Page 3 of Broken Strings

“Summer, you don’t need to go in—”

Cutting my roommate off with the sharp tongue I’ve honed in my years in New York, I press. “No, Anna. Ido. I need to do this. Okay? I need to distract my mind. Ineedthe money.”

Silence is my answer for a long beat.

“Now, I really have to go. I’ve got another shift, and I can’t miss this one too.”

The woman, who has been so much more than a friend, maybe even more than a freaking mother to me since I came to the U.S. eleven years ago, holds her tongue, and for that, I love her even more.

“I’m going to hang up now. We won’t talk about this again. And when I get home, we’re going to carry on as normal. I’ll see you over breakfast in the morning.”

She doesn’t get a chance to speak again before I’ve already ended the call.

I’m in no fit state to talk about every blow this week has wrought upon me, but this final one feels like a real kick in the fucking teeth.

CADEN NORTH MARRIES LONG-TIME LOVE IN PRIVATE CEREMONY

His long-time love. That kills me.

That was meant to beme.

I suck air in through my nostrils as I pound along the pavement, my destination now within sight, and despite it all, I feel a wave of relief pour over me.

I can let it all out. Just another two hundred yards.

The street around me in Tribeca is bustling. The nightlife is teaming, and none more so than the glitzy glitterati exiting their town cars to the flashes of the waiting paps outside the doors of Rogue, Manhattan’s premier club for the high echelons of high society.

I’m scheduled for an eight-hour shift starting at 10 p.m., and I can’t wait to disappear into my work persona.

Slipping to my left, away from the flashing cameras, I walk down a narrow alley hidden by shadows, eventually reaching my destination and knocking thrice.

Griffith, my favourite security guy, opens the door with a pout on his face that would rival Anna's from earlier.

“I heard—”

“No, Griff. Not today.”

His face falls. “I only wanted to make sure you’re okay…”

He trails off, his huge frame only indicative of the gentle giant that we all see daily.

“I know, my sweet friend.” I cup his heavily bearded chin in my palm and find his eyes to assure him I’mfine,but I falter, allowing him to see too much and altogether not enough.

No one knows, and no one will ever know, the full extent of my feelings. The pent-up, gut-wrenching pain that resides within me day after day. How I struggle to see thefairnessin this world when it feels as though I’ve been dealt a shitty hand when compared to others.

I swallow my bitterness and put on a smile.

I’m good at that.

“Griff, I appreciate you. And thank you, but can I just get to work?”

His lips quirk up on one side, his eyes sad as they find mine once more. “Course, Jolie.”

I smile appreciatively, recognising he’s used my work name.

He steers me back towards the dressing rooms, passing several of my colleagues who spend time on the main floor on the way, all nodding soberly in my direction.

How did they find out about him? Do they know how bad things are?

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