Chapter 3

"Get off me."

Caleb tightened his arms as if I had not spoken.

I drove my heel down on his foot, twisted free, and kicked him hard enough that he folded to the floor.

"Thank you," I said.

He gasped. "For what?"

"For making sure I won't miss you."

Some people reveal themselves in danger. Others reveal themselves when power arrives. Caleb had needed money for his worst instincts to have room to grow.

While he was still curled on the rug, I packed.

We split the rent. I owed him nothing. Most of what I owned fit in one suitcase.

At the door, Caleb shouted, "You'll regret this, Jenna! You'll come back when you need me!"

I did not answer.

I underestimated his need to make that prophecy come true.

During campus recruiting season, I received no offers.

Companies praised my grades, projects, and internships. A few hiring managers practically told me the job was mine. Then each application died inside some internal system.

One recruiter called from her personal phone. "You didn't hear this from me, but your file was flagged after final review. Did you make an enemy?"

I had almost no enemies.

I had one powerful ex.

I tested the theory before surrendering to it. I rewrote my résumé. I removed Caleb as an emergency contact from every old campus form I could find. I applied to companies outside the Beaumont network and used a new email address.

The results were the same.

One midsize firm invited me to a second interview. The hiring manager spent forty minutes describing the team and asked how soon I could start. Two hours later, the portal changed from FINAL REVIEW to NO LONGER UNDER CONSIDERATION.

I called. The recruiter sounded embarrassed.

"I can't discuss internal screening."

"Was there a problem with my background check?"

"It never got to the background check."

That answer frightened me more than a rejection should have. Caleb was not merely asking a friend to ignore my application. Someone had placed a mark where multiple companies could see it.

He wanted the walls to close in until the only open door led back to him.

My career-services adviser summoned me three times. According to her, the university tracked graduate placement numbers. Students needed to show initiative. I should take anything rather than graduate without a job.

My phone lit up with a message from Caleb: a come-here emoji.

He sent the same one every day.

The meaning was obvious. Beg, and the problem would disappear.

I turned off the screen.

No.

If I learned to kneel whenever someone punished me, I would spend the rest of my life on my knees.

My savings shrank. I stopped buying coffee. Then I stopped going out. I told friends I was busy.

My best friend noticed anyway.

Maya Brooks found me outside career services while my adviser was lecturing me about "professional flexibility."

Maya did not ask for details. She hooked an arm through mine and said, "I got a bonus. We're getting fancy brunch."

"No fancy brunch," I said. "I want deep-dish pizza."

An hour later, the smell of melted cheese filled the booth. I pulled a slice free, strings stretching, and shoved it into my mouth too quickly.

Maya pretended not to notice. She ordered beer.

For ten minutes, she talked about everything except me. A manager at work had used twelve slides to explain a two-sentence policy. Her upstairs neighbor had bought a treadmill and apparently trained for a marathon at midnight. A woman on the train had broken up with someone over speakerphone and involved half the car in the decision.

The nonsense gave me room to breathe.

That was Maya's gift. She could fill silence without invading it. By the time she finally looked at me, I no longer felt like I had to be handled carefully.

"Aren't you going to ask?" I said.

"What's there to ask? Somebody hurt you."

That simple answer broke the last of my restraint.

"Caleb and I broke up."

Maya clapped. "Congratulations. Dump the boyfriend, land the job. You'll see."

Maya believed in leveling up spiritually, being on the same wavelength, and a dozen other theories she discovered online at two in the morning. By the second beer, she had decided Caleb's energy had been blocking my career.

Neither of us could drive, so she called her brother.

Daniel Brooks arrived in his work clothes with a face like a storm cloud.

"Two women drinking this late without arranging a ride," he said. "Maya, seriously. Do you have any survival instincts?"

"Daniel, I'm twenty-four."

"And apparently committed to making twenty-five difficult."

I apologized. "She came because of me."

Daniel's expression softened by half a degree. He drove me home, stopped for two cups of custard and chicken noodle soup, and carried the bag to my building.

"Chicken noodle soup for breakfast," he said. "Dessert if you wake up hungry. Go upstairs. We'll leave when your light comes on."

I obeyed.

From my window, I waved. His blue sedan flashed its lights twice and pulled away.

Caleb sent another message. This one read: My patience isn't endless.

I blocked him.

Then I ate one of the custards by the window and realized I was no longer devastated.

Between slices, Maya had asked me what kind of life I'd wanted before Caleb started promising me a grand one.

The answer was simple. A stable job. No threats. No one setting traps. A quiet walk home at sunset.

"I'm built for a quiet life, not grand destinies," I told the empty room.

If everything failed, I could move back in with Mom.

Stay calm, and things have a way of working out.