CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN DUFFY

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

DUFFY

Three months later

“Great job, Daphne.” Rita, the executive producer of the evening news show I worked for, patted me lightly on the back as she breezed out of the studio. “Follow me to my office.”

I snailed behind her, passing my new colleagues in the hallway. Rita entered her office, grabbed her handbag from a hook at the back of her door, and tossed her phone into it.

“We’re all going to get some drinks down at the Dead Rabbit. You in?”

“I wish I could,” I said on autopilot, smiling politely. “I have plans.”

“Yeah?” Rita dug in her bag for a cigarette, already making her way out of the place. She ran everywhere, making me do the same. Gretchen used to do it too. Storm places. “What’re you up to?”

“Huh?” I asked.

“You said you have plans. What are they?” We both stopped by the revolving door in the main entrance. I blinked, caught off guard. The truth was, I had no plans whatsoever. It was just the thought of having to pretend to have fun—even among genuinely nice people—that I didn’t care for. I rather enjoyed spending my time in my flat, scrolling through professional photography pages on Instagram. I couldn’t stop thinking about the prisons tour. About the magic of capturing something and giving it your own spin, rather than simply reporting about it.

“I . . . am . . . knitting . . . ,” I said slowly, avoiding any questions about my new hobby.

Rita arched an eyebrow. “Sounds .?.?. thrilling. You a big knitter?”

“Yeah,” I heard myself say. “Huge knitter. My entire flat is basically yarn.”

Her expression was doubtful, but she nodded. “Okay. But you should join us next week. It’s Monique’s birthday. The weatherwoman?”

I’d met Monique. She was gorgeous and nice and abnormally passionate about the subject of precipitation.

“Of course,” I mumbled.

“Although even before that, we’re going to pull two all-nighters together.” Rita laughed, taking out her phone and ordering an Uber. “We have all those Valentine’s Day pieces to work on, remember? Which reminds me, can you make it here at seven in the morning tomorrow, not nine?”

I glanced at my watch. It was 11:45 at night. I appreciated a good work ethic, but I’d almost forgotten how demanding working the news—even the local news—was.

“Sure,” I said absently. “I’ll be here.”

“Okay. See you tomorrow then! Or, technically.” She jutted her lower lip out, thinking. “Today, in fifteen minutes.”

I poured myself out to the street. The weather was bitter cold, the sky pitch black. Christmas had come and gone, and I spent it alone in my flat, too skint to buy a ticket to England. Touching Riggs’s money wasn’t an option. He’d given me something priceless, and demanding anything more would be greedy. He’d taught me how to love.

As I made my way down to the subway, tucked inside my black peacoat, I marveled at how absolutely dreadful life had been in recent months. I lived on autopilot, working, meeting up with friends, and going to the gym. The highlight of my week was usually FaceTiming Kieran. He was now in a steady relationship with Shelby. I’d even met her once on a video call, and she’d confirmed my suspicion that she wouldn’t have been taken with him had he mooned her. 1–0 to team logic.

I thought about Riggs every single minute of the day. I had no idea where he was or what he did these days. Time seemed to run like water. I’d received my visa, started working, and got steady paychecks, and BJ was still calling me every now and then to test the water. Spoiler alert: I still wanted him to drown.

I’d received everything I wanted—BJ’s undivided attention, a job as a news producer, and my precious visa .?.?. and I couldn’t be more miserable.

I trudged the streets of Manhattan, passing by bundled-up couples and loved-up tourists. Everybody seemed to be paired off. Bowing my head to avoid the influx of young lovers, I stared at my shoes and picked up the pace. I was almost at the subway when I collided with another body. Another hard body.

My first thought was Riggs. He was here.

“Whoa. You okay?” a raspy male voice chuckled. I looked up. It wasn’t Riggs. Just a fairly attractive young man with dimples and wearing running gear.

No, I am not okay. I’m in love, and miserable, and want cake. Loads of cake.

“What are you doing jogging in the middle of the night?” I grumbled. “I could’ve gotten hurt!”

“I have to run at night. I work shifts at the hospital and have a weird schedule.” He was running in place and seemed friendly, despite my almost biting his head off for simply existing. “Why didn’t you look where you were going?”

“Because,” I gritted out, “I’m sick and tired of watching everyone in this city so in love and intimate and .?.?. and .?.?. and gross!” I flung my hands in the air. “Seriously, you Americans have no decency. Get a room, all of you.”

