Page 265 of The Rules
Saying it aloud makes it more real.
More solid.
“And,” she adds, her voice tilting into something light, almost shy, “I quit the Crimson Bloom.”
A beat of silence on the line.
Then Tammy gasps—dramatic and delighted.
“No more dancing for creepy businessmen? No more dodging gropes while carrying tequila and existential dread? Who even are you now—just promise me you didn’t cry into your pillow.”
Kath laughs, the sound surprising even herself.
“I’ll miss some of the girls,” she admits. “But the job? No. Not even a little.”
“A tragic loss for the nightlife scene,” Tammy sighs. “And for men with bad cologne and worse boundaries everywhere.”
Kath rolls her eyes, but she’s still smiling.
"I'm heading to Ben's now," she says, reaching for her jacket. "We're celebrating."
Tammy's voice shifts instantly—gleefully wicked, the sound crackling through the phone like a match struck in darkness.
"Ohhh, celebrating? Just how much celebrating are we talking about? Champagne and soft lighting? Or..." she trails off, each unspoken possibility hanging between them like a silken thread.
Kath groans, slapping a hand over her face. Heat crawls up her neck, settling high on her cheeks.
"Goodbye, Tammy."
"Fine, fine," Tammy laughs, the sound rich with knowing. "Just don't do anything I wouldn't do."
"That doesn't exactly narrow it down." Kath's fingers tighten around the phone, her pulse quickening beneath her skin.
"Exactly," Tammy purrs, drawing out the word like a caress. "Have fun, babe. Love you."
Kath's smile softens. "Love you too."
The call ends with a playful beep, and for a second, everything stills. Tammy’s absence leaves a hush in the room, not lonely—just different. A pause. A breath. Kath shifts her weight, the fabric of her shirt whispering against her skin as she exhales, the kind of exhale that clears space for something new.
She sets the phone down on the dresser and meets her own eyes in the mirror. The woman staring back at her is unfamiliar—strong, steady, unafraid. Her pupils are dilated, dark against brown irises, her lips slightly parted.
She doesn't look like a girl clawing her way through the dark anymore, fighting for every inch of ground, dancing for strangers to pay her sister's tuition.
She looks like someone who made it out.
Someone standing at the start of something entirely new, something that makes her skin prickle with anticipation, makes her breath catch when she thinks of green eyes watching her, waiting.
A new chapter.
A clean page.
And tonight?
Tonight she's not surviving.
She's celebrating.
Chapter 57
