“Can I ask you a few more things?”

“You have a daily question quota starting today.”

She rolled her eyes. “What do all the “E” and “H” pictures in your hallway stand for?”

I felt a sudden ache in my chest. “Nothing.”

“If you hate New York so much and you don’t like talking about your past or what you lost six years ago, why do you have so many mementos hanging on your walls?”

“Aubrey...”

“Okay, forget that question. And the Latin quote across your heart? What does it mean?”

“Lie about one thing, lie about it all...” I kissed her lips before she could ask me anything else. I was starting to wonder why she hadn’t wanted to be a damn journalist instead of a ballerina.

“It’s your turn,” she said softly. “You can ask me questions now.”

“I’d rather fuck you again.” I lifted her with me as I stood up and helped her out of the bath tub.

We both dried off and went into my bedroom. Just as I was pulling her against me, my doorbell rang.

I sighed. “Dinner’s early.” I slipped into a pair of lounge pants and a T-shirt and headed to the door with my credit card.

The second I opened it, I was confronted with the sight of the last person on earth I wanted to see. Ava.

“Don’t you dare fucking slam it on me this time,” she hissed. “We need to talk.”

“We don’t need to talk about shit.” I stepped outside and shut the door behind me. “How many times do I have to tell you that you’re not wanted here?’

“As many times as it’ll take you to actually believe it, which you don’t.” She scoffed. “Ask me why I came to Durham to see you, Mr. Hamilton. Appease me and I’ll finally go the hell away.”

“You’re going the hell away regardless,” I said flatly. “I really don’t give a fuck why you came here.”

“Not even if it’s to sign the divorce papers?”

“You could’ve sent that shit in the mail.” I gritted my teeth. “And since I’m sure you’re running out of loopholes for contesting it, I’m willing to wait until all your options run out. I’m sure your lawyers will drop you as soon as they find out what type of client you are.”

“All I’m asking for is ten thousand a month.”

“Go ask the man who was fucking you in our bedroom while I was at work.” I glared at her, livid. “Or better yet, ask the judge you only “fucked for a favor,” or hey, if you’re up to it, fuck my former best friend. Sleeping with him always seemed to make you feel better, right?”

“You weren’t Mr. Perfect either.”

“I never fucking cheated on you, and I never lied to you.”

Silence.

“Five thousand a month,” she said.

“Go fuck yourself, Ava.”

“You know I never give up,” she said, her eyes widened as I stepped back inside my apartment. “I always get what I want.”

“So do I.” I slammed the door in her face, feeling my heart palpitating, feeling the onset of ugly memories all over again.

Rain. New York. Heartbreak.

Complete and utter heartbreak.

Seeing Ava in person again—hearing her manipulative voice and feeling those familiar pangs in my chest, immediately made me realize that I couldn’t make the same mistake again.

Aubrey was already asking questions, trying to dig her way into my life as much as she could—thinking that if she stayed around long enough that we would work out together. But I knew that would never happen, not after seeing Ava and knowing just how far she would go to ruin me all over again.

I was officially done with this monogamous game we’d been playing for the past couple weeks. It was quite fun—different, but since Aubrey could never be mine and I could never be hers, it was quite fucking pointless too.

I headed back into my bedroom and saw Aubrey smiling as she settled into the bed.

“Where’s the dinner?” she asked, tilting her head to the side. “Did you leave it at the door?”

“No.” I shook my head and started packing up her things, stuffing them all into her purse.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“You can’t stay the night.”

“Okay...” She stood up. “Did something just happen? Do you want to talk about—”

“I don’t want to talk about anything else with you.” I hissed. “I just want to take you the hell home.”

“What?” She looked confused. “What’s wrong with you? Why are you—”

“Make sure you get all of your shit out of my bathroom. You won’t be coming back here again.”

“Why not?”

“Because I need to start fucking someone else.” I picked up her headband. “I think I’ve spent more than enough time with you, don’t you think?”

“Andrew...” Her face fell. “Where is all of this coming from?”

“The same place it was always coming from. You lied to me once, you’ll lie to me again.”

“I thought we were over that.”

“Maybe you were, but I wasn’t.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that you need to get all of your things so I can take you home, and from here on out, you are my intern and I am your boss. You will forever be Miss Everhart, and to you I’ll be Mr. Hamilton.”

“Andrew...”

“Mr. Fucking. Hamilton.”

She rushed over to me and snatched her things, letting a few tears escape her eyes. “Fuck you. FUCK. YOU. This is the last time you’ll ever pull this hot and cold shit on me.” She stormed out of my apartment, slamming the door behind her.

I sighed and felt an immediate pang of guilt in my chest, but I knew it was the right thing to do. It was either cut this bullshit off now, or be responsible for breaking her heart later.

I stepped onto the balcony and lit a cigar—looking up at the moonless sky. Even though I felt bad for ending things so abruptly, for putting her out with no explanation, I needed to get back to who the hell I was and fast before I fucked up and put my heart on the line again...

Closing Argument (n.):

Andrew (Well... back then, you would’ve called me “Liam A. Henderson”)

Six years ago

New York

There’s something about this city that makes me believe again. It’s the hopefulness in the air, the flashing lights that shine brighter than anywhere else, and the dreamers who fill the streets day after day—unwilling to give up on their failures until they finally win. There’s no other city like it, and there’s nothing more alluring outside these state lines—nothing that will ever make me leave.

As the sun sets in the distance, I wrap my arm around my wife’s waist. We’re standing against the railing of the Brooklyn Bridge—smiling because I just added another high profile client to my firm.

“You think one day the papers will actually tell the truth about your first case?” She looked up at me with her light green eyes. “Or do you think they’ll keep brushing it under the rug?”

“Brushing it under the rug.” I sigh. “I highly doubt the government wants people knowing a kid straight out of law school uncovered a conspiracy. It’s an insult to their organization.”

“So, you’re fine being reduced to a random Jeopardy question that’ll happen ten years from now? ‘I’ll take lawyers who never got credit for two hundred, Alex.’ You’re fine with that?”

“Why shouldn’t I be?” I kiss her forehead. “I didn’t need the papers to print my name to get clients. People knew, that’s how they found me.”

“You should be so much bigger than what you are...” She shakes her head, whispering, “Your name should be plastered across every billboard in the city. Fucking assholes...”

Smiling, I tighten my grip around her waist and start the walk back to our car. Out of all the people that have come in and out of my life, Ava Sanchez has been the one constant.

She’s the only woman I’ve ever loved, and ever since the day I made her mine at our wedding three years ago, I swore that would never change.