Page 107 of Xander

I lost my balance and hit the ground hard, rattling the teeth in my skull. My first instinct was to make sure that the impact hadn’t caused any internal damage. But I had no cramping or pain. The shock to my knees was like being knocked about by a stone, though; it pounded me to the dusty dirt belt beside the driveway, which hadn’t yet been landscaped. I was pretty sure my left knee was bleeding.

Groaning, I got to my feet. Henry’s car was still on the curb. Idling.

Had he left the keys in the ignition? That was the first real stroke of luck I’d had. I swung the car door shut, breathing through my nose to calm myself, and let my eyes fall to the buttery leather seat.

Henry’s phone.

I picked it up, swiping through his lock code—the day he’d founded his company, so predictable—and dialed a number.

Piya picked up on the second ring. “Hello?”

“Piya.” I put the phone on speaker as I pulled away from Xander’s house, fighting back the tears finally descending.

“Yes, who is this?” she asked, her voice wary. In the background, I could hear the distinct grumbling of her husband saying something to the extent of, That better not be another man you’re talking to.

“It’s Jordan. I’m so sorry to call like this, but I need you to do me a huge favor.”

Chapter

Thirty-Four

JORDAN

It wasn’t until I ran away from Xander that I recognized my self-imposed limitations. Invisible shackles had held me back for years, and breaking the cycle turned out to be surprisingly easy. I drove out of Xander’s driveway without facing any theatrical interceptions or a big dramatic car chase.

I glanced at his phone after ditching Henry’s car in a random parking lot. I had purposefully left mine behind, as I was positive Xander would be tracking me through it. I was relieved—then grateful and finally ashamed—to find an incoming text from Piya with the details of the Uber she had ordered for me.

I had expected her to be cold upon hearing from me. On the contrary, she was too ecstatic to care why I called her from Henry’s number. Nor did she demand an explanation when I asked for her help.

Some friendships could withstand the test of time, and I made a mental note to reconnect with her once this ordeal was over.

The hotel she had booked for me was two hours away, where Piya’s husband had arranged for someone to deliver a package. I had no idea what kind of reach he had, but I knew better than to ask too many questions.

Instead, I tossed and turned all night and was awoken by a knock on the door in the morning. There was no one on the other side of the door, only a wrapped brown bag. Inside was a brand-new passport with my maiden name, a burner phone, cash, and… a flight confirmation number.

Something gripped me from inside at the finality of my decision. Leaving behind years of bad memories was the right decision. Avoiding another cycle of abuse was also correct. But nothing felt right about leaving him behind.

The decision weighed on me even as I checked in at the Air France ticket counter. A lady in a black blazer and a Stacy name tag took stock of my leggings and T-shirt, with my coat haphazardly slung over one arm. Her eyes loitered on my empty hands. It must have appeared suspicious that I had no luggage or even a purse. Hopefully, she had encountered worse things than a woman traveling light.

“Bonjour, Madame,” she said professionally. “How may I help you today?”

“Hello. Just checking in.” I read her the confirmation number.

Her smile turned warm once she typed it into the system. “Ms. Jordan Banks?”

I nodded.

“I have you in seat 2C. Our business-class lounge is located after security if you’d like to wait there until your flight starts boarding.”

I closed my eyes in another bout of shame. Of course, Piya booked me a business-class seat. Last-minute seats were at least five to six thousand dollars, and I knew she’d never let me pay her back. I hated myself a bit more for not reaching out all these years.

“Thank you,” I muttered.

She went over my arrival details before ushering me to airport security. “Bon voyage.”

I waved at her lamely and went on autopilot for the next ten hours. I walked through the security check like a zombie. I ate a tasteless breakfast at the lounge before my nerves had me emptying my stomach in the bathroom. Until the flight took off, I kept my eyes steadfast on the airplane door, expecting a six-foot-three hockey player to charge in at any moment.

Even after the plane landed, I paranoidly looked around like a convict on the run. It wasn’t until I exited the airport and the sun graced my face that I took a full breath. I closed my eyes, letting the warmth seep into my skin, and listened to the bustle of people around me. When I opened my eyes, I was graced by the large sign before me.