Warm streams flood my cheeks as it finally hits me all at once. The arena. The stalker. The?—
Pop! Pop! Pop!
Playing through my mind, making my body tremble and shake at each remembered sound.
I can still feel the heat of a Texas night on my skin. Smell the fear. See death—close enough to taste. My shoulders shake with each sob, memories flooding my head. Of the little girl with the crocheted animals. And the woman she became.
No, the brand.
A face that can sell a million copies but not enjoy a single moment of freedom. Do I even know what that means?
On the counter next to me, the phone buzzes, and my spine snaps straight. With shaking hands, I open the screen. One missed call and a fresh string of texts from Edwin.
This is exactly why the guardianship exists.
You’re clearly not well.
Have you stopped taking your medication?
Maybe he’s right. Maybe I can’t do this on my own. Maybe I’m being stupid or selfish or spiraling into another psychiatric episode.
Or maybe … just for once, I’m taking accountability for myself. Making my own choices. Choosing my own path.
As scary as the last thought is, it breaks something loose that bound me for as long as I can remember. With trembling hands, I go into Edwin’s contact information and block him.
Done.
Over.
For a few moments, I stare at the white tile kitchen countertop. It stares back, a blank slate. Like my future.
What do I feel? I catalog my senses. The ache in my throat, the sting in my eyes. The pumping of my heart and fast-paced breaths. Fear, excitement, anxiety. I feel them all at once, like some great wave of emotion.
But what I don’t feel? Loss, grief, impending insanity.
I may not know what comes next. But one thing is true. I feel no regret about letting go.
Of Edwin. Of fame. Of the career I never wanted.
Admitting it feels like a sin. Embracing it, a foreign country. And yet I know, for change to happen, it must start with me.
Chapter
Nine
MAVERICK
Ihold the phone to my ear, pacing a little way from the cabin. Still close enough to protect—but far enough to give Mia the space and time she needs.
“Did I do okay?” Jack asks.
“Yes, thanks.”
“Never shopped for that stuff before. Had to ask for help.”
I chuckle, imagining the gruff, ex-military cowboy awkwardly casing the crafts section at the grocery store for Mia’s gift.
Mia’s gift.
