Just a Girl - Becky Monson Page 0,90

far-fetched. But if it’s true . . .

“Mom,” I say, standing up from the ground, dusting the back of my old jean shorts off. “I’ve got to go,” I say.

She stands up as well and gives me an odd look. “Is everything okay?” she asks, concern on her face.

“Yes,” I say, pulling her into a hug. “There’s someone I need to call.”

With a quick exchange of “I love yous” and a couple more apologies from my mother, I leave the garage and hurry home.

Chapter 24

I don’t call in mental on Friday. I put on my best skirt suit and do my makeup just right, and I’m having one of the best hair days I’ve had in a while. The cooler morning air, abnormal for the first day of September, only helps my mood as I make my way to work.

When I arrive, I get a few questions about how I’m feeling, and I give quick one-word answers, quickly assuaging everyone’s worries, since anyone that’s worked here long enough knows that me calling in sick must have meant something pretty serious. It did, but not the kind of serious they’re thinking.

I hurry past them all, as fast as I can. I’m a woman on a mission.

“There’s my girl,” Jerry says as I’m about to reach my intended destination.

“Hi, Jer,” I say, trying to walk past him. But he grabs my arm and stops me.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine . . . all better.” This isn’t true, but I don’t feel the need to explain everything to Jerry. Not now or probably ever. We don’t have that kind of relationship.

“Well, it’s good to have you back, kid,” he says, lightly punching me in the arm.

“Thanks . . . uh . . . Dad,” I say, pulling my brows inward and lightly punching him back. Kid? Normally I’d say something, but I don’t have time right now.

“I missed ya,” he says.

“Aw, Jer,” I say. “I’m sure everyone kept you busy.”

“Yeah, but there wasn’t anyone here to give me sh—I mean crap. It was . . . strange.” There’s a whining quality to his voice. I think he might have actually missed me.

I feel my heart soften a bit. “Well, I’m here today, and I plan to give you tons of it,” I say.

He smiles and nods at me, and then without a goodbye, he takes off, his usual high-energy self, speed walking away.

I shake my head as I start toward my intended destination, wondering how someone like Jerry, who can be so very annoying, could also be so endearing. What a strange man he is.

I drop my purse off at my desk and then head straight to the audio booth.

“Hey,” I say, seeing Brady at his normal spot in the dimly lit space. The chatter and noise from an active newsroom all but disappear when the door shuts behind me.

Just the smell of this place—the electrical scent mixed with foam and also a note of dust—reminds me of Henry. It should remind me of Brady, but it doesn’t. It’s almost as if that kiss from Henry, the one that practically ripped out of him when he finally stopped fighting it all . . . it’s almost as if it has left a permanent mark on me, and I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to come into this room and not think of him. It makes my heart ache a little.

“Hey there,” Brady says.

“Thanks so much for your help,” I say, walking over to him and taking a seat.

“No problem,” he says, giving me the briefest of smiles.

Things don’t feel all that weird between me and Brady. I suppose they should, but it almost feels like we’ve simply gone back to being the friends we were before. This is how normal people with normal relationships should be. If only Henry could see this. See that it’s possible.

“Did you find anything?” I ask, getting straight to business.

“I did,” he says, with a quick eyebrow raise. He reaches up and pushes his glasses up his nose.

I let out a breath. “And?”

“You were right,” he says. “Some of the emails you got from Grace Is Amazing were sent from somewhere in this building.”

I let out another breath; this one comes out more like I’ve just been punched in the gut. “So, it has to be her.”

Moriarty is Grace Is Amazing. It has to be. It makes so much sense. The fact that some of the emails were coming from inside this building and that they stopped