Page 2 of Sharing Shadow Secrets
“Who’s they?” Rachel asks skeptically.
“All the longevity bros are talking about this new study that says if you stay in shape, you’ll live that long.”
“Agh,” Rachel groans. “I wish you didn’t listen to any of those guys.”
I chuckle. “Then you won’t like Declan whenever you meet him. He’s been obsessed with wellness and longevity ever since he got clean.”
“Wait. He’s not going to be at the barbecue?” Rachel asks.
“No. He’s in Australia with his lady for a few more days.”
“Australia would be fun.” Rachel looks up at Patrick.
“I thought we’re flying to Scotland on our next trip?”
“After Scotland.”
I’ve never had a relationship like theirs—easy, low drama, carefree. Just love. I’ve only had Kate. I mean, I’ve slept with who knows how many people, but Kate’s the only person I’ve ever said “I love you” to. We’ve been on this eight-year teeter-totter of good and bad, on and off.
The last time I slept with her—or anyone, for that matter—was four months ago. When Rachel and Patrick met. St. Patrick’s Day weekend.
We’re done, I remind myself, frustrated that I still have to. She just has this power over me. Kate Albert—the most beautiful, chaotic, full-of-life yet deeply wounded, destructive person alive. She’s probably less than a mile away from me, at her dad’s vacation home for the weekend.
Don’t fucking text her.
“I’m going for a run,” I say, needing to distract myself from the temptation of breaking our silence. I grab my water bottle and walk up the lawn, toward the glass sliding door. I check my phone. It’s just after ten in the morning. I’ll change, go for a five-mile run along the lake path, shower, and then be ready for the barbecue. Then back to the city. I take a deep breath and turn off my phone.
Maybe I should give Patrick my phone, eliminate the temptation altogether. If I don’t know where my phone is, I can’t get in trouble.
My therapist’s voice plays in my mind. “I am stronger than this,” I say softly. “I can live in this discomfort.”
I sigh, simmering on those words.
Kate and I are done.Hitting her up will just restart our messy pattern.
A quick fix has never once been the right idea. The run is the high I need—the right kind of mood booster.
3
This house ... oh my God! I should say thisgigantic fucking mansion. It’s modern, expensive, and intimidating with a sleek steel exterior and massive windows. Must be nice to have made billions on Bitcoin like Declan Kruk did. One of the valet guys in a white polo heads toward my car, and I roll down my window.
“The party’s on the patio.” He hands me a ticket. “Walk straight through the house, and you’ll see everyone back there.”
“Thanks,” I manage, my heart rate spiking. Nicholas could have helped a girl out by mentioning this wasn’t just a backyard barbecue. A little warning would have been nice. I turn off the car, and the valet chuckles. Right. Guess I didn’t need to do that. I’ve barely driven since moving to Chicago for college ten years ago. Never valeted a car before, either.
I grab my purse from the passenger seat and slide out. Walking up the steps, my nerves are starting to build. I’m not going to know anyone here. Well, maybe some people from High Five if they’re attending instead of working. But really, I just need to find Nicholas and pitch him. That’s why I’m here.
Stepping quickly through the home, I inventory the art on the walls. Some pieces are modern while others feature people.Each piece makes me want to take a deeper look, but the party is outside, not here.
On the patio, the view of Geneva Lake steals my breath. Boats sprinkle the blue water. The place has to have over five hundred feet of private beach, plus a landscaped yard rolling right down to it.
The sun beats down, and I’m grateful for the canopy that extends over most of the back area. There’s a breeze that’s making me rethink my sundress again, but I’ve been wearing shorts under dresses for years now, in the event of a strong gust. I’ve always thought it was rude to wear sunglasses while talking to someone, so I push mine up, letting them double as a headband.
Scanning the crowd, I sigh in relief. Everyone’s dressed like me. Thank God we all got the casual barbecue memo.
The catering, though? Definitely not casual. There are cater-waiters passing trays of appetizers, and a massive seafood tower is on one of the tables. Not a barbecue in sight.
I spot troughs along the side of the patio and assume they’re full of drinks. I need water. I need to chill. While scanning the crowd, there’s still no sign of Nicholas.
