Chapter 4
The news spread like a virus, faster than anyone could imagine.
By the third day, my phone was blowing up.
First, it was my so-called "brothers."
Blake messaged me on WhatsApp: [Hey man, I heard Nicole's company is in trouble?]
I replied: [Yeah.]
Blake asked: [So, what are you gonna do?]
I replied: [Not much.]
Then he sent a voice message: [Bro, cut your losses. Don't go down with the ship. Divorce her now and take assets. If debt collectors reach you, you won't even live like me on twenty-seven hundred dollars a month.]
After I listened, I replied with two words:
[You done?]
Blake replied: [Yeah.]
I replied: [Alright, so when are you gonna pay me back the seventy bucks you borrowed last time?]
He blocked me right away.
Classic.
Then came all the so-called "friends."
The next day, when I bumped into the old-timers I usually played chess with at the club, they looked at me differently.
How to describe that feeling?
It felt like watching a store about to shut down, doing one last desperate clearance sale.
"Ryan," Mr. Lewis said, leaning in and lowering his voice. "So, you heard about what happened with Nicole, right?"
"Yeah, I know," I said.
"Well, kid, you gotta know when to cut your losses," he said, patting my shoulder. "While you still can, "
"Mr. Lewis," I said, slamming my piece down on the board. "Check."
"What?" He looked down at the board, his face changing. "When did you..."
"I set it up three moves ago. You were too busy talking to notice," I said.
I stood up and dusted off my pants.
"Let's play again another day," I said.
The worst were the business crowd.
Back when Nicole was riding high, they'd text me every holiday, calling me "Mr. Lucas" or "Ryan" like we were old buddies. Everyone wanted to cozy up to Nicole through me, and not a single one missed an opportunity to treat me to dinner or.
Now?
Now, they're all posting those cheesy motivational quotes on their social media, like "Stay away from toxic people," paired with sunset and coffee photos.
Disgusting, right?
But there was something even more disgusting.
At three in the afternoon, I went to the supermarket to buy groceries.
As I passed by the entrance of my apartment complex, I ran into someone.
Alan Grant.
Nicole's ex-boyfriend.
They were together before Nicole's career took off. Nicole was the one who left him when things started going her way, or, actually, he was the one who called it quits, thinking he couldn't measure up.
These days, he's doing alright for himself, running a mid-sized trading company. Not exactly top of the food chain, but he wasn't hurting for cash.
He pulled up in a Porsche, rolled down the window, and flashed me a smile.
That smile, how do I even describe it?
It was that kind of half-smirk, half-smile, impossible to tell if he was being friendly or just messing with me.
"Ryan?" Alan called.
"Mr. Grant," I said, standing by the curb with my groceries.
"Heard Nicole's company is in some trouble?" He took off his sunglasses. "Need any help? I've got some connections. Maybe I can, "
"No, thanks," I said. His smile got even more sly. "Come on, we're all friends here. Nicole treated me well back then, and I don't forget when someone's good to me."
I stared at his face.
He smiled, and I had to admit, it looked good on him.
But I knew what was really going on in his head.
He was just biding his time.
Waiting for Nicole to completely fall apart, waiting for me to disappear, so he could show up with his 'knight in shining armor' act and play the hero for her.
Just waiting to swoop in the moment she's vulnerable.
Yeah, right.
"Mr. Grant," I said, switching the grocery bag to my other hand. "You really want to help?"
"Of course," Alan said.
"Alright, then why don't you spot me seventy bucks?" I asked.
His smile froze.
"What?" Alan asked.
"Seventy bucks," I said, holding out my hand. "I went over budget at the supermarket and didn't bring enough cash. Mind spotting me?"
Alan's expression shifted from confident to shocked, then to frustrated and a bit lost.
He opened his mouth, he definitely didn't see that coming.
In the end, he pulled out his phone and transferred seventy bucks to me.
"Thanks, Mr. Grant," I said, waving as I headed home with my groceries. "I'll pay you back another day."
Behind me, the Porsche's engine roared to life, and the car sped away.
I glanced at my phone.
Seventy bucks just hit my account.
That's enough for two pounds of ribs.
Guess I'll make barbecue ribs for Nicole tonight.