Chapter 9

The next morning, the dull gray light of a low, heavy sky seeped through the thin curtains of Madison’s apartment, casting soft shadows over the stacks of open economics textbooks scattered across her coffee table. She sat cross-legged on the worn couch, a highlighter in hand, a mug of cold coffee abandoned at her feet, making a half-hearted attempt to focus on a chapter about financial markets. The words swam before her eyes, blurring into meaningless sludge, and she reread the same sentence for the fifth time without absorbing a damn thing.

Fuck, focus, Madi, she scolded herself, but it was useless. Her thoughts kept drifting back to the day before—to that bench in the mall, Rebecah’s sly laugh, and the proposition that had knocked everything off its axis.

She’d slept like shit—broken, restless sleep, littered with confused dreams where unpaid bills tangled with hazy flashes of bare skin and knowing looks. Rebecah had flat-out refused their request for an advance, claiming with a calculated smile that “it would make things less exciting,” but she’d promised to pay them every cent right after ... the job. Twenty-one thousand dollars. Jesus. Enough to fix everything, yet now it sat on her chest like a concrete block. With a frustrated grunt, Madison tossed her highlighter onto the table and jumped to her feet, pacing the cramped room.

“Seriously, what the hell is wrong with me? It’s just exam prep, not the end of the world,” she muttered, her hands shaking as she dragged them through her tangled hair. But she knew exactly what was eating at her—the waiting, that deal hanging over her head like a blade, and the fact that Rebecah was the one holding all the strings.

Irritated, she grabbed her phone from the kitchenette counter and fired off a message to Alan without thinking: “Still nothing from that crazy bitch? Not knowing is seriously freaking me out.” She hit send and stared at the screen as if an answer might magically appear. Nothing. With a sigh, she tossed the phone onto the couch and forced herself back to her notes, willing her brain to cooperate. The minutes stretched on. When her phone finally buzzed half an hour later, she lunged for it.

Just a blunt “no” from Alan. No punctuation, no emoji—nothing. A surge of irritation burned through her, her lips pressing into a thin line. “Awesome, thanks for the detailed update,” she muttered, flinging the phone aside again. She was sick of pacing in this shitty apartment, its walls seeming to close in on her. She needed air. Space. She threw on a light coat over her hoodie, grabbed her keys, and slammed the door behind her, heading down the creaking stairs to lose herself in the campus streets—anything to clear her head before the pressure finally crushed her. ---

Alan was stepping out of the campus gym, his muscles still warm and aching after an intense lifting session, his T-shirt plastered to his damp skin under the cool afternoon breeze. The low concrete building—its walls tagged with graffiti, its windows fogged up from condensation—still hummed with the clatter of weights and the thump of motivational playlists bleeding through the walls. He hitched his gym bag higher on his shoulder, nodding to a few regulars heading out at the same time, when Sean caught up to him, a towel slung around his neck and a tired grin on his face.

“Hey man, solid workout! You really went all in today,” Sean said, giving him a friendly slap on the back while wiping sweat from his forehead.

Alan chuckled, still a bit out of breath.

“Yeah, thanks to your expert advice. Without you, I’d have bailed after the third set. See you—don’t let me miss the materials lab tomorrow, or I’m screwed.”

Sean nodded, thumb up. “For sure. Catch you there. Get some rest—you look like a zombie.”

They split with a quick fist bump, Sean heading toward the west dorms while Alan took the opposite direction, back toward his crappy apartment on the edge of campus. The streets were lively at this hour: students on bikes weaving through pedestrians, the smell of fresh coffee drifting from a food truck parked on the corner, the low sun throwing golden light over the yellowing leaves.

Alan walked at a steady pace, trying to shake the mental fog that had followed him all day—that shopping trip that had gone to hell, Madison and her stupid proposition looping in his head like a bad chorus he couldn’t shut off.

His phone buzzed in the pocket of his gym shorts, a short vibration that made him sigh.

Madi again? Seriously, she’s getting on my nerves—she already blew up my phone this morning, he thought as he pulled it out, ready to ignore yet another stressed-out message. But the name on the screen stopped him cold.

Rebecah.