Page 65 of Our Little Secret

She would throw it away, she decided, smoothing the bandage against the flat of her hand. The next time she ran, once her ankle was strong enough, she’d drop the phone and this damned bracelet into a public wastebasket, or heave it into the bay, or . . . somehow disentangle herself from the damning thing with its glittering stones and emotional ties to Gideon Ross.

At that moment the phone buzzed again, and her stomach twisted as another text from Gideon appeared on the small screen. She read the words and felt a chill as cold as winter seep through her bones:

Call me

“No way,” she whispered.

And then the rest of the text appeared.

Or else.

CHAPTER 15

Brooke’s heart leaped to her throat.

She stared at the damning message.

Call me or else.

“Or else what?” she whispered and was about to text the question but held off.

Don’t engage.

That’s what he wants.

He’s trying to provoke you into dealing with him.

Ignoring him is the best defense.

Quaking inside, she replaced the phone in her purse and let out a slow, steady breath. She would not let him terrorize her.

Heading downstairs, she swore that Gideon would not ruin her life. She couldn’t,wouldn’tlet him.

The scent of warm bread mixed with the tang of tomato sauce.

Dinner was already on the table, Leah sipping wine, Neal wearing an apron and slicing the lasagna, Marilee putting out the salad before slipping into her chair. Her bad attitude seemed at bay, though she was “too nervous” to eat and only managed a few bites before she flew back up the stairs to get ready for the dance.

Her sour mood returned once she found out that both her parents were dropping her off at the dance. Half a block before they arrived at the school, she insisted to be let out of Neal’s Range Rover.

“This is sooo lame,” Marilee complained from the back seat as Neal pulled to the side of the road.

“I think you’ll survive,” Neal said, shoving his SUV into Park in a spot not far from the school’s gym, where exterior lights shone garishly, reflecting in the fog that moved slowly across the cracked asphalt and through the parked cars and teenagers milling around the open gym doors. Brooke caught sight of Nick Paszek hanging out with a couple of other boys in the drop-off area.

Before Neal or Brooke could say, “Have fun” or “Be careful” or “Text us when the dance is over,” Marilee was out of the SUV and hurrying up a path to the doors.

“She definitely needs an attitude adjustment,” Neal observed.

“You’re on for that. I’ve tried and failed.”

Nick, seeing Marilee, grinned widely and broke away from his group.

“That’s Nick?” Neal was sizing up the six-foot-two-inch boy with the mop of black hair.

“Yeah.” Brooke was nodding. “That’s Nick all right.”

“He’s a . . . ”

“Man?” Brooke supplied. “See why I’m worried?”

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