Page 39 of Forever Never
“Not this time around. But I hope to catch a game while I’m here.”
“Too bad about that. Well, the boys and me got some deliveries to make,” he said, releasing the brake on the wagon. “Glad to have you back.”
“Glad to be back,” she said, not sure if it was the truth or not. “Bye, Mickey.”
With a salute, he clucked the horses into motion, and the wagon rolled off down the road.
Remi tiptoed through the snow and let herself back into the warmth of the cottage. The envelope was weighty in her hand. Maybe it was some kind of invitation?
Inside Lizzo still sang. The sunlight still reflected off the lake water. Red paint still dried on the floor covering. But something felt different. Off.
Glancing down at the envelope, something stirred inside her. A tiny tendril of anxiety.
So she hadn’t shredded it open the second Mickey had handed it to her. Didn’t that count for something?
She blew out a breath. Ignoring her impulses wasn’t relieving any stress at this point. With a rush of impatience, she ripped it open and dumped out its contents.
Inside, she found a thin stack of papers. They appeared to be printouts of blog posts and news articles. The top piece’s headline jumped off the page at her, and she cringed. A quick perusal of the others confirmed they weren’t much more flattering.
Artist Alessandra Ballard MIA since car wreck.
Rumors of rehab circulate for Chicago artist.
Artist’s friend still hospitalized, condition unknown.
City’s art community rocked by Ballard scandal.
The last page was a printout of an email.
Her hands started to shake as she skimmed the text. It was the message she’d sent just days earlier.
C,
I hope you’re okay. Please be okay. They won’t tell me anything. Please tell me you’re okay.
R
“No. No. No,” she whispered to herself.
Beneath it, there was a handwritten note in the same horrible scrawl as the address on the envelope.
Distance only makes the heart grow fonder. I won’t forget about you no matter how far you go. But it seems like you’ve forgotten our arrangement.
She dropped the papers as if they were on fire.
Innocuous words, but the threat was there, a living, breathing thing in the ink on the page. Like a toxin.
He knew where she was. There was no hiding. So much rode on one man deciding if she was worth squashing or not.
“Fuck,” she breathed, flipping through the articles and skimming their contents.
The innuendo and rumors were there, but there had been no official statement from either party. Everything she’d built hung by one tenuous thread, and he held a pair of scissors.
But he’d miscalculated. The asshole assumed she was more concerned with her career, her reputation. And while she had clawed her way to the top, while she’d fought for every success and built something she was proud of, the truth was, she’d burn it all to the ground if it meant saving Camille.
But there was an upside. If he was sending her shitty reminders of their “arrangement,” that meant Camille could still be saved.
She blew out a breath and felt just a little steadier.
