Page 147 of How You See Me
I exhale hard, a bitter laugh scraping my throat as my fingers curl tighter around the phone.
Me:Damn, Mom. Of course, I will. But no promises when she’s not around.
Mom:We’ll discuss that later.
Me:You okay?
The typing bubbles flicker. Stop. Flicker again. I wait, pulse ticking in my neck.
Mom:No.
Me:Because of him?
Mom:Because I’m scared.
The air thins, vanishing from the pressurized cabin as if the plane has dropped altitude. I reach for the overhead vent and crank it open, sucking in short, rapid breaths.
Mom never says things like that. She holds the line for everyone, keeping her fears hidden behind reassurances and careful smiles—for Ava, for all of us. She’s the reason Ava still laughs. The reason I didn’t completely drown in my anger when Dad left.
For her to admit she’s scared now?
Something’s wrong. Something more than she’s letting on. Something deeper than just the man who shares our blood and none of our souls. What aren’t they telling me?
But I can’t wade through what’s left unsaid from here or fix anything strapped into a seat with two inches of leg room on the other side of the country.
I scroll back to my unsent message to Josie, attach a photo of the beach sunrise—a moment of peace before the nightmare—and hit send.
Closing my eyes, I start my calming exercises but drift off to sleep instead.
Chapter 31
Josie
Thanks a lot, missy.” Grant bursts into my room, stalking to where I sit by the windows. He stops at the foot of the easel and props his hands on his hips.
Lowering my brush, I tap on the screen on my phone, muting the 90’s country music playlist I've set on repeat. The waterfall painting is almost finished, and I’ve been happily lost in that moment with Hayes all morning.
“Thanks for what?”
“For standing me up. Breakfast. Nine a.m. Remember?”
I check the digital clock on the bedside table. 10:07. I cringe. “Oops.”
“Oops?” His eyes widen. “That’s it? ‘Oops’?”
“Sorry?”
“Are you asking if that is the rightresponse?”
I cringe. “No?”
He groans. “Never mind. We have an extra day to party, thanks to your lumberjack, and we're not wasting it.” He crosses to my open suitcase and starts rummaging through it, surely looking for the perfect outfit for my first night on the town.
“It’s still morning.”
“Exactly.” He tosses a wrinkled tank over his shoulder. “Isthatwhat you’ve been doing all morning?”
“You’ve known me long enough to know that I bury myself in a painting when I’m upset.”
