Chapter Text
The clerk at my local corner store appraises my salt and vinegar chips, candy bar, and Twisted Tea before glancing at me with a mixture of concern and disdain. I fix him with a vacant look, saying nothing. The two of us have been engaging in this recurring exchange for the better part of a year now, and I can't be bothered to feel ashamed. Sure, it’s noon on a Wednesday. It’s five o’clock somewhere, though. England, I think.
As usual, we complete my transaction without saying a single word. He knows I’ll be back tomorrow to buy more garbage for my body.
I walk the three blocks to Ridoc’s apartment. Technically, it’s my apartment now, too, but I can’t bring myself to acknowledge that fact most days.
My phone rings in my pocket as I unlock the front door. I sigh, glancing at the caller ID, and debate sending my agent to voicemail. But he’s a demanding son of a bitch, and I know he’ll just continue calling, or worse—show up at my door.
“Tairn, hey,” I answer while setting my bag of goodies on the kitchen counter.
“Sorrengail. We need to talk.” Shit. I should have sent him to voicemail.
“I’m great, thanks for asking,” I mutter and crack open my drink.
His deep voice rumbles in irritation. I can’t even begin to count how many times Alastair Tairneanach has pretty much growled at me in the years he’s represented me. Nearly everyone on the planet annoys Tairn, but I do have the unique ability to bring out his soft side from time to time. Mostly, though, he’s a fucking dragon.
“This is not a joke, Sorrengail. I just finished a conference call with Basgiath.”
“Let me guess. They’re pissed at me,” I say dryly. My publishing company has been pissed at me for a while. Admittedly, I haven’t been giving them reasons to sing my praises lately.
Tairn takes a deep breath. Then he says, “Violet, they’re threatening to terminate your contract.”
I freeze.
“Your leave of absence ended over three months ago. Tauri and the others have tried being patient with you – their words, not mine – but you haven’t submitted a single chapter. Basgiath’s social media managers have been fielding messages from angry and worried readers, and Tauri says the number of messages grows each day. The amount of resources they’re throwing into placating your readers, continuing promotion for The Navarrean, and deflecting interview requests is becoming a financial strain. I’m doing the best I can to pacify Basgiath, but you need to know that they are seriously considering cutting ties with you.”
I make my way to the dining table and slump into a chair before tapping the speakerphone icon, taking a long pull from my drink. I should have seen this coming from a mile away, but I haven’t been able to bring myself to care. Now that it’s a substantial possibility, it feels like the air is being sucked from my lungs.
“Are you there?”
I whisper, “I don’t know what to do.”
“Yes, you do, Sorrengail. You need to do your job. You need to write.”
“Tairn,” I whimper. No one understands how badly I wish things were that simple. “Everything I write is superficial, emulative crap. It’s like… my creativity has disappeared. I don’t know how to write.”
There’s a long pause while he considers my words, and probably chooses his own carefully. Finally, he says, “Are you really going to let a man ruin everything you've worked for? Because that’s where this is heading.”
As usual, Tairn is right. I have busted my ass to make a name for myself in the literary world. I independently published my first book, and it still managed to blow up. Then Tairn found me and reached out, telling me that my stories had the potential to become even larger – if I had the right team behind me. I hired him as my agent, and he put all his efforts into finding a publishing house for my work. Basgiath Publishing changed the game for me. I signed a deal for my brainchild, The Navarrean series, and received a handsome advance. Everything exploded overnight. I went from a self-published indie author to an award-winning one. I promoted my writing to my small social media audience. Now, my novels sit in the windows of major book retailers around the world.
But then I experienced the worst pain of my life.
Tairn continued, “I have an idea if you are amenable to stepping out of your comfort zone.”
How terribly cryptic and intriguing.
“Let’s hear it,” I decide.
—
“You seem undecided,” my best friend, Rhiannon, says before taking a bite of her pizza. The charms at the ends of her short braids twinkle in the light of the restaurant, making her appear goddess-like. Rhi inspired my series' main character, Selias, with her beauty. Her brown skin almost glows with warmth, and her sharp, high cheekbones can command a room with an air of regality.
Rhiannon, Ridoc, and Sawyer have been my best friends since high school. The four of us have remained constant, cheering for each other’s accomplishments and supporting each other through life’s miseries. When I moved back to Philadelphia, Ridoc offered me his spare bedroom, and I’ve lived with him ever since.
After my conversation with Tairn, I texted our group chat and asked for their support. My friends cleared their evening schedules and decided we would meet for dinner at our favorite pizza joint. If there are three people in the world I can always depend on, it’s the wonderful human beings sitting with me now.
“I’ll admit I’m hesitant,” I say, reaching for a slice of spinach and feta. “I’d be all alone in a city I’m unfamiliar with.”
