Not me. I want to forget him.
Obviously.
After this book tour, Evan Michaels will be behind me.
In my life and on The New York Times Best Sellers list.
Chapter 22
Evan
TheDenverforumgoesflawlessly. We stick to the script. There are simple questions from fans. Everything seems civil and curated, but this new version of Rachel…it’s bothering me.
She’s holding back. She’s smiling, but she’s notsmiling. She’s just there.
And it makes me want to know more.
I’m in my hotel room, lying on my bed and doing something I shouldn’t be…
I don’t do social media, but I just cracked the code of Lily’s. Her passwords are never that hard for me to figure out. I know she’s friends with Rachel because she’s friends with everybody, if only to make sure she knows where the best party is.
That’s Lily. She wants to be everywhere anybody is, and while I don't want to be anywhere anybody is, Lily's happiness means so much to me. I would live every difficult part of my life all over again if only to secure her happiness. Sacrifice my childhood. Work every job. Take every hit.
I’m not just Lily’s brother. I’m all the family she has, just like she’s all I have.
And the truth is…I wonder what Rachel’s family is like. Why she never goes back. There’s something there. I asked Lily, but she doesn’t know either.
I type in Rachel’s name in the search bar, feeling a little like I’m opening a door I shouldn’t be or reading a letter that’s not meant for me. I feel my pulse quicken as Rachel’s picture pops up.
She’s wearing a bright yellow dress with embroidered flowers. She’s grinning at the camera so widely that her green eyes are small slits. The pink on her cheeks is natural, and her wild red hair reaches the edges of the cropped circle framing in her photo.
Something about her reminds me of watching a sunset melt into the earth—that feeling when your shoulders drop away from your ears and a familiarity comes over you, as if you’ve been there before and you knew everything is going to be okay. I just had to get past the brightness of her first, so my eyes could adjust to her warmth.
I swallow down a smile as my thumb clicks on her information.
Lives in New York City, NY.Technically her address is Yonkers, so I wonder why she feels the need to hide that.
Journalist at The New York Standard.No mention of her fanfiction. She’s kept it anonymous, even on Facebook.
Studied Business at Oklahoma University. I’m still confused about her business degree. I would have guessed journalism.
I click back, going to her main profile page. She doesn’t post often. Maybe once a week. It’s all smiling selfies, or lunch at Central Park, or something she calls her‘My Sole Diary,’along with a numbered entry. The latest one is entry 121. So, she’s been taking off her shoes for a very long time.
And I want to hate it. I suppose I do, but not in the way I want to hate it.
I hate that I can scroll and take all of Rachel in. I can practically hear her laugh and feel the brightness that radiates off her smile. These seconds of her life captured in photos beneath my thumbmake me feel something I didn’t even know I could be nostalgic for…Home.
Which is ironic since it’s something she’s tried so hard to run away from, at least I assume so.
I’m not even sure Rachel knows she exudes that kind of tenderness. The kind that makes someone feel like a person is a destination—a place you’ve been looking for all your life.
Somewhere a person could feel safe. Where they wouldn’t have to hide.
My phone buzzes, startling me, and I play hot potato with it for a few seconds before finally catching it.
“Cool it, Michaels,” I mutter to myself.
It’s not like I was breaking a law hacking into my sister’s social media to scroll a profile of a woman I know. It’s detective work. That’s it. Nothing more.
