Page 118 of Sing For Me

“Simon, I just want a few words.”

I can see him hesitate. He wants to talk to me. A flash of something akin to hope even shows in his eyes for a moment. Would he still want me to come crawling back to him? Even now? I can’t smile. Not at him. But I give him a neutral expression, just so he won’t run off.

As Simon opens his mouth, he cringes, the bandage crinkling. I can almost see the memory of Eli’s fist come back to him in real time. “No time, Reese. I’m heading to an appointment.”

So much for nice.

“Laura Hapness, at nine thirty. You still have a few minutes.”

Simon’s jaw actually drops.

When I asked Nora to help me figure out how to find Simon, she helped with finding his place of work and current address. “That was just an elaborate web search,” she said when I asked for more details. “I draw the line at hacking into his devices for more details. Just what do you think librarians are capable of, anyway?”

But then she’d done me one better. She’d called Jude and Eli’s brother, Griffin. We gave him a rundown of the situation, and a half hour after hanging up, he called back and said Simon had an introductory meeting at big shot litigators Jones and Hapness. “He hasn’t gone to the police yet, likely wants to see what the lawyer says first. And the only reason this guy even snagged a meeting with Hapness is by namedropping you,” Griffin warned. “And maybe Jude.”

Jude I could understand. But me? When I asked him, I could practically hear the shrug over the line. “That video. You have vulnerabilities now. It’s fine, nothing we can’t handle.”

My head had spun. “We?”

“Any friend of Eli’s gets my protection,” he says, as if that’s obvious. “I’m only telling you this information about your piece of shit ex because I know he’s not a physical threat. Anything else I’ll take care of. Good luck.”

He’d disconnected the call before I could say thank you.

“I have no idea what he does or how he does it,” Nora said. “But consider yourself safe.”

Maybe that’s why I raise my chin and take a step toward Simon now.

“How did you know what I was doing?” Simon barks. “Who I was seeing? Have you been spying on me this whole time?”

The man has lost his mind. I can tell by the way his lip curls, like he actually believes I would have finally left him and cut off all contact, only to have maintained an elaborate spying operation? For years? I want to say all this, but I hold back, keeping it simple, like we practiced in the car. There’s only one thing I really need to do here, and that’s ensure I never see or hear from Simon Houghton for the rest of my life.

“It’s not important how I know. It’s important what I know. I know you’re hoping Laura will become your lawyer, and that you plan on giving her all the hairy details about what happened when you broke onto our set.”

That last part was a bluff, but not hard to guess at.

Simon’s expression goes a little wonky.

“She won’t. Because you’re not going to go to your meeting. You’re going to turn around and go back to that sad little sales associate job you’ve been stuck at with no promotions for the past five years because you’re too full of yourself to have even an ounce of humility.”

Simon clenches his jaw.

“And now you’re trying to decide whether to yell threats at me or run. Or maybe try what used to work on me: laying on the sugar. Telling me how much you care about me, how you’ve always been there for me, and act hurt and confused when I stand up for myself.”

I know I’m getting emotional, so I take a breath before continuing. “But I’ll make it easy for you. None of those things will work, because I’m not afraid of you, Simon. And I’m not the same vulnerable, hopeful girl you ‘took under your wing’ all those years ago.”

Simon folds his arms, tries to look aloof. Which is difficult when his face looks like a train ran over it. “Sure you are, Reese, I can see it. I know you’re worried—”

I shake my head, making Simon trail off and frown. “Just stop,” I say. “Simon, it’s over. You tried, very hard, to destroy me. To crush my spirit and keep me small. For a long time, it worked. But I think I knew, somewhere inside of me, that I deserved more. Some part of me kept that burning ember alive, blowing on it in the darkest moments to make sure it didn’t die.”

Simon’s eyes flicker.

“You remember the song, I can tell.” It was about an ember in the ashes. “You told me it was ‘reductive.’” The therapy I did after finally leaving him taught me that was one of his tactics. To sound academic so his points couldn’t be argued with without me feeling small and stupid.

“That part of me is what made me keep these.” I pull a piece of paper out of my pocket. It’s a copy of one of the letters. “Proof of who you really are. I’ve got all the letters, Simon, even the ones you sent up until what, last year?”

On the way here, we’d stopped at my family home on Long Island, and I’d picked the box up from my closet, only to discover dozens of unopened letters my mom must have stashed in there from after we broke up, not telling me so as not to upset me, but not throwing them out, either, because they belonged to me. It was a very Mom thing to do, and now I’m grateful for it.

Especially seeing Simon’s face blanch at the one I pulled out. One from earlier this year, where he tells me about his new girlfriend—a girl he says reminds him of me. “Except she’s younger than you were then, Reese. Maybe young enough she’ll listen better than you did.”

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