Todos los capítulos de Saved by Brother's Best Friend: Capítulo 21 - Capítulo 30

Marianna.The alarm goes off at 6:00 AM, and I seriously consider becoming a hermit.Not like a religious hermit—I don't have the faith for that—but one of those people who lives in a cave and never speaks to anyone and subsists on moss and rainwater. That seems easier than getting up right now. More sustainable. Less likely to result in public humiliation.But I get up anyway, because I'm not a quitter.(I'm absolutely a quitter. I've quit three jobs, four boyfriends, and one yoga class in the past two years alone. But I'm trying to be better.)The shower helps. So does the coffee—Duane's expensive, single-origin, probably-costs-more-than-my-rent coffee that I've been stealing guilt-free since he told me I'm not his type. Consider it an asshole tax.I put on my interview outfit: the Target blazer, the slightly-too-long pants, the flats that definitely gave me blisters but are the only professional shoes I own. My hair cooperates for once, falling in semi-reasonable waves instead of i

Marianna.Dr. Lindholm's gone.And it's just us.Duane and me, standing in this pristine room full of expensive equipment, pretending we don't know each other. Pretending the last week didn't happen. Pretending he didn't pick me up from the airport and let me live in his apartment and tell me I'm not his type while I wore his clothes and breathed his air and fell apart in his guest room."Table 3," he says, moving past me toward the window. "I assume they told you.""They did."He settles onto the treatment table, his back to me, presenting that landscape of muscle and tension I've already memorized. The bruise from the crash has faded from purple to a sickly yellow-green, spreading across his shoulder blade like a watercolor gone wrong.I pick up the tablet. Scan his file again, even though I already know everything in it. Buying time. Trying to remember how to breathe."Your range of motion was at 65% last session," I say, my voice carefully neutral. "Any improvement since then?""Y

Marianna.I'm leaving.Tonight.I have $14 in my checking account, but my first paycheck comes in two weeks. There are Airbnbs in Miami for $40 a night—sketchy ones, sure, the kind with reviews that mention "character" and "authentic experience" and "minor cockroach situation"—but I have a credit card with maybe $300 of available balance. I can survive for two weeks on ramen and spite.I cannot survive another night in that apartment.The elevator ride up feels longer than usual. The key card feels heavier in my hand. The hallway feels narrower, like the walls are closing in, like the grey marble is judging me for ever thinking I belonged here.The apartment is empty when I walk in.Good. I don't want to see him. Don't want to have to pretend I'm fine, that this is fine, that any part of this situation is within screaming distance of fine.I just want to pack my nothing and leave.The guest room looks exactly the same as it did this morning. Grey walls. Grey sheets. The faint lingerin

Marianna.The door opens."Knock knock!" A British accent. Cheerful. The vocal equivalent of sunshine. "Anyone home?"I turn around.Oliver Hale looks exactly like his photo, except somehow more... three-dimensional. Real. He's wearing Alpine team gear—a blue and pink polo that should look ridiculous but somehow doesn't—and he's got one of those smiles that makes you want to smile back despite yourself."Hi!" He extends his hand. "You must be Marianna? Dr. Lindholm said you'd be handling my session today."I shake his hand. It's warm. Firm. Normal human contact that doesn't make me want to dissect every micro-expression for hidden meaning."That's me," I say. "Nice to meet you, Oliver.""Oh god, please call me Ollie. Oliver makes me sound like I'm about to inherit a manor house and marry my cousin." He laughs at his own joke, completely unselfconscious. "Everyone calls me Ollie. Except my mum when she's cross, but that's a whole different situation."I find myself smiling. Actual smil

Marianna.The tension in the paddock is almost unbearable. Oliver has climbed to P10—points position, which apparently means something very important based on the way the Alpine team members keep clutching each other like they're watching the birth of a child.Duane is still leading. Has been leading for 66 laps straight, with a gap that fluctuates between three and five seconds depending on how hard the second-place Ferrari pushes. He's driving a masterclass. Even I can see that, and I barely understand the sport.My nails are completely destroyed at this point. Little bloody half-moons where I've bitten too deep. Professional. Very professional."Come on, Ollie," I whisper. Nobody can hear me over the engines, over the crowd, over the blood pounding in my ears. "Come on, come on, come on—"The cars snake through the final corners. Through the tunnel, the darkness swallowing them before they burst back into Mediterranean sunlight. Around the hairpin one last time. Down the straight t