I lower my brows, not bothering to make eye contact with the guy. “I have to go.” I start back the way I came. Thankfully, the tunnel I came through is blocked off to the public. I nod at Stan, guarding the entrance in his security uniform, and slip past the barrier.
Thudding sounds behind me, but I ignore it. I’m not signing anything right now.
“Roman!” a woman calls.
Glancing back, I see Willow standing at the blocked entrance.
I pause at the sight of Stella’s friend. She stands just behind the retractable belt that blocks her way, Stan right next to her, one hand out in a stop sign.
“Ma’am.” Stern words leave Stan’s mouth. He isn’t messing around.
“It’s okay—” I say, not recognizing myself today. I clear my throat. “She’s a friend of a friend,” I tell Stan. Walking back to the entrance, I peer at her.
“Did you mean that?” She huffs as if she’s run a mile instead of a few yards. “When you asked Stella to stay behind and talk.”
I shrug. What is it to this girl? “Yes.” I didn’t really think when I spoke. But now that she’s here, I would like to talk to Stella. It’s been too long.
“Because she’s had a hard time.” Willow’s eyes fall to theground, and she shakes her head. “A really hard time, and she can’t have another letdown.”
My brow furrows. What’s wrong with the Everlys? Scott? Rebecca? “What do you mean?”
Exhaling with a low sigh, Willow sets both hands on her hips. “She lost her job. For one.”
My brow wrinkles more with each word she speaks.
“She was up for this award—the Sierra Clay something or other. Finally, she was getting some recognition for her work. She’s really gifted?—”
“I know,” I say. She always was.
“But because of the flood, her piece broke. She was a finalist too. But they refused to do a final judgment on a photo.” Willow’s cheeks puff out.
“The flood?”
“Yeah,” she says, her tone inflecting as if we’re on the same team, arguing the same points. “She accidentally flooded her entire place. So, her landlord kicked her out. She is currently homeless, jobless, and passionless. She has no sense of belief in herself right now. Oh, and she’s sleeping on my couch.”
“Stella is homeless?” I say, growing more concerned by the second. Passionless? That doesn’t sound like Stella.
“So very homeless. As in, Jerry, my soon-to-be fiancé, can’t move in because Stella has taken up residence on my couch.” Her hands flap to her sides.
“Is there someone else? A boyfriend?—”
“She isn’t seeing anyone,” Willow says.
“Her parents?—”
“Oh! That’s not even the worst of it. Her family didn’t get their visa extension. They all had to move back to Canada. Unexpectedly.”
“Everyone?”
“Yes!” Willow says, her tone exasperated. “You can’t even imagine how it’s stressing Stella out. So, if you don’t actually want to see her, don’t?—”
“No.” I hold up one hand. “I do. I really do.” My eyes skirt to the ground, and I search as my brain reels with hit after hit on poor Stella.
Stella is homeless. Jobless.Passionless. And now she has to leave the country? Her home.
I know the Everlys are Canadian, and I know they’ve split their time over the years. But Brice said moving was always on their time, their plan. This doesn’t sound planned. This doesn’t sound like going home, but like being asked to leave.
And that makes me angry.
