Broken heart

TERESA'S POV

People have always called me dumb, and the nicer ones say I'm just gullible. Honestly, I've never argued with either. So, it wasn't exactly a surprise when my one-month-old relationship—the longest I've ever had, by the way—came crashing down right after I told my boyfriend about the Vista contract. That was probably the only reason he stuck around.

Now, here I was again, back in my tiny one-bedroom apartment, buried under a mountain of crumpled tissues, bawling my eyes out.

It's one thing to be dumped. It's another to be used and tossed aside like an expired coupon—which is exactly what Mark did. Just like every other guy. But that wasn't the only reason I was drowning in my own tears. This time, I was staring down the barrel of unemployment. And not just any job—the job. My job at Vista July, where I've hustled for over five years. I started as an intern, clawed my way to a full-time position, and now, thanks to my genius dating choices, I committed the ultimate sin: spilling confidential company information. Come Monday, I might not only be out of a job—I might be sitting in a jail cell.

I blew my nose and tossed the tissue onto the pile. What now? Mark had already published his article using the classified intel I thought I was sharing with my boyfriend. The source would obviously be traced back to me. I was so screwed.

I curled into a ball on my couch, pulling my blanket over my head like it could shield me from reality. My face was puffy, my eyes felt like sandpaper. I'd been crying since Wednesday, and it was now Friday. My phone was off, and I had no intention of turning it back on anytime soon. I was planning to hide out here until I ran out of food or, better yet, just starved to death. Seemed like a better alternative to facing the music—or worse, my boss.

Eventually, exhaustion dragged me under, pulling me into a restless, nightmare-riddled sleep. I dreamed of jail cells and Mark's smug grin, like he'd won.

******

"Teresa! Open the door or I'm breaking it down!"

I jerked awake, heart racing. It took a second to remember where I was, but the pile of tissues on the floor brought me back to reality—unfortunately, the reality where I was one step away from prison. Fresh tears welled up at the reminder.

"Teresa! Open the door!"

The pounding continued, and for a brief, insane moment, I considered jumping out of the window—even though I lived on the fifth floor. I know, ridiculous. But at that moment, the sidewalk felt less terrifying than whoever was on the other side of my door.

Then I recognized the voice. It was Luke. Fantastic. Just what I needed—my brother busting in to lecture me. So much for my plan to die quietly in here.

Dragging myself off the couch, I shuffled to the door and unlocked it. Luke stormed in like an angry bull, his brows knitted into what could've been a unibrow. His dark eyes zeroed in on me like a missile. Great. He was in full big-brother mode.

I stepped aside, letting him take in the disaster of my apartment. His jaw tightened, and I could practically hear the lecture forming in his head. He brushed past me without a word, heading straight for the living room and surveying the mess.

"You look like death," he said, flopping onto the only clean spot on the couch. Ah, the sibling sympathy.

"Thanks," I muttered, dragging myself back to the couch. "I aim to please."

I plopped down next to him, ignoring the mess and the smell that was probably coming from me. I shut my eyes, fully prepared for another round of crying.

"You've been at it since Wednesday, haven't you?" he asked.

"What gave it away?" I blew my nose.

He sighed, rubbing his temples. "I warned you about that guy. I said he was no good."

"And I listened, didn't I?" I snapped, waving a tissue in the air. "Clearly, that worked out great."

"Obviously," he scoffed. "Look where listening got you—dumped and jobless."

I flinched at the word "jobless," because it was dangerously close to the truth. "Not yet," I mumbled.

"Has your company called you?"

I glanced away. "I, uh, turned off my phone."

"Teresa!" Luke threw his hands up. "You can't just hide from this!"

"I know," I said, my voice cracking as the tears threatened to fall again. "But I'm terrified, Luke. What if they fire me? Or worse—what if they sue me? I'll lose everything."

"And your plan is to sit here and cry until you disintegrate?"

I stayed quiet, my shoulders shaking with silent sobs. He shook his head and sat back on the couch.

"We'll figure it out, but you need to stop hiding," he said. Then, as if reading my thoughts, he asked, "Speaking of disappearing acts, has the sperm donor reached out?"

