Page 102 of True Colors

They’ve met him—a couple of times—at Finn’s and my place, when they were over, and Luther stopped by to pick me up for dinner.

They simply comfort me without being intrusive. They crack jokes, so I’ll laugh even if it’s only for the moment. They give me respite from the hurt.

Finn doesn’t hover, but he squeezes my hand occasionally, just checking in to make sure I’m alright. I know he’s super worried when he turns a woman down at the bar to get with her at her place because he doesn’t want me to be alone.

Messy and imperfect Finn might be, but his unconditional love is the reason I’m still standing. For a moment there, I thought that Luther and I would build a new constellation—a relationship that is just as strong. Now I feel foolish for all those castles I built in the air, especially since I know better.

Except for Finn and Miss Helen, no one else has loved me.

Sure, Dot and Mila at work are my friends, and they’re supportive, but they’re not my middle-of-the-night people. That’s what I thought Luther would be. He couldn’t even treat me with decency and professionalism, forget love and loyalty.

He kicked me out of a meeting because I stuttered.

I can’t wait for the grief to pass so I can become angry and stay angry.

I can’t wait for my love for Luther to die because I know it can.

My love for my mother died. Hell, even my hate for her died. Now, all that remains is a distant grief and a trauma response.

I want to feel that way about Luther—so he can’t touch me again, can’t hurt me again, can’t make me feel small again.

Love isn’t worth it, I decide as I drink my third Modelo.

You should’ve known better, Anouk. Cristina said she loved Papa and you—and look where that got you.

CHAPTER 24

Luther

The conference room empties in that peculiar, stunned way that follows a disaster no one wants to name out loud.

Martin lingers long enough to tell me he’ll be happy to attend a follow-up meeting. “Make sure you have the right people in the room next time,” he says gently.

It’s generosity wrapped around a knife. His way of saying you screwed up today, but I’m giving you another chance.

I nod, mortified and grateful all at once.

My father places a hand on my shoulder. “Walk with me.”

I feel seventeen again, standing in a driveway beside a dented car, keys heavy in my palm.

We go to my office. The corner one. Floor-to-ceiling windows. Leather chair. The view people think means power.

Right now, it all feels meaningless.

My father tearing into me ought to be my main concern, even if that isn’t his style. The meeting going badly should matter more than it does—but somehow, it doesn’t. Because what I just learned, thanks to this debacle of a presentation, is that I have royally, immeasurably fucked up. And what’s eating a hole straight through my chest is Anouk.

I should be on my knees in front of her, begging her not to leave me.

The truth is that I didn’t just fuck up a meeting, I lost the woman I love.

And that’s the bigger failure. No contest.

I take a seat at my desk, emotionally exhausted, physically drained.

Dad doesn’t sit across from me. Instead, he stands by the window, hands in his pockets, looking out at the city.

“You know Martin asked a simple question…about variance sensitivity in Tier Two Suppliers.”