LAYLA’S POV
It’s 10:17 in the morning in Massachusetts, which means it’s barely past seven back home.
Home.
Goddess, I really need to stop calling California that if I’m supposed to make this work.
One overnight flight, a new SIM card and an apartment on the other side of the country later, and I don’t think my life has ever felt this horrible.
I’m sitting on the edge of a bed that doesn’t belong to me yet, staring at a suitcase I haven’t bothered opening while my new phone number sits on a piece of paper beside me.
New number. New school. New apartment.
Basically a whole new life that I never actually wanted.
The apartment is nice too, which makes everything worse. Alpha Strout clearly kept his word about making sure I had somewhere good to live because there’s furniture, grocerie
