Page 35 of The Americana Playbook

Dear Fitzy,

Today I’ve been gone 68 days.

It took me forever to find more paper. I’m sorry these sheets are all crumpled. I have to hide them every night before I sleep. You see, we can get mail, but we can’t send it. I’ll send these to you come hell or high water. I want everyone to know the truth.

Nothing is as it seems.

I wonder what my parents are saying, what they’ve told you.

Where’s Parker?

Oh, she’s sailing the South Pacific.

She went on a community service trip to build wells for villages in Kenya.

I try not to think about Mom, Dad, and Maddy at all because I doubt they think about me. Sometimes I let myself believe they do and that they simply must not know the truth about this place. But they hear me cry. They hear me beg. So either they know and they’re monsters, or they just don’t believe me. Fuck them all. One day, they’ll pay.

I do think about you. I know you probably hate me. Just admitting that makes my mouth hurt from frowning so hard. But then I ask myself, if the situation were reversed, would I hate you? I don’t think the situation could ever be reversed. You never would’ve been here in the first place. Not just because you’re a boy scout. You’re just stronger. You would’ve fought them off when they came for you in the middle of the night. You would’ve kicked harder, screamed louder, bit so hard into the palm pressed against your mouth that you would’ve drawn blood.

Just know I tried and let the scar I know will stay on my back prove it. The rest of the scars you can’t see. But I can feel them. Everything that’s happened to me here cuts deep. I’ll never forget it. But I’m going to try.

Rebels Only.

Parker

“If you apologizeone more time, we’re about to have our first big fight.” I block the elevator’s sensor so Parker can exit first.

I’m not sure why it’s now she’s apologizing. Of all the things that happened today, a Secret Service escort home from the airport was weird, but definitely not at the top of the list. I’d say signing an NDA on the fly after texting a photo of it to my lawyer and hearing about my upcoming wedding in the late summer after technically getting engaged twenty minutes earlier were at the top.

But when I gaze down my hallway and find an agent standing at the door to my apartment, I realize this apology was given in advance.

“Ignore him,” Parker whispers from my side. “Apparently, I still need a babysitter.”

Approaching my door, I fumble for the key, but the agent turns the knob for me.

Okay,nowthis might be a lot. “Have you been in myapartment?”

“Sir.” The bald, clean shaven guy nods. “I’m Agent Samuels. I’ll be lead on Ms. Montgomery’s detail. It was a routine sweep, I assure you.”

Agent Samuels steps back, allowing us to enter. We’re barely inside when he lifts his hand, speaking into a radio tucked into the sleeve of his suit. “Bolter and Charming are secure.”

Parker flings her head back but I shut the door before she can say anything. “Bolter?”

I raise my shoulders in a shrug. “Guess they know about the getaway car. They’re a little accurate with both of them.”

“Who saidyouwere charming?” she asks, dragging her face away from the door.

“Would you like names or numbers or both?” I smirk. “Besides, my brand isn’t exactly based on running away. Welcome home, bolter. Hope you stick around this bachelor pad.”

“I wouldn’t exactly usebachelorpad to describe something that looks like it should be inArchitectural Digest.” Parker slips off her coat, and I go to take it from her, but she bypasses me, opening the closet and reaching in for a hanger.

The move makes me smile, like she’s already making herself at home.

I usually throw mine on the bench where her bag is, but instead, I do the same before I follow Parker deeper into the apartment where she now stands in the living room.

“Can I remind you I just picked you up from theWhite House?”

“That belongs to the taxpayers.” Parker lifts her head at the high ceilings. “You probably pay a lot of taxes. Or I guess, depending on who you ask, not enough.”

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