“Hey, I’m not being intimate and in love with anyone.” He put his hands up.

“Right,” I said sourly. “Sorry. I’m a bit prickly. Well, have a nice jog.”

I bulldozed past him, but he blocked my way, entering my line of vision.

I narrowed my eyes. “Please don’t bother harassing me. I have a Taser, pepper spray, and at least fifty hours of Krav Maga training under my belt. You’re not going to win this.”

The Krav Maga bit was bollocks, but he couldn’t know that.

The man rolled his eyes. “I wasn’t going to harass you. I was going to ask if you wanna grab a drink. I’m Chad.”

Of course he was. He had a Chad face.

I didn’t take his offered hand. “I’m Daphne, and I can’t have a drink with you.”

“Now or never?” He withdrew his hand, not looking one bit offended.

“Both,” I said assuredly. “I’m horribly in love with someone else, and having sex with you won’t be satisfying because you’re not him and because most men are quite useless in the sack, especially the first few times.”

He stared at me, clearly staggered. “Ma’am, do you have any filters?”

“No!” I flung my arms up. “He’s taken all of them, the bastard. You should’ve met me before him. The picture of proper and reserved.”

I could tell Chad didn’t find me adorable-eccentric, but in-need-of-being-heavily-medicated eccentric. Which was why he took a step back, keeping his good-natured smile intact.

“At least you know what you want in life, huh?” He was already jogging lightly away from me. “I’m still looking for that one thing to make me happy. Have a nice one, Daphne!”

With that, he turned around and literally ran away.

I stared at his back as an epiphany struck me with the force of a lorry.

My work. My career. My need to be perfect. They were all distractions. Avoidance to ensure I wouldn’t take a good look at my life. At my relationship with BJ.

This whole entire time, I’d got it all wrong. I’d been worried Kieran and Mum and Tim were living small, uninspired lives. I’d wanted more for them than working the chippy, wanted them to care about designer clothes and lavish hotels and mansions in impeccable school catchment areas. But they were happy. Happy with who they were, with what they did, with how much they had. There was no pretense with them. They owned up to who they were and weren’t ashamed of it.

And Riggs, he was the same. Unapologetically himself.

I’d confused greed with aspiration.

Money with motivation.

Comfort with love.

Riggs made me see the errors of my ways, but he was gone now, doing what he did best. Traveling to faraway locations, grabbing life by the bollocks.

I’d outgrown New York once I realized living the glitzy life here wasn’t going to make me happy. And staying in the flat that held every lovely memory I’d created with Riggs Bates was going to taunt me to an early grave if I didn’t do anything about it.

I needed to cut my losses. Go back home and reassess. Buy a camera. Make something of myself. Document. Appreciate. Find beauty in the small things.

On their own accord, my legs turned me around and made me stomp my way to the Dead Rabbit. It only took me ten minutes to get there. I pushed the door open. I spotted Rita and a few other colleagues lounging on dark-green stools in the corner of the crowded room. They were enjoying cocktails and bar snacks. The place was loud and rowdy, but I didn’t have time to do this in the morning.

I marched Rita’s way and tapped her shoulder. She turned around, a look of surprise on her face.

“Hey, Daphne! So glad you decided to join us.”

“I quit,” I announced, proud of myself for the assertiveness.

“Yes!” Rita clapped her hands together. “You were quick. We’re still debating whether to eat here or grab something from a food cart.”

I shook my head. “No, no, I said I quit.”

“This place is lit.”

I was going to strangle someone.

Throwing my hands in the air, I proclaimed on a scream, “I’m quitting my job! Handing over my resignation! I’m done! Finito! No longer working for you!”

At this point, I’d happily communicate it to her via mail pigeons, smoke signals, and rock piles. Rita’s face sobered, and her smile vanished. Everyone around her went quiet. Normally, this was the point I’d be mortified for making a scene. Tonight, I couldn’t care less.

“Are you serious?” She wrinkled her nose.

“Unfortunately.” I sighed. “I have to go home. To England.”

“What’s wrong?” she asked, and I could tell by her tone she was already losing interest. After all, I’d only been employed at the channel for a few weeks. She wasn’t that invested in me. “Do you miss your family?”

I smiled dejectedly. “Yes, I miss my family. But I miss myself more. I can’t wait to find myself again.”