“So, she’s sick?”
“Yes.”
“That’s sad.”
“Yes, sad and fucking infuriating because she almost wrecked your career before it even began,” Sam says, exasperated. I get he’s upset. I’m upset, too, but I’m glad it’s over, and I actually feel sorry for that girl. Mental illness is a disease; I just hope she gets back on track and doesn’t do this to anyone else.
“So, you came all the way from LA to tell me this?”
“Yes, and to set up a press conference. We need to polish your image, and an interview at your high school is a great way to make you look good. The place will be packed with people just trying to get a glimpse of their hometown hero.”
“When is that scheduled for?”
“Three hours, so we need to scoot.”
“Three hours?” I look back at Laney; she hasn’t moved from the doorway.
“Shit.” I rub the back of my neck. “Okay. Let me get my stuff together.”
“By stuff, do you mean Laney?”
I glare at Sam. “I mean my clothes and shit.”
“Um-hmm,” he reverberates. “You two back together?”
I don’t take my hard look off Sam. “Yes. You have a problem with that?”
“Nope. I didn’t then, and I don’t now. Laney is good people. I just don’t want you distracted, that’s all. And females can be one hell of a distraction, especially when they look like that.”
I glance back at Laney—she’s sexy as hell without even trying. Even Sam sees it. “I’ll be right back.”
Laney disappears into the house as I walk up the front porch and through the door.
“Everything worked out?” she asks, wringing her hands together.
“Surprisingly, yes.” I smile as I approach her. “All the charges have been dropped, and my name is clear.”
“Good. I’m glad.” She sighs, weakly.
“Me, too.” When I try to touch her, she backs away. So not good. “Laney, what’s wrong? Is Sam being here making you uncomfortable? I know you don’t like him . . .”
“I like Sam just fine,” she interrupts me, returning to stir the pancake batter.
“Sure you do, about as much as you like sweet tea.” Her lips curve up faintly. “We have to get back. Sam’s set up a press conference. I have to make a statement and . . .”
“Go then,” she interjects, clearly upset. I’m upset, too; I wasn’t ready to leave so abruptly. But reality calls, and I have to be there.
“I want you to come with me.” I pull the bowl out of her hands and entwine her fingers with mine, imploring her to look at me.
“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“You know why, Kam.” Her grip tightens as she looks directly at me.
“I honestly don’t.” I search her face. What the hell is she talking about?
“Nothing has changed.”
