Page 64 of Be Our Ghost
“No, it’s for the best.” She gave a short laugh. “I can’t believe I ever accused you of being controlling, when all along, Evan’s the one who’s insisted on controlling my career. I’m tired of it. So…this is just to say, if you want to write a piece exposing him for the backstabbing rat that he is, you have my blessing. I’ll back you up, even if it tarnishes my image. I don’t owe him anything now.”
Knox swallowed, stunned at her admission. He’d never imagined she’d be willing to go to bat for him. But he also didn’t want his confession to help fuel her personal vendetta. “Just so we’re clear—this isn’t me getting back at Evan. It’s me reclaiming the narrative for myself. But I could use the support.”
“I owe you so much more than that. Is there anything else I can do for you?”
He tried to think of what he could ask her, but nothing came to mind. After all these years, he couldn’t conceive of returning toThe Hidden Forest, even if he was invited back. Nor could he imagine pursuing Lila again. He was in love with someone else.
“I’m good. Just…take care of yourself, okay? I can’t wait to see what happens with your career.” He meant it, too. He’d never wanted anything but the best for her.
“Thanks, Knox.” She leaned over and kissed his cheek, her lips chilly on his skin. She stood up. “Good luck with the story. And with your girlfriend.”
He watched her leave but didn’t get up to follow. By now, the chill was seeping into his bones, and he was desperate for a warm beverage, but he needed a few minutes to ponder over everything Lila had told him. At most, he’d come prepared to ask for her forgiveness. But instead, she was the one who’d apologized. While her confession didn’t erase the torment he’d suffered, it had eased his conscience. Even though he’d been wrong to confront her and Evan in anger, that one incident didn’t define him.
And now, if she was willing to back up his claims, there was nothing standing in his way. It was time for him to bring his story into the light.
He pulled out his phone, intending to call Charlie and share his news, but after staring at it for a few minutes, he held off. After their heated exchange, a little cooling-off period might be best. Besides, if he was going to dig deep into his past and bare his soul to the world, he needed to focus. Right now, the words were piling up in his head, ideas of what he wanted to say and how he wanted to frame it. He needed to make his story resonate without coming across as bitter and vindictive.
And he needed to ensure it got the maximum amount of exposure.
He pulled out his phone and called Logan. When he got his friend’s voicemail, he left a message. “Hey, man, it’s Knox. I know you’re coming to Victoria in a couple of days, but I need to talk to you as soon as possible. It’s about an article I’m planning to write.”
Twenty-Six
Charlie wasn’tthe type to wallow in misery. Even at her weepiest, she liked to take action. So, when she woke up on Sunday, her eyes raw from crying, her heart aching from her argument with Knox, she didn’t go back to bed. She took a long, hot shower and forced herself to put on real clothes. Pajamas weren’t an option.
She needed two things: strong coffee and someone to talk to. Otherwise, last night’s disaster would keep playing on a loop in her head.
Though it was only nine, she figured Rosie would be awake. She sent her a text.
Charlie: Any chance you want to meet up for coffee? Last night’s gala went sideways and I’m a hot mess.
Rosie replied immediately: Oh no! I’m sorry it didn’t go well. I can’t leave my apartment because I’m in the middle of a huge baking project. Do you want to come over?
Charlie: Sure. Should I bring coffee?
Rosie: I already made a pot. Just come prepared to frost dozens of cookies!
Charlie wasn’t sure what this baking project entailed, but she grabbed a gingham apron from her kitchen and stuffed it in a tote bag before heading out.
Rosie lived in a small, one-bedroom apartment in a hip part of town known as Cook Street Village. Parking in her neighborhood could be tricky, but it was early enough that Charlie found a spot around the corner. When Rosie opened the door to her apartment, she was wearing an apron streaked with orange and black frosting.
“Come in,” she said. “I’d hug you, but I don’t want to get frosting on your sweatshirt.”
“Thanks.” Charlie surveyed Rosie’s kitchen. Her breakfast bar was covered with trays of freshly baked cookies shaped like bats and pumpkins. “What’s all this for?”
“Drew volunteers at a women’s shelter downtown. Usually, he just plays Santa, but they need help with today’s Halloween party. He signed me up to provide dozens of cookies, and we’re bringing them over at two. I’ve got most of them baked, but they still need to be iced.”
“I’d be glad to help.” Charlie took out her apron and put it on. “Any chance I could get a cup of coffee first?”
“No problem. It’s just Colombian roast from my coffee maker, but I’ve got pumpkin spice–flavored creamer.” She poured Charlie a cup and handed her the bottle.
Charlie added a splash of cream to her coffee and settled on a stool at the breakfast bar. As the first hit of caffeine rushed through her system, she released a satisfied sigh. “I needed that. Once I’m done, I can pitch in.”
“I’m glad you’re here. Drew offered to help, but he was hoping to squeeze in a long run this morning. He’s training for a half-marathon in December.”
“Won’t it be too cold by then?” Charlie asked.
“You’d think so, wouldn’t you? Apparently, it’s a very popular race. It’s also Santa-themed, so it’s right up his alley.” Rosie grinned. “Now, drink up so I can put you to work. These pumpkins aren’t going to frost themselves.”
