Chapter 59

CHAPTER 59

MARIGOLD

W hen I got on the plane, I couldn't stop myself from thinking how everything had gone sideways. Zayn tried calling this morning, one last time, probably hoping for some cinematic goodbye moment where we'd hug, promise to stay friends, and maybe share a few bittersweet tears.

But I wasn't in the mood for any of that. In fact, when his number flashed across my screen, I stared at it for a good ten seconds before finally pressing decline.

Not today, not after everything. I couldn't even handle the thought of facing him, let alone the awkward goodbye speech we both would've fumbled through.

He didn't need to see me in this state—worn out, heart on its last nerve, and puffy-eyed from the stress of packing up my entire life. Zayn deserved better than that mess. And honestly, so did I.

When he texted, I replied and told him it would be too hard. He didn't argue or try to press the issue. He simply accepted it and wished me a happy flight.

I stared out the plane window, half-expecting to see him racing onto the tarmac in a grand gesture. Then I remembered I had asked him to give me space. He wasn't coming. He wasn't going to run through the terminal and body slam the guy at the gate to rush down the jetway to get to me.

It was over.

As the plane soared into the sky, I found myself drifting, staring at nothing in particular out the window. The clouds looked like they didn't have a care in the world. Must be nice to just float up there, completely detached from all this human silliness.

I caught my reflection in the glass. I looked awful. I looked like I had aged years in a matter of days. The frown I saw had been on my face for days. Maybe months. Maybe since the moment I said yes to Zayn in a fit of romantic madness.

I was going to give myself premature wrinkles if I kept it up. I tried to force my face to relax. But it just bounced right back to a scowl.

What had I been thinking? Engaged to a man I wasn't even sure I loved. It was all about the money. Never before in my life had I ever been so shallow. I prided myself on my ability to work hard and make my own way. Then I turned around and accepted a fat check. I tried to take the easy way out and it blew up in my face.

Zayn was more a moment of weakness, as I'd told Elaine. A perfect storm of insecurity, loneliness, and maybe a little bit of a crush. But it was never going to work. I knew that deep down.

Breaking off the engagement felt like a pretty solid indicator that my life choices needed a serious review.

I knew leaving New York was the right move. There was no way I could've stayed there, bumping into people who knew me as "the girl engaged to Zayn." The girl who didn't know her heart until it was too late.

I had made the mistake of looking at social media. Seeing the things being said about me and Zayn was very hard. I had stopped at a store on the way to the airport and bought a baseball hat and sunglasses. I didn't want to risk anyone recognizing me at the airport. It might have been extreme, but I didn't want to risk being chased by some wannabe paparazzo.

Home was exactly where I needed to be. Green River, Wyoming. The place where no one cared about what happened in the city. Green River was all about potlucks, friendly nods, and the occasional gossip. No fame. No fast pace. Just life.

I must've dozed off somewhere between contemplating the meaning of clouds and mentally burning the invitation list from my imaginary wedding, because when the flight attendant nudged me awake, we were about to land. The familiar sight of the airport brought an odd mix of relief and dread. I wanted to be home, but facing my dad and the reality of what had happened—ugh. That was another story.

I grabbed my carry-on and got in line to get off the plane. I made my way to the baggage claim with a sense of anticipation swirling in my stomach. I just knew my dad was going to be pissed about the shit in the news. He was going to blame Zayn. I didn't want him to hate Zayn.

It didn't take long to spot my dad. He was standing there in his old worn-out jacket, hands shoved deep in his pockets and that tired but big smile on his face. As soon as his eyes landed on me, I felt the wave of emotions well up like a dam about to burst.

I was home.

"Hey, kiddo." He didn't say much, just walked over and wrapped me in one of those classic bear hugs, the kind that said everything was going to be okay even when you were pretty sure it wouldn't be. Tears pricked at my eyes, but I kept it together.

"It'll all be okay, Marigold," he said, squeezing me tight. "Promise."

I nodded into his shoulder, unable to speak for a second because my throat had decided it wanted to hold on to the lump of emotion for a little longer. He pulled back, gave me a firm pat on the back like dads did, then grabbed my suitcase without a word and walked out of the airport.

He knew just what to say and not to say. He loaded my suitcase into the bed of his beat-up old truck. It had dents in it from who knows how many run-ins with deer or grocery carts—likely both—but I loved that truck. It was as much a part of Green River as anything.

And I would always remember sex with Zayn in the truck. That was a secret my father never needed to know.

