Page 116 of Love so Hot

I sit there for a moment, letting the day's events wash over me. The confrontation with Jason, the weight of tomorrow's press conference, and the undeniable certainty that has settled in my chest. I start the engine, the soft hum a backdrop to my thoughts, and pull out of the parking lot, heading toward the city lights that promise a new beginning.

As I drive, the streets blur into a tapestry of memories and possibilities. The familiar routes take on a new significance, each turn a metaphor for the choices I've made. My phone buzzes in the passenger seat, and I glance at the screen to see Emily's name.

I answer, her voice crackling slightly through the speaker. "Lawrence, are you okay? Jason just left the office looking... distraught."

"I'm fine, Emily," I assure her. "We talked. He'll come around eventually."

"I hope you're right," she sighs. "This isn't easy for any of us."

"I know," I reply, my voice firm yet understanding. "But it's necessary."

There's a pause on the other end, and I can almost hear the gears turning in Emily's mind. "You're really committed to this, aren't you?"

"I am," I confirm. "Tomorrow's press conference is just the beginning. We need to be honest, to take responsibility."

Emily's silence speaks volumes, but when she finally responds, her tone is resolute. "Then we'll make it work. I'll see you in the morning."

"Thank you, Emily," I say, feeling a surge of gratitude. "For everything."

"Goodnight, Lawrence," she replies before the line goes dead.

I continue driving, the city lights growing brighter as I approach my destination. The roads are quieter now, the rush hour frenzy having subsided. I pull into my driveway. I can see the calm waters of the Chesapeake Bay from here. They feel so at odds with the turmoil of my day.

Inside, the space feels both comforting and isolating. I set my briefcase on the kitchen counter, the speech peeking out from the edge. The words I've written carry the weight of truth, a beacon for the path I've chosen.

I pour myself a glass of water and take a seat by the window, looking out at the city skyline. The lights twinkle like stars, a reminder that even in the darkest times, there is always a glimmer of hope.

The press conference looms on the horizon, but for now, I allow myself a moment of calm. I think of the journey ahead, the challenges and the triumphs that await. And in that stillness, I find a sense of peace, knowing that no matter what happens, I've made the right choice.

And I hope that Willow thinks so too.

Chapter Fifty-Seven

Willow

The key turnsin the lock with a click that feels way too loud. I step inside, the air stale and heavy with silence. It's strange being back here. The walls echo with memories that used to make me smile, but now they just hang there, cold and distant.

I told Lawrence I needed to get the rest of my things. He said he was heading back to Norfolk but that I could go in at my convenience. He’d be turning the place back over to the owners soon.

There's a sadness in coming back to this place alone. I know I’m the one who ended things between us, and most of the time I was here was spent arguing with Lawrence. But knowing it's the last time I’ll ever be inside this house, the place where Lawrence and I, even briefly, found common ground, is sad.

"Home sweet home," I mutter to myself, dropping my duffel bag by the door.

I make my way through the living room, where dust motes dance in the sunlight slanting through half-open blinds. It looks the same, but it’s like someone sucked the life right out of it.

I can't take the stillness, so I turn on the television before walking into the bedroom. I can hear it hum quietly from its corner, some news anchor droning on about stock prices and market predictions.

On the bed are all the clothes Larry told me he’d thrown away, folded and arranged neatly. A tear rolls down my cheek, but I brush it aside.

I grab a suitcase out of the closet and open it. Kneeling down, I place a tie-dye shirt I bought at a street fair last summer inside. My fingers linger on the fabric, the colors as vibrant as the day I dyed it—aqua green, like my hair.

There are only a few of my things left here. Most of the wardrobe is filled with gorgeous clothing from Bellini. Lawrence told me I should take all of it, that it’s mine. But I don’t see how I can do that. It must have cost a fortune. Besides, having it in my closet might be too painful. It would be a constant reminder every time I opened the doors of that day.

Lawrence and I, under that old oak tree, his hazel eyes trying to read me while I destroyed his heart. I still can’t get what he said to me out of my head:

"You have something many people long for—a family that cares, even from afar. Remember how lucky you are to have that, even if it's complicated."

"Maybe you’re right," I whisper to the empty room, to him in my head. "Maybe I owe it to them to make an effort. Maybe I can change things from the inside instead of being against them on the outside."