Page 109 of It Happened on a Sunday
Sly:Oh, Sloane. You don’t really believe that, do you?
Of course I believe it. I’ve seen the signs at the concerts, been the punching bag for reporters, had drinks and worse thrown at me, fought off the stranglersandthe stalkers. It’s hard not to believe something when you’re shown it over and over again.
But Sly doesn’t need to know about any of that right now. Our stages may be different, but we both need to perform tomorrow. Having stuff like that in our heads only makes it harder to do the job right.
Me:It’s late. You need to go to sleep
Sly:And you need to understand that you’re not the villain
Me:But I look so good in black
Sly:I hate that you can’t see yourself the way I see you
His words turn my throat dry, make my heart pump like apiston. Part of me wants to know exactly how hedoessee me. But the bigger part—the smarter part—knows that only pain and destruction lie in wait. My walls are precariously stacked. If I let Sly start pulling at the blocks, I’m terrified they’ll all come tumbling down. Better to deflect and pray like hell he lets it go.
Me:Okay, not the villain. Maybe the villain-hero
Me:Just do me a favor and try not to die in your sleep, all right? My reputation can’t take the hit
Sly:WOW
Sly:That’s one way to say good night
Me:I figure not dying qualifies as at least an adequate good night
Sly:I’ll remember that. Good night, corazón
Relief flows through me when he lets me get away with the deflection. But so does guilt. Because Sly’s been forthcoming with me from the minute we met, and I…haven’t been. The imbalance—the unfairness—it bugs me.
I start to put my phone down without answering. After all, that’s what the Black Widow would do. But then I stop myself. Because I don’t want to be her. Not right now, and not with Sly. I can’t give him everything, but I can give him something. I can give him this one piece of the real me, stripped of armor and artifice.
My whole body revolts at the thought, but I ignore it as I force myself to do something I wouldn’t have imagined even a couple of days ago. I snap a quick picture of me with my hair in a towel and absolutely no makeup on my face.
And then I send it to him.
Me:Sweet dreams
Several seconds pass before my phone buzzes again.
Sly:You’re so beautiful it breaks my heart
He follows the text with a pic of himself—in bed, his dark hair tousled and eyes sleepy.
Me:Back atcha
And then I toss the phone to the other side of the couch, just out of reach. Because this scares the hell out of me.Slyscares the hell out of me. But maybe for the first time ever, the idea of missing what happens next scares me even more. And maybe that’s what hope feels like—fragile, trembling, and impossible to ignore.
Chapter 48
Sly
Sunday, 9/28
(6:42 AM)Sly:I didn’t die
(9:12 AM)Sloane:No one likes a braggart
(9:12 AM)Sloane:Kick ass today