As we drove, he rambled on about the brisket he'd been cooking all day and how he'd put the Christmas tree up but waited for me to get home before decorating it.

That made me smile. The tradition of decorating the tree as a family had always been special. Even as a teenager, when I pretended to hate it, I secretly loved it. Especially the part that involved Dad inevitably tangling the lights, and Mom—well, Mom back then—would laugh and fix it while he made a big fuss about the proper way to string them.

"You're going to love it," he said, turning the steering wheel with one hand. "Got this new spice rub for the brisket. Roger from the bar swears by it. Says it's the best thing since sliced bread."

Roger from the bar. I leaned my head against the cold window, trying to lose myself in the Christmas lights we passed. But the mention of Roger had my thoughts wandering. I turned toward him.

"Hey, Dad?" I asked, voice casual but curious. "Do you know who might have mentioned the situation with me and Zayn? You know, the breakup."

He gave a noncommittal shrug, eyes still on the road. "Don't know. Green River's a small town. News like that gets around quick."

"Yeah, but someone had to spill it. The article didn't just come from nowhere."

"I thought I read something from Zayn's people," he said.

"They announced the breakup, but not the fake engagement."

He made a small sound, like he was thinking. Then, as if it just hit him, he let out a soft chuckle. "Well, now that you mention it, I did talk to Roger about it at the bar the other night."

My ears perked up. "You did?"

"Yeah, I was just excited about you coming back home, you know? Didn't realize it would turn into such a big old mess."

I blinked. He had to be joking, right? There was no way he would do anything so stupid. Not that I thought he was stupid, but running his mouth was a dumb move.

"Dad."

"What?"

I turned to him, narrowing my eyes. "You talked to Roger about me moving home before the article was published?"

He nodded, looking a little sheepish now. "Yeah, I guess I did. But I didn't mean to cause any trouble. Roger's a good guy. He wouldn't go blabbin' about that kind of stuff."

"Except he totally did." My voice climbed an octave as I pieced it all together. Roger was practically best friends with Courtney, and Courtney had her finger on the gossip pulse of this town like no one else.

It all made sense now. Courtney, the queen of passive-aggressive snipes and knowing everyone's business before they did. Of course, she'd be the one to leak the story about Zayn and me.

"I don't think Roger is like that," he said. "He wouldn't go running to a tabloid."

"He didn't have to," I snapped. "He just had to tell his little girlfriend."

"I only told him you were coming home," Dad said, a little defensive.

"I know, but Courtney is his buddy, and if he mentioned I was coming home, she would be all too quick to run to the tabloids."

"That girl is always looking for trouble," he said.

"Take me to the tavern," I said, feeling my blood boil.

Dad looked at me, eyes wide. "Right now?"

"Yes. Right now."

He hesitated but must've sensed that I wasn't in the mood for negotiations. With a sigh, he turned the truck around, and we headed toward the bar.

When we got there, I could already feel the adrenaline kicking in. I had never been a violent person, but I was pissed.

I was sick of Courtney fucking with me. I jumped out of the truck before Dad had even fully parked, striding toward the entrance like I was on a mission—which, I was.

Inside, the familiar smell of beer and fried food hit me like a memory bomb. There she was standing by the pool table, laughing like she didn't have a care in the world. Well, that was about to change. I was going to make this bitch care.

I walked straight up to her, feeling no fear. Usually, she could make me feel small. Not today. I was so done. "Cuntney."

She glanced over at me, her smile fading when she saw me. "What the fuck did you just call me?"

"Save it," I snapped. "You think I don't know it was you? You leaked the story about me and Zayn. You couldn't help yourself, could you? You always need to make other people's lives your business."

Courtney's face flushed, and she fumbled with her pool cue. "I—I didn't mean?—"

"Didn't mean to what? Hurt me? Embarrass Zayn? What exactly were you trying to do, you miserable cow? I'll wait."

She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. I could see the embarrassment building as people started to take notice, watching our confrontation unfold.

"You are so much better than this," I said, shaking my head. "Or at least, you should be. I forgive you, but the next person might not. So, I'd think long and hard about who you want to be. Your choices matter. You hurt me. You hurt Zayn. And for what?"

Her eyes welled up with tears, cheeks turning bright red. She had no response. Nothing. Just standing there, humiliated.

"You have to take accountability for not liking your own life," I told her. Then I turned on my heel and stormed out of the bar before I could say anything else I'd regret. The cold air caressed my flaming cheeks.

I had told her to take accountability for her own life.

Maybe it was time I did the same.