Page 17 of Carter

I stand silently. Keep my distance. My driver pulls up and I give him the instructions. I open her door. She mutters a thank you.

They pull away.

My heart goes with them.

6

Sasha

I can’t believe it’s been two weeks since the breakup. Part of me still expects Carter to walk in and tell me we can go back to the way we were. But that is exactly the problem: the way we were only worked because neither of us forced the hard conversation.

I thought I could marry a Bachman and somehow remain untouched by the rules of the family. What I really feared was that accepting those rules would erase the parts of me I fought hardest to build—my work, my independence, my voice.

The men lead. The women choose whether to trust that leadership. I understand the words. I am still trying to understand what they mean for me.

I am strong-willed. I am also scared. Those two things have been masquerading as the same thing for so long I barely know how to separate them.

And yes, hearing that Bronson doubted me hurt more than I want to admit. It made every old fear whisper that there is a right kind of woman for this family—and I am not her.

It’s getting incredibly awkward at work. I’ve got to find another job.

Carter and I are polite. But it’s cold. We keep our distances.

I know it’s not appropriate to continue working at my ex-fiancé’s gym. But I’m just so… at home, here at Barbells. I know the clientele; I love the building.

Even though it’s over, it’s a comfort to see his face. Hear his voice. His laugh.

Although I haven’t heard his laugh lately.

We’ve both been moping about. Not that anyone else can tell. Just us. We’ve gotten excellent at hiding our emotions. Keeping it profesh. And we’ve gotten damn good at not being in the same place at the same time.

The hotel is nice. He’s paying for a deluxe suite. It’s close by. The sheets are white, crisp, clean. The lobby has coffee and fresh baked cookies every day.

I miss him.

I miss home.

I’ve been looking for two weeks, and I haven’t had any luck finding a place. The city is so damn expensive, I’m going to have to get a shared apartment with a couple of roommates. The idea of living with strangers has my stomach in knots.

And now it’s the last night of the month.

We always have a staff pizza party the last night of the month. We won’t be able to ignore one another.

I would skip it, but I’m making more of an effort to get friendly with the staff. Before the breakup, all my time had been spent with Carter and the Bachmans. And once you’re out with the Bachmans, you’re out. Twenty-four hours after I’d left the Village, all their numbers were blocked on my phone, courtesy of Joshua, the tech guy. I’m sure my thumbprint was erased from the gates. When I see Bachmans in public, they turn the other way. Some give me an apologetic smile first.

I don’t harbor ill will toward them—I know there are rules in place they must follow.

Surely I’m seen as a liability now—the ex-fiancée who knows family secrets and chose not to commit. I hate that thought, but I understand it.

It’s become clear to me that I need to make some new friends. And someone working at this place must have a lead on an apartment. So, I’ll stomach the awkwardness between Carter and me and go.

There is one place I have not let myself disappear from: John’s youth program. Every Saturday I still take the train downtown to work with the girls. They do not know about the Bachmans or my broken engagement. They only know I promised to show up.

Maya, seventeen and all elbows and attitude, is applying for a summer fitness internship. She wants to become a physical therapist someday and has already decided one rejection will prove she is too stupid for college. I spend an hour telling her that one rejection does not get to decide the rest of her life.

The irony is not lost on me.

Before I leave, I tuck a new pair of running shoes into her battered gym bag. She will accuse the program of buying them. I will lie shamelessly and agree. Some rules I am apparently still willing to break.