me know.”

“Good luck, Charles. If you’re back in New York anytime soon, let me know. Would love to grab a drink, talk some football.”

“Will do,” I say. “Bye, Asher.”

“Bye, Charles.”

11

Cal is the last one to climb onto the plane. I’m not sure if his late arrival was a deliberate decision or not. He and Violet had left the party last night around eleven, earlier than most guests.

He looks exhausted, dark circles under his eyes and his normally neatly combed blond hair a ruffled mess. He stops to talk to Jasper, then sprawls out on the couch across from me and Fran. Yawns.

I clear my throat. “Hey.”

He nods. “Hey.”

“You’re late,” Fran says from her spot beside me, nudging Cal’s foot with hers. “We almost left without you.”

Cal grunts, grabbing a navy Yankees cap out of his backpack and covering his unruly hair. He tugs the brim low, then appears to immediately pass out.

We take off fifteen minutes later, the silhouette of New York’s famous skyline shrinking until it’s a speck on the ground. The soundtrack for the first hour of the trip is excited chatter—recounts of the Fourth, anticipation of the trip ahead—but then it gradually fades into silence as everyone but me falls asleep.

I stare out the window at the fluffy clouds soaring past, sorting through my chaotic feelings about Chloe’s upcoming wedding.

I’m thrilled for her, obviously. I don’t resent a single bit of Chloe’s happiness. But she’s been my closest friend since preschool. The sister I never had. Her moving to a different continent was bad enough. Now, she’s shifting to a whole new phase of her life.

And for the first time, I’m not experiencing it at the same time.

I could have.

I risk a glance at Cal, still fast asleep on the couch. His feet hang off the end. I don’t regret ending our relationship. But it’s impossible not to think about how different this week might look if I hadn’t. That decision created a what-if to consider. I’d probably be attending another wedding—my own—later this summer.

My gaze returns to the window. The clouds part for a few seconds, offering a glimpse of the water far, far,farbelow.

The sight soothes me for some reason. A timely reminder that the world is so much bigger than my small problems.

Bridget wakes up an hour later. I’ve moved to the table at the far end of the plane, wanting to stretch out some and distance myself from Hugo’s snores.

“You’re not tired?” Bridget asks, taking the seat across from me.

I shake my head. “Got a good night’s sleep,” I lie.

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