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My shoulder will be your best place to cry on.
Romeo Costa:
Aw. Where’d you learn that, Ol? Outer Banks?
Ollie vB:
It’s called culture, gentlemen.
Ollie vB:
You should try it sometime.
Ollie vB:
#JusticeForSarahCameron.
Natalie must’ve whacked Zach over the head with the amnesia stick, because he spent the next couple days pretending the moment we shared in my room—where we clutched onto each other for dear life—never happened.
She caught on to my mood, too, winking at me every time our paths crossed.
As for Zach, I couldn’t be mad. Not like he gave me the asshole treatment he served to everyone else—with second and third helpings.
Unlike with Natalie and his staff, he still paused to talk to me every time we met in the halls.
He showed up when Dan, Bryan, Deanne, and Tom arrived with legal briefs—skimming the documents, guiding me, asking the tough questions I didn’t necessarily know how to ask.
And he quietly hired cleaners to pick up the work I stopped doing as I focused my energy on the case, digging through all the paperwork.
In lieu of winning a gold medal, I decided to laser-focus on winning my case.
The more I thought about it, the more I realized I never wanted to return to the competitive stage.
I loved the sport, yes.
But I’d known from the moment I committed the crime that I deserved to be punished and only managed to skirt it through Andras’ deep-rooted connections to the fencing world.
I needed to face the music.
Vera didn’t rob me of my last chance at the Olympics. I’d done that to myself.
But that didn’t mean I’d let her take everything Dad had left behind.
After annotating a legal brief, I roamed Zach’s house, looking for something to do.
The place shined thanks to my joint efforts with the new cleaning service and Dallas had an OB/GYN appointment, so I couldn’t pass time binge-shopping for the baby online and watching in horror as she DoorDash’d from seven different restaurants to satisfy her cravings.
I sauntered down the hall, passing by open doors, when I heard my name being called from the sunroom. “Miss Ballantine?”
Constance Sun.
I stopped dead in my tracks, my shoulders squaring into a stiff knot.
Don’t let her push you around. You have every right to be here. Life makes you strong so you can protect yourself.
I rerouted with a sigh, stopping at the sight before me.
Constance and Eileen sat at a grand driftwood table, brochures fanned all over. Sun spilled behind their shoulders, making them look like two fallen angels.
