Page 93 of Hold Still

McKenna

AS SOON ASMatt left that day, I called my attorney and made sure the restraining order was put in place. But, as many women know, a piece of paper isn’t necessarily an effective weapon. So Matt’s shown up at places I’ve gone—like the grocery store—and stays just far enough away that I can’t do anything about it. He’s haunted my steps, which has made me more and more of a recluse.

But not today. Today, I have to go to the Project’s Big Reveal. It’s the day the finalists for the national competition are announced.

And Ozzy will be there.

I lace up my shoes and stand. Grabbing my phone, my finger hovers over Ozzy’s name. Matt’s threat forced me to keep my distance from him and it’s been torture. It’s taken all of my willpower not to drive over to his house and throw myself in his arms, dumping all my problems—and Matt’s threat against his life—on him.

No.

This is my fight. He’s already seen me struggle to keep my mom under control—I can’t let him know I also have my father’s life on my conscience, and a psychotic ex-boyfriend on my tail. I’m supposed to be his muse, not a woman who can’t keep her world in check. I toss the phone onto my bed and add more concealer under my eyes. Yes, retreating from Ozzy is for the best. But, it’s killing me by inches.

Straightening the sheer sleeves of my blouse, I give myself the same pep talk I’ve been using all week. He’s better off without you. You’re doing him a favor. It’s better he’s alive and with someone else than with you and dead. And, above all, this is my responsibility to resolve. The law did its part, now it’s my turn to keep everyone safe.

“Are you almost ready?”

A smile crosses my face. Mom’s been having a really good week, never once forgetting time. That could be because I’ve been home these nights on a reliable basis, as opposed to flitting through her life and throwing off her sense of normalcy. She’s what matters. I need to stay grounded for her above all else. “Almost, Mom!”

I put on some eyeliner and mascara, flip my full head of brunette hair—no color appealed—and place a printed copy of the graphics into my bag. I set up the entire display yesterday on the Project’s computer system, but grab a thumb drive with it on just in case. Can’t be too prepared.

Walking into the hallway, Mom motions me over to the living room’s bay window. She twirls her finger in a circle, and I obey, giving her a three-sixty of my outfit. She laughs. “I don’t know where you got your sense of style, but you always look spectacular. Your work is going to be adored today.”

I kiss her cheek. “I hope so.” No need to let her worry about the monetary aspect if I don’t make it into the national competition. I can tell her the good news later. Hopefully.

“I wish I could go to the party with you. But my mind sometimes leaves me.” Clearing her throat, she continues, “Know I’m there with you in spirit, cheering you on.”

It’s as if someone punched me in the chest. That she’s still aware—on any level—of what’s happening to her is tragic. I force a sunny smile. “Thanks, Mom. Honestly, I don’t think I’ll be gone too long.”

She pats my hair. “Now stop trying to play this down. It’s a big deal.” She hugs me. “You’re my big deal.”

I blink back tears and check the clock. “Well, I better go. I’ll let you know all about it when I get home.”

“Knock ‘em dead!” She picks up her knitting and starts another new hat. She sends me off with the same words of encouragement that I gave Ozzy before he did his shows—thoughts of the man send a pang through my heart.

I walk out of the house and gulp some air. Ozzy’s going to be there. I haven’t seen him in over a week and our texts have become more perfunctory as the days passed. Sometimes he didn’t even respond. It’s all for the best. If Matt sees us together—and he’s always around me somewhere—he could kill Ozzy. I can’t be responsible for another death. I can’t.

Swiping the tears away from my cheeks, I hop into my Honda and head off toward the venue for the party. As I drive, more tears course down my cheeks. I miss Ozzy so badly.

Getting my emotions in check, I wonder if he’ll come to the event alone. I can’t imagine he’s met someone else. Who am I kidding? He’s probably met several someones. After all, it’s beendays. When it comes to Ozzy and sex, that’s like dog years. I sniffle as I turn into the parking lot.

Once inside the party, I plaster a fake smile on my face and greet the members of the Project. Felicia comes over. “Hi, McKenna! Great turnout, huh?”

Forcing an upbeat tone, I reply, “Sure is. Everyone’s excited to see the newest attraction at the Strip.”

“Your presentation is going to be the highlight, for sure.” She winks. “Can you believe it’s finally seeing the light of day?”

I grab a champagne flute from a waiter as he walks by. “I know. The year flew by.” Does she say this to all of the graphic designers here tonight?

Other members of the Project join us and we all marvel at the press in attendance. “Greta did a super job with PR.” I nod. I bet Rose would’ve done better, but keep my thoughts to myself.

Felicia’s index finger points into the room. “You got to work with him, huh? Man, your job didn’t suck.”

Proverbial red lights flash. I brace for impact as my eyes travel the distance to where Felicia is pointing. It’s one of the artists I worked with—not Ozzy. My body relaxes. “Yeah, I had it easy. His songs were hard to create graphics for.”

“But you did a great job.”

“Thanks.”

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