Page 35 of The Breakup Broker

Maybe it was time we both figured out how to stay.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Savvy

The train ride home from Madison Center seemed longer than usual, each mile marker a reminder of how thoroughly my world had turned. James's words kept echoing in my head. "Richard Kingston doesn't make empty threats."

Five years. For five years, I'd told myself a story about not being enough, about Henry choosing his perfect world over our messy love. I'd built an entire career around that story. Around delivering the clean breaks I never got.

But Henry hadn't walked away because he didn't care enough. He'd walked away because he cared too much—because his father had spent weeks laying out exactly how he could destroy everything my family had built. Still, he should have told me. He should have trusted me enough to let me decide how much I could handle, instead of deciding for both of us.

I pulled out my business phone, the one reserved for client contact. No new requests. Then my personal phone buzzed with a text from Dr. Blake.

Dr. Blake

We need to discuss your recent client cancellations. Without consistent proof of your professional reliability, I can't continue referring people to your services.

My stomach dropped. Dr. Blake's referrals made up nearly half of my income. She was the reason Manhattan's elite trusted my professional alias with their delicate matters in the first place. Without her stamp of approval, I might as well apply for a barista job at Common Grounds.

Three hundred and forty-two perfect goodbyes, and then there was Henry Kingston—number three hundred and forty-three. It had taken one look at him to shatter my reputation. No wonder she was questioning my reliability.

I typed and deleted three different responses to Dr. Blake before settling on: "I’ve had a personal matter come up. It won't affect my future performance." But even I didn't believe that anymore.

“You’re not in your usual spot." Joe appeared with his usual tissue box.

I waved it away. "Sometimes we need to view life from another angle." My voice sounded strange, hollow. "Just sitting here processing."

"Processing looks an awful lot like overthinking from where I'm standing."

I let out a soft chuckle. "Occupational hazard."

He patted me on the shoulder and walked away.

My mind kept circling back to James's words. Richard Kingston had laid the groundwork years ago to destroy my family. The research was done; the plans were made, and I'd given him the perfect reason to act by delivering Caroline's goodbye.

My phone lit up. Dr. Blake's nameflashed through my mind, but an NYU student loan notice glared back at me, the numbers a stark reminder of the life I'd planned versus the one I'd built. At least the breakup broker business kept the collectors at bay. Who knew helping people end relationships could pay so well? Or that I'd be good at it?

The screen lit up again. Henry.Seeing his name sent a wave of emotions crashing through me—anger, regret, and something else I refused to acknowledge. His timing was impeccable, wasn’t it? Showing up when I was regaining my balance, when the business was starting to feel solid. His family had a way of wrecking everything they touched, their wealth a wrecking ball disguised in silk.

I checked my business phone out of habit—no new clients. The irony wasn't lost on me. I'd built a career helping others walk away cleanly from messy relationships, yet here I was, still tangled in the threads of my past. The phone was heavy in my hand, Henry's name still glowing on the screen like a warning sign I was choosing to ignore.

The train lurched around a bend, and I caught my reflection in the darkened window. The perfectly-styled hair, the professional blazer, the mask of composure I'd worked so hard to perfect—none of it was real anymore. Jennifer Walsh, the untouchable breakup broker, had been built on believing Henry Kingston hadn't cared enough. Now that foundation was gone, replaced by something far more complicated.

My phone lit up again—Henry’s number. I let it ring.

The train pulled into River Bend Stationas the sun was setting. Main Street stretched ahead, the familiar walk home suddenly feeling longer than usual. The Weathered Barn’s windows were dark, Mr. Dixon having closed at five on the dot. Mrs. Patterson was probably updatingher neighborhood watch group about my return—she never missed a detail.

My phone buzzed again. Henry.

I ignored it as I passed Common Grounds, Cork & Crown, the post office—each storefront a reminder of the life Henry and I had shared, the life his father had threatened. When I rounded the corner to River Bend Books, I stopped short.

Through the windows, I could see lights still on despite the "Closed" sign. And there, behind the counter where Mom usually stood, was Dad—looking as out of place as an engine manual in the poetry section. The fluorescent lights caught the silver in his hair and the worry lines around his eyes, making him seem older than I'd ever seen him.

I froze. In twenty years, I'd never seen my father leave the marina early. The man had shown up to my college graduation with engine grease under his nails and a socket wrench in his pocket, swearing he'd be back at the garage before the last dipstick had time to cool. Seeing him here, among Mom's shelves and literary treasures, sent a chill down my spine that had nothing to do with the evening air.

My phone buzzed as I reached for the door handle. Henry could wait. The sight of my father anywhere but the marina at this time of day meant something had happened—something big enough to drag him away from Mrs. Mitchell's temperamental Volvo and Old Joe's ancient Chris-Craft. This has to be about what happened earlier today.

The bell above the shop door chimed as I stepped inside, the familiar sound suddenly feeling more like a warning than a welcome. The usual comforting scent of paper and binding glue mixed with something foreign—motor oil and worry.

---