That it would hurt this much.

Always,

Emily

I reread the letter. Redraft it ten more times.

But no matter how I rearrange the words, they never hold the weight of what I feel.

Not fully.

So I hold it over the flame of my lighter.

Watch the edges curl, blacken, and disappear.

And I don’t dare write it again.

44

COLE

My first gallery is sold out, and I have a feeling the only reason most people bought tickets is to catch a glimpse of“the disgraced Mr. Dawson’s son”—to see how I’m holding up after all the scandals.

But I don’t care.

A ticket sold is a ticket sold.

While I’m making sure there’s enough space in the bar area, a knock sounds at the front door.

“Coming!” I push a table into line and rush over.

It’s Frank.

“What the hell are you doing here?” I ask.

“I heard you were hosting your first gallery this weekend.”

“I am.” I cross my arms. “Doors don’t open until Saturday night.”

“Right, well, if it’s alright with you, can I get a sneak peek today?”

“No.” I shut the door and walk over to my first piece.

As I’m realigning the title pad, the side door creaks open, and Frank strolls in.

“I’m friends with the city engineer,” he says, like it’s no big deal. “I had a feeling you wouldn’t let me in the front.”

“So why even try?”

“Because you deserve to slam the door in my face a million times after the way I’ve treated you.” His voice cracks. “Cole, I had no idea your father was the driver that night. And I didn’t know how terrible he’s been to you all your life.”

“A lot of people would’ve flipped on him a long time ago…”

“I had to play the long game,” I say, echoing something I haven’t admitted aloud in a long time. “Plus, I wanted to believe he’d changed. That he’d keep his word and repay the favor.”

“I owe you a lot of favors, too.” He steps closer and pulls me into a quick, tight hug. “Need any help with your opening?”

“Is there any way you could get Emily here?”