Sawyer tosses me a sympathetic smile from across the table where he sits next to Ridoc. “Chattanooga is cool,” he offers. “I’ve been there a handful of times and it’s gorgeous. I really think it could be good for you.”
Rhiannon nods, chewing her pizza. Ridoc looks at me with a deep, worried line between his brows.
“How long will you be gone?” he asks, shaking his head to clear his floppy chocolate hair from his eyes.
Sawyer turns to him and says, “It’s not like she’s moving there permanently.”
“I get that, but I’m just worried about her being by herself, eleven hours away.” He’s glancing down at his phone now, no doubt assessing Google search results for the distance between Chattanooga and Philadelphia.
I grin at Ridoc, touched by his concern. Rhiannon coos, “Aww, Ridoc Gamlyn! It’s okay to admit you’re going to miss our sweet Violet.”
Ridoc rolls his eyes, and Sawyer snickers.
“I haven’t even decided if I’m going yet,” I remind Rhi.
“Why the hell does Tairn even own a place in Tennessee?” Sawyer cuts in.
I smirk and say, “Tairn hates the cold. He migrates south seasonally and conducts work from a distance." Everyone chuckles at my temperamental agent's contempt for northeastern winters. "He’s such a badass; no one dares to tell him he can’t.”
We spend more time eating our dinner and pausing to talk about Tairn’s plan. He wants me to take a break from Pennsylvania and stay at his condo in Chattanooga to focus on writing the final book in my fantasy series, saving my job and reputation as an author in the process. The mountains are healing, he swears, and it would be good for me to go somewhere I have no… history.
My publisher, Tauri, yields to Tairn's conditions with reluctance. But he maintains I need to have something to turn in, to prove I’m actually working, within a month. I’m paralyzed by the looming deadline, fully aware that I have to make it happen but also knowing I haven’t written anything of substance in twelve months.
We finish eating and wait for our checks, and I still don’t feel any closer to making up my mind. Ridoc is coming around to my agent’s plan after further input from Rhiannon and Sawyer, but I’m still battling the fear of seclusion and the pressure of starting the symbolic next chapter of my literal first chapter.
“Let’s go over the facts,” Rhi starts, holding up one finger. “You haven’t written in a year—"
“I have written,” I interrupt with a whine. “It’s all been trash.”
Rhiannon arches a brow and shoots me a look that means be quiet before putting up another finger. “You had six months of leave, and that ended in May. Now it’s September.” I look down at my empty plate, ashamed, but keep my mouth closed. Third finger. “And you’re on the brink of getting dropped from your publishing company, with only one book left in the series you’ve poured your heart and soul into.” Oh, the shame only grows, apparently. I feel a familiar, embarrassing sting in my eyes.
Sawyer, ever the gentle, empathetic friend, reaches across the table to squeeze my hand. “Listen, we’re not minimizing your pain. But you do not want to be known as the author who dropped the ball, and her contract, with one book left to write.”
Ridoc gazes at me with so much love and understanding, nodding in agreement with Sawyer. “And most importantly, Vi: what about your readers? All those people who have been affected by The Navarrean and need to know how the story ends? If Basgiath drops you, will you even be allowed to release another book in the series when you’re ready?”
This is something I’ve been thinking about all day. I dug through my file cabinet and read, then re-read, every line item in my contract. Frowning, I reply to Ridoc with another squeeze on Sawyer’s fingers. “No… any intellectual property associated with Navarrean will belong to Basgiath. If I release another book in the universe independently or with another publishing house, Basgiath would sue the balls off of me – and they’d win. My contract is air-tight.”
Rhiannon emits a low whistle, shaking her head sadly. “I’m not trying to sound like a dick, babe. You know how much I love you and how much I want to protect you. But that’s why I’m saying – you need to figure out your shit.” Her hand settles into the curve of my elbow. “If you lose the rights to your story and your characters, it’s going to destroy you, Violet. It’s not a matter of ‘if’, it’s ‘when’. So move into Tairn’s condo for a few months or figure out something else – but you need to get it together and open up your laptop.”
I’m mortified when a fat tear finally escapes and slides down my cheek.
I know without a doubt that my friends are right. They don’t want to see me lose everything I worked for over a breakup. They’ve already watched so much of me wither away into nothing; they would hate for me to lose this part of me, too.
The more I think about my current situation, the more miserable I feel. There was a time when I focused on my passion projects and career moves above anything – or anyone – else. I showed unmatched and unrelenting dedication. Once I realized my dreams, I knew I had no other choice but to tell my stories and share them with the world. Developing plots, characters, and unique settings that captivate readers – what’s better than that? Using my creative mind to create magic systems and societal complexities that are devoured by so many other people is a gift. And I’m currently squandering that gift.
So how did I get here?
Xaden Riorson.
Violet from four years ago would never believe that she would jeopardize her career over a guy. Violet from four years ago would dump a guy for even insinuating that she worked too much or took her dreams too seriously. That Violet chose her stories above any relationship. That Violet knew that writing was the love of her life.
