a fling, and I know it.
I’d die for that woman.
And I’d rather die a thousand deaths than ever be the reason Baxter Heron and other filthy old men talk shit about her.
“You took care of Jordan while I was here...now I want to help you,” Marissa whispers. “She loves you. It’s that obvious even to a woman in a coma. Don’t give up on her, you hear me?”
I nod, stunned that I’m taking advice from this lady who’s barely conscious. I’m even more amazed she’s able to deliver it so poignantly.
“If you have to take two or three more pies to the face, do it. Fight for her. I think she’s worth it. I realize I don’t know her and don’t know you that well. But she came to the hospital with you every day and did everything she could to take care of your little brother. That doesn’t sound like an assistant. That sounds like someone who loves you. And whatever you did—people forgive almost anything for the ones they love.”
“She blocked my number,” I tell her for some unholy reason.
Why? Her issues vastly outweigh mine.
“Because. If she’s really important to you, you’ll find a way, Magnus.”
I leave then, telling her I’ll talk to her later. When I get to the parking lot, Armstrong is there in my town car waiting.
Marissa’s words echo in my head.
You’ll find a way.
“Armstrong, honest question...do you think Brina and I were good together?”
“Your personal life’s none of my concern, boss.”
“Sure, but did you?” I sigh. “Give me the truth. I won’t chew your head off, I swear.”
“Sir, I thought you were lucky she gave you the time of day.” His voice softens. “But I’m sorry she didn’t accept the latte.”
“Her roommate never told her I was there.” I huff out a breath. “How do I apologize if she won’t see me?”
“Mr. Heron, I’ve been married for over twenty years. If my wife got mad enough to leave me, I’d put up more of a fight, pies to the face be damned.”
He’s right.
I didn’t do enough to stop Jordan from leaving with Baxter that night. I stood there, numb and conflicted, while my whole world caved in.
I watched Jordan be led away by a pied piper’s lies.
I’ll be damned if I’ll stand by watching Brina walk away, too.
Not when there’s still something I can do about it.
27
Skywriter (Sabrina)
Mom: Come over for lunch.
Sabrina: I’m working, Mom.
Mom: You’re unemployed. Just come! You can work here.
Sabrina: Paige helped me get a freelance gig. I’ll bring it over if you’re so lonely. (Eyeroll emoji).
Mom: Don’t roll virtual eyes at your mother, baby. Not nice.
Sabrina: It’s not virtual, Mom. They’re emoji eyes.
Her point is clear though. I’m supposed to come over for lunch and not complain about it.
Before I even pull into the driveway, I know something’s up. A giant card planted in front of the house spells out CONGRATULATIONS, EMILY BRISTOL!
What now? I let myself into the bungalow.
“Are you guys ever going to start locking your door?”
“Oh, good! She’s here.” Mom’s voice is weepy. “Brina, baby, we’re in the kitchen. Come on in.”
“What’s going on?” I yell into the other room.
“An incredible week. Are you going to come here or do I have to drag you in?”
I can’t decide if Mom sounds high on life or just hyper.
My eyes bug out as soon as I plod into the kitchen.
There’s this massive catered Italian buffet set up on the counter, rolls and cold cuts and eggplant rollatini and meatballs and pasta in vodka sauce.
Even Dad beams at me when he stops stuffing his face from a plate piled high.
Whatever happened is big.
I smile at Dad first. He’s more likely to cut to the chase. Mom will try to give me the full story in her slow, dramatic, oh-so-writerly way. Right now, I just want to know what the heck we’re celebrating.
“You guys look...happy,” I try.
“Damn right, Brina.” His grin stretches wider. “I’m going fishing in Sturgeon Bay for a week.”
Suspicion creeps over me like a blanket.
“Oh, cool, you’ve talked about that forever! How, though?”
“I won a big vacation package. Don’t even remember the contest. But your ma and me are staying at a cozy little bed and breakfast for a week. I get unlimited fishing with a free license and boat rental. She gets a spa package.”
Oh, no.
No one wins packages from contests they never entered, and I know Dad didn’t.
Because I remember my bosshole’s little brother won lots of contests he never entered, too. All because Mag didn’t