Take the drama out of business.
I sigh. “Out of the frying pan, into the fire.”
Carter tries to give it a positive spin, with the worst take in the world. “At least this time, it’s not an attempt on your life.”
“It’s worse.” I rise, pouring more coffee. This is going to be a very long day. “They’re trying to bury my reputation.”
“Do you want me to make a statement?”
“No!” I almost shout. “That would make it worse. Big brother swooping in to defend the messy little sister.”
We drink in silence, while I stare at my reflection in the window. I notice I forgot to add sugar and cream only halfway through the third cup.
Adam will have seen it too by now. The entire video.
And I’ll probably never be able to look him in the eye again.
But one thing’s for sure. “I know what I have to do.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
ADAM
The pad of my finger traces the blurry edge of her face on the screen, like touching her could make things better. The booth is dark, the light low, but I’d recognize her anywhere. That voice. Uneven and heavy with sorrow.
I’ve watched the video hundreds of times already, and every time it cuts a little deeper.
It’s my fault.
Carter told me not to keep secrets. Especially from her.
I wanted solid proof she loved me. I wanted to be sure I wouldn’t end up with a broken heart again.
But it was there.
In the little ways she tried to close the gap. And I missed it. Instead, I had to watch her break apart at the same time as a million others, on my fucking phone.
Her voice burns through my skin, haunting the silence in this room.
“It’s too late.”
The regret punches the air out of me, and I have to force myself not to run to her house.
She hates feeling exposed. Embarrassed. Hates the idea of being pitied. And after what’s happened since yesterday, I know she’s overwhelmed. Between the FBI’s press conference, announcing the arrests, and now the club video blowing up online, she’s likely hanging on by a thread.
And whoever filmed that video and sold it to the press? I’m going to find them. And make their life a living hell.
She didn’t deserve to have her vulnerability and insecurity turned into a public spectacle.
I should’ve never let it get to this point.
I want to know how she’s doing.
Something tells me calling Carter would be a bad idea. Maybe I’m a coward for avoidingthatconversation, but it doesn’t feel right talking to him before I clear the air with Jackie.
The curtains over the open French doors dance in the light breeze, bringing in the scent of fall and that nostalgic bite in the air. It fills the living room with memories of long walks along the river and quiet, lazy mornings.
I step out onto the balcony, my feet heavy. The park stretches out beneath me, but I’m somewhere else entirely. Thinking. Feeling. Trying to piece hope together out of the mess we both made.
