Page 21 of Bottle Shock
They’d told everyone they were “downsizing,” that it was time for a simpler life—less maintenance, fewer stairs. But I’d known the truth behind the smiles. I’d seen the way Mom’s hands shook the day they signed the papers, how Dad couldn’t look at the moving truck without blinking too fast.
They’d poured their savings into that apartment complex project—a “can’t lose” investment, according to the man who’d turned out to be a very convincing liar. By the time the dust settled, the money was gone, and the condo was what they could afford.
They’d never admit it, of course. Not to me. Not to anyone. Their pride wouldn’t allow it.
Mom must sense my thoughts drifting because she reaches across the counter and gives my hand a squeeze. “We’re proud of you, Scottie—for coming home, for taking the break you needed. We’re just happy to have you here longer than a short visit, even if it’s only temporary.”
“Yeah,” Dad adds, that soft smile of his still making me feel like a kid. “You’ve already got your first client. You’re putting yourself out there, not letting this minor setback get the best of you. It’s a start.”
Guilt stews inside me. I haven’t told them the truth—the real truth. I haven’t told anyone. If I said it out loud, I thinkI’d fall apart. So is it really a lie, or is it self-preservation? I’m not sure.
Finding my now ex-boyfriend cheating on me was only the tip of the iceberg. I was already planning to breakup with him, he was the excuse I needed to get out of the city as fast as possible. The real reason is darker. More predatory. The kind of thing that makes me feel like a stupid, naïve little girl—something I should’ve seen coming.
I’m not sure what’s worse: knowing one man had the power to destroy my reputation, or realizing I was foolish enough to trust him in the first place. But I won’t let him win. I’ll be back—and he’ll regret the day he ever thought he could ruin me.
I smile faintly, but it’s detached. “That doesn’t mean I’m staying,” I say, and mean it.
Mom studies me, head tilted. “You sure you’re happy in Chicago?”
I give her my best confident grin. “Of course,” I say too quickly. “My life is there. That’s where I belong.”
That earns me another a tight smile, but I can tell she doesn’t quite buy it. I love my parents for a lot of reasons, but what I love most—beyond the obvious—is how much they’ve always let me be my own person. They created an environment that nurtured my dreams and never once let me doubt I was capable of chasing every far-fetched goal I had. I’m not sure motherhood is in the cards for me, but if it ever is, at least I know I’ve had more than one amazing example.
When they finally leave, the office goes quiet again. I sink back in my chair, staring at the still-open photos of the lake house.
It really is a beautiful house—the kind of place happy memories are made. I can practically see Lily running down to the dock with her friends on long summer weekends. And Gavin…well, I’m sure he can’t wait to show it to her.
He’s been a single Pringle ever since Lily was born, but I can’t imagine there isn’t some gorgeous, perfect, maddeningly put-together woman out there with her sights set on him. He’s basically the total package. I’m not even in the market for the domestic dreamboat that he is, and even I get a little loopy when he’s around.
Every good heroine’s journey starts with an origin story—and mine began at the Red Mountain Theater.
The building looks smaller now, like someone hit the shrink button on a childhood memory. The paint’s faded, the marquee’s missing a few letters, and the front doors still squeak when I push them open. The smell, though—that mix of dust, old wood, and hairspray—hasn’t changed. It smells nostalgic.
Now that my return has made its waves around town, I figured it was time to pay a visit to one of my favorite people.
“Irene?” I call out, stepping into the dim lobby.
A head pops up from behind the ticket counter, followed by a flash of bright red-framed glasses and a swirl of floral chiffon. Irene Belmont looks exactly the same as she did when I was a kid—just with a few more silver streaks in her hair and even more jewelry per square inch.
“Scottie!” she declares, throwing her arms open like she’s greeting a celebrity instead of regular old me. She’s always had a way of making me feel special. “My favorite runaway has returned! I heard you were back in town, but you know me. I don’t believe anything until I see it.”
I laugh as she sweeps me into a hug that smells faintly ofChanel No. 5 and powdery stage makeup. “You say that like I ran away to join the circus.”
“Same thing, darling. Theater just has better costumes.” She pulls back, holding me at arm’s length. “Let me look at you. Gorgeous, as always, though you could use some color. Have you been holed up indoors, avoiding the sun? And you’re looking thinner than the last time I saw you. Are you eating enough? It’s important that you take care of yourself.”
The concern creasing the corners of her eyes has guilt twisting somewhere low in my stomach.
“I haven’t had much of an appetite,” I admit before realizing how sad that sounds.
Irene tuts. “Tragic. Sit, sit.” She gestures toward one of the lobby benches, then leans over the counter to grab a mug of what looks like coffee but smells pungently herbal.
The theater is quiet. A few posters from past productions still line the walls—some I was in, others that came after. Seeing my old headshots on display is equal parts flattering and humiliating.I was awkward-looking up until about junior year of high school, when I finally started to figure myself out. Coincidentally, that was the same year my braces came off and my boobs came in. Definitely a late bloomer.
Irene sighs dramatically, lowering herself beside me. “So. You’ve heard the news, I assume?”
I shake my head. “No. What news?”
Her bangles rattle as she waves a hand through the air. “I’m retiring, darling. This will be my last season as managing director. The end of an era before the city council turns this place into a dance studio.”
