Page 68 of Darkwater Lane

“You may not think so, but you’re wrong.”

I cross my arms and lift an eyebrow, inviting her to continue.

She holds up a hand, ticking off her points as she goes. “You don’t answer media requests.”

“Because I don’t trust the media not to twist my words,” I counter. “Journalists always have an agenda, and it rarely overlaps with mine.”

“You refuse to stand up to the Belldenes.”

“That’s out of pure self-interest. I’ve been to their compound.I’ve seen the kind of weaponry they have at their disposal. Engaging with them is a losing proposition.”

“You talk about all the threats your family receives, but from what I’ve seen, you do nothing about them.”

“I send them to the police and the FBI. What do you want me to do, become a vigilante?”

“The Lost Angels have been waging a campaign against you for years, and instead of fighting back, you’re walking away.”

“I’m being smart, Madison. I’m picking my battles. I know that may look like staying silent to you, but you’re young. You’re like my daughter, still so idealistic, believing that if you can just make the right argument, someone will listen and change their minds. You still feel like you can change things. Well, I hate to break it to you. Sometimes, you can’t. Sometimes, you just have to accept things the way they are and make the best out of a shit situation.”

“Is that what you’d tell Lanny to do? Just accept the way things are? Don’t make waves? Don’t fight for change?”

I’m the one who brought my daughter into this, but still my chest burns at the mention of Lanny’s name.

“People need to hear from you, Gwen,” Madison says. “They need to hear what it looks like to fight. People see you as the villain. Show them you’re not.”

I turn away from her and stare out the front window toward the lake. The surface is an unknowable gray. I think of the woman I was the last time I stood here in this house. I was on the edge of running after finally putting down tentative roots. I was trying to decide who I wanted to be and what I planned to fight for.

I was scared.

I’m still scared.

I’m not sure I’ll ever stop being scared.

Maybe that’s the problem. I keep waiting to find safety. I keep waiting for the moment I won’t clock exits when I enter a room orgo to bed with my shoes by the bed in case I need to make a hasty escape. I keep waiting for it to end.

There is no such thing. This will never end.

This is life. It’s happening now. And I’m going to miss it if I’m not careful.

“Okay,” I say, turning back to face her. “Let’s get started.”

19

GWEN

That evening, Kez and Javi come for dinner. While Javi, Sam, and the kids chop veggies and man the grill, Kez and I sit on the porch under a blanket. The air is crisp, the sky above still sporting the remnants of sunset.

“I agreed to record a podcast about Melvin,” I tell her.

She looks at me as though I’ve grown two heads. “I’m quite sure I didn’t hear that correctly because the Gwen Proctor I know would never voluntarily talk to the media.”

“It’s worse than you think. I’m working with Madison Westcott.”

“The Royal MurdersMadison Westcott?”

I nod. “You don’t have to say it, Sam already has. I know it’s a risk.”

“Risk isn’t exactly the word I’d use, but sure, you can call it that. Did you at least give her a thorough background check?”

---