A laugh rises in my throat, shaky and triumphant.
I’m their hero.
Except I’m the villain too.
That night, Blake hands me a cup of tea and watches me, dark and still.
“You’re brilliant,” he says again. “You build empires out of trauma and hope.”
I sip. “What about you? You’re stained too, aren’t you?”
He crosses to the window. “I caused a car accident when I was a teenager,” he says quietly. “I was drunk. No one else survived.” His voice drops. “That’s why I’d follow you to hell.”
I touch his cheek. “Deal.”
We watch the town sleep—wreaths on doors, silent flags on porches, summer music festival banners gathering dust.
I kiss him hard. No forgiveness. Just acknowledgment.
Later, I crawl into bed, body electric.
Harper will bring her warm plans—retreats, healing, Costa Rica. She has no idea what she’s cultivating.
I check my phone to calm down, and a new message scrolls across the screen:
“Don’t let the spotlight fool you. I see the darkness.”
I don’t know who sent it. But I know it wasn’t Declan. I could have sworn he was behind the ominous texts.
But I do know this:
They’re watching.
And I like being watched. It means they’re afraid.
Good.
Fear is a mirror.
And I am the reflection.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Evelyn
On my screen, Shae lifts a crate of dented peaches at Hearth & Hands and smiles at an old woman like she invented empathy.
“Push the mids,” I say as Blake slides into the second chair with a sigh. He bumps exposure a hair. Fluorescents flatten everyone into office beige.
He taps the toggles. “Do you want the color of repentance or rebirth?”
“Repentance for the pantry, rebirth for the parking lot,” I say. “We’ll make her glow once she’s in daylight.”
“Resurrection palette. Got it.” He leans back, scratches his jaw. “You never told me if the exec bought your laugh button.”
“She wants two,” I say. “One after a crying donor and one after the soup spill.”
“She wants Shae’s laugh over a spill?”