I tensed. "No, and I hope he stays out of our life forever. We don't need him messing things up more than they already are."

Luke smirked. "You and me both. Though I wouldn't mind disappearing on my wife for a bit and crashing here."

I shot him a glance. "Leave her alone with the kids? Yeah, right."

He chuckled. "You're my baby sister, though. Priorities."

"Please, you live with her parents. Last I checked, that's not exactly 'grown-up' material."

His grin faltered, but he quickly recovered with a laugh. "Okay, low blow. But hey, free rent's free rent."

"Yeah, yeah," I muttered, rolling my eyes. "One day you'll get your own place."

Luke raised an eyebrow. "You're mean. I'm here trying to help you, and this place is a pigsty."

"Have you showered?" he asked, wrinkling his nose.

"Go away!" I groaned, burying my face in the couch.

"Not happening," he said, yanking a tissue off my shoulder and tossing it into the pile. "You know I'm not leaving until you're out of this apartment. It's Friday. You should be doing literally anything but crying over some jerk."

Luke walked over, gently brushing a stray tear off my cheek. His touch shattered what was left of my emotional dam, and I broke down again.

"I know it sucks, but it's going to be okay," he whispered, pulling me into a hug.

After what felt like forever, he pulled back, holding me at arm's length. "Alright, enough of this. Go shower."

I groaned, but before I could argue, he was already steering me toward the bathroom.

"Wash your hair too!" he called through the door. "You've got serious raccoon eyes going on!"

Somehow, that made me laugh—an actual, real laugh.

As the warm water washed over me, I closed my eyes. I hadn't realized how good it would feel to scrub off three days of self-pity. Luke was right. I had stunk.

When I came out, feeling slightly more human, Luke was on the couch, sorting through the tissue mountain with a disgusted look. He glanced up, smirking.

"Look who's back from the dead," he said. "I was about to call a hazmat team."

"Ha ha," I muttered. "You should try stand-up. You might finally move out of that basement."

"Touché," he laughed. "Now, sit. We need a plan."

I plopped down next to him. Luke leaned forward, all traces of humor gone.

"So," he said. "What exactly did you tell Mark?"

I groaned. "Everything, Luke. The whole contract. Every last detail."

"Why would you tell a journalist confidential info?" His voice was calm, but the disappointment was clear.

I peeked at him through my fingers. "Because I thought he loved me. I'm an idiot, okay?"

Luke's face softened. "You're not an idiot. You just... trust people too easily." He sighed. "But you can't hide from this, T. You have to talk to your boss. Explain what happened, and try to contain the damage."

I stared at him, horrified. "Are you insane? My boss is going to kill me! And then fire me! And then kill me again just to be sure!"

"Or," Luke said, ignoring my outburst, "you could take some responsibility, show them you made a mistake but you're willing to fix it. It might not save your job, but at least you won't go down without a fight."

I sighed. "And how do you suppose I do that?"

"We start by cleaning this place up," Luke said, looking around my messy apartment. "You're not going to feel like doing anything if you're living in a tissue landfill. Then, we come up with a solid plan for how you're going to handle Monday. Maybe even figure out how to mitigate the damage Mark's article might cause."

I bit my lip. "And what if it doesn't work? What if I still get fired?"

"Then you'll find another job," Luke said simply. "You're smart, Teresa. You'll bounce back. And this time, maybe pick a boyfriend who's interested in you and not your company's business dealings."

"Smart?" I snorted. "I think we've established that I'm more on the dumb side of the spectrum."

"Maybe a little," Luke conceded with a grin. "But that's what big brothers are for keep you from doing too much damage to yourself."

I smiled weakly. "I guess I owe you one, huh?"

"You owe me about a thousand," Luke said, getting up and offering me his hand. "But we'll start with cleaning up this mess. C'mon. We've got a lot of work to do, and a whole weekend to do it."

I took his hand and stood up, feeling a tiny spark of hope flicker to life in my chest. Maybe everything wasn't completely lost. Maybe, just maybe, I could figure out a way to make this right.

And if not, well, I'd at least have a very clean apartment to cry in.