"So tell him you're going through some personal stuff. Keep it vague."
"He won't accept vague. He's a journalist. He'll keep digging."
"Then meet him. See what he wants. But be careful what you say." Luca sat up too. "If he's still in contact with Reeves—"
"I know. Anything I tell Alex could end up in an FBI report." I grabbed my phone as it started ringing a third time. "This is such a mess."
I answered before I could talk myself out of it. "Hey Alex."
"Finally. I was starting to think you'd blocked me." His voice was friendly but I heard the hurt underneath. "You've been avoiding my calls."
"Sorry. It's been a crazy week."
"Can we meet? Coffee? I feel like we haven't really talked in a while."
I looked at Luca, who nodded. "Sure. When?"
"Today? Our usual place? Say eleven?"
"Okay. I'll see you there."
I hung up and immediately felt the weight of dread settle in my stomach. "This is going to be awful."
"Probably." Luca pulled me back down into bed. "But you have a few hours before you have to deal with it. Come here."
We spent the morning in bed, neither of us wanting to face the day. Eventually I had to get up and get ready. Dressed in jeans and a casual shirt, trying to look like everything was normal when nothing was normal anymore.
Luca kissed me goodbye at the elevator. "Be careful what you say."
"I know."
"And if he asks about us—"
"I'll keep it vague. I know the rules."
"Rules." He said it like the word tasted bitter. "I hate that we have to have rules about your friendships now."
"So do I. But this is where we are." I kissed him again. "I'll text you after."
I got to the coffee shop fifteen minutes early and ordered my usual. Sat at our regular table near the window and tried to look casual while my stomach twisted itself into knots.
Alex arrived exactly on time, looking the same as always—button-down shirt, messenger bag, slightly disheveled in that journalist way. He ordered coffee and joined me at the table, studying my face with concern.
"You look tired," he said.
"Thanks. You know how to make a guy feel good."
"I'm serious. Are you okay? You've been... different lately. Distant."
"I'm fine. Just busy with work." I took a sip of coffee to avoid his eyes.
"Work." He didn't believe me. I could see it in his face. "Val, we've been friends since journalism school. I know when you're bullshitting me."
"I'm not—"
"Yes, you are. You've been avoiding my calls for weeks. You barely respond to texts. When I do see you, you're jumpy and distracted." He leaned forward. "What's going on?"
I wanted to tell him. Wanted to unload everything—the FBI investigation, the relationship with Luca, the terror of facing conspiracy charges. Wanted my friend back, wanted the support and understanding we'd always given each other.