But when I met Xaden, I had no idea that he would actually become the love of my life.
And look, I don’t live under a rock. I’ve read all the love-lost novels and seen the movies. Pride and Prejudice is my favorite book and movie of all time, thanks. But despite the access to heartbreak in media, I never truly understood what it would be like when I lost a love of my own. I couldn’t have anticipated the way that my body felt like it was dying, like my heart was one second away from combustion after my relationship ended. I had no personal experience with living every day as a ghost of myself, barely putting one foot in front of the other, and crying so often that I developed chronic migraines. Until Xaden and I broke up.
Violet's past self knew nothing of love's overwhelming, unconditional grasp. She didn’t know how it would fundamentally change the chemistry of her brain. And so she would not believe that losing someone would put her entire future at risk.
And here I am now, almost exactly a year after walking away from the man I loved most in the world, still gasping for air and flailing for something to keep me afloat. Still sinking with my ship and all my accomplishments. Still letting my dreams sink along with me, while my grief gets to sit in the life boat.
When does it end?
After dinner, I hugged Rhiannon and Sawyer goodbye and thanked them for their advice. I knew what I had to do. So, as Ridoc and I walked home, arm in arm, I started a mental checklist of things to pack for my extended trip.
“For what it’s worth?” Ridoc says while lying on the couch and reaching for the remote. “I think this is a good thing, Violet. I think you need to do something spectacular for yourself right now.”
I crack a smile. “And I’m sure having your apartment to yourself again won’t be so bad, huh?”
This earns a laugh from him. He lifts his middle finger, but his eyes crinkle with his smile. “Your room will be waiting for you when you come home.”
“I love you, too,” I chuckle before turning on my heel toward my bedroom.
Violet: Turns out, I am amenable to stepping outside of my comfort zone.
Tairn: Well, I would hope so. You're a writer.
Violet: Fingers crossed I’m still a writer.
Tairn: I know exactly who and what you are, Violet Sorrengail.
Tairn: I am glad to hear you’ve accepted my offer. Because I already took the liberty of scheduling your flight this morning. You leave in three days. I’ve emailed your booking info.
Violet: What would I do without you?
Tairn: Shrivel up and blow away.
—
My flight doesn’t leave until 10:30 AM, so none of my friends try to get out of taking me to the airport. Contrarily, all three of them insist on seeing me off, which is why we’re all packed into Rhiannon’s Mini Cooper – and why Rhi and I are cackling at the sight of Ridoc and Sawyer in her backseat. Neither of them is small enough to fit comfortably. Sawyer is quite tall and lanky, with legs Rhi frequently likens to those of a daddy longlegs spider. Ridoc is shorter but beefier. He’s not a bodybuilder by any means, but he’s muscular enough to look hilarious in the back of a Mini Cooper.
I packed as minimally as possible, only bringing one suitcase with me for a capsule wardrobe and my essential hair and skincare. Rhiannon was thoughtful enough to buy my favorite candle because she knows I like to light one while I’m writing. Sawyer texted me a list of some of his preferred places to visit while he’s in Chattanooga, taking time to explain which ones he thought I’d appreciate most. And Ridoc, panicked when he realized Rhi and Sawyer each got me something, scrambled into his wallet and gave me a twenty-dollar bill. “For lunch during your layover,” he muttered.
My layover is only fifteen minutes, but I might be unemployed soon, so I decide to take the money.
Before I know it, we’re pulling up to my terminal and the guys are unfolding themselves from the back seat. Rhi opens her trunk, and Ridoc swiftly retrieves my luggage. He sets my suitcase on the ground and rolls it to me, giving me a sad smile.
“I’m actually gonna miss my roommate,” he says as he pulls me tightly to his chest in a bone-crushing hug.
Next, I get hugged by Sawyer who whispers, “We’re all a flight away if you need anything. You’ve got this, Vi.”
When it’s Rhiannon’s turn, she holds me in her firm grip. Then she pulls away, rests her forehead against mine, and says, “You’re my favorite author, Violet Sorrengail. I can’t wait to read your next book.”
I forbid myself from crying as I walk through baggage drop and security. This will be good for me. I’m taking back my life – reclaiming my passions.
I cannot allow a breakup to claim more over my life. I cannot continue compromising my future and my readers’ respect. They all deserve more from me than I’ve given, and I only hope I can make them proud when I finally deliver.
So I’m going to Tennessee. I’m going to hike and visit waterfalls and stare at the world from the tops of mountains. I’m going to eat new food and drink local beer. I’m going to experience the art Chattanooga has to offer, and I’m going to do all the touristy shit like whitewater rafting. I’m going to find my inspiration again, and I’m going to write the final book in my life-changing debut series.
And maybe, yeah, everything still hurts. Especially my heart.
But I’m going to do it all anyway.