Thewasmakes me pause. I slowly nod my head in understanding, solidarity even, not wanting to pry into this young man’s life like so many others had done to me when I was that age, trying to pick me apart and discover what trauma they might be able to utilize to their own advantage.
“She loved this book,” the boy continues after a long pause. “She read it so many times. To be honest, Mr. Michaels, I prefer C.S. Lewis, but when I saw you were going to be here, I just…I don’t know, wanted to meet the man behind the words my mom seemed to love so much. You were special to her. I know that probably sounds weird.”
“It’s not weird at all, Gregory,” I reply with a soft tenderness. “Actually, I really appreciate you coming today and sharing that with me. Can I ask you a question?”
The boy nods again.
“Why this book? Did she read any others?”
“She loved your other books, Mr. Michaels, but she said this one was special. She used to say it was the one where Barrett understood life before he lost himself to it. I’m not exactly sure what she meant by that, but maybe you do… since you wrote them,” the boy says softly.
The words feel like someone just punched me in the gut, an uncomfortable aftershock radiating through my body. Am I the only one who hadn’t seen the change in Barrett forthislong? The actual creator of the fictional character?
I don’t know how to reply, so I just nod my head, pretending to understand what Gregory’s mother had been able to read between the lines, what most likely Rachel has been reading, too.
“Well, I do appreciate you coming, Gregory. It’s a great way to honor your mom,” I say.
“Thanks, Mr. Michaels,” the boy replies politely. “It was nice to meet you.”
I catch myself scanning the crowd again. There are many shades of blue, but none bright enough. Of course, if he were smart, he wouldn’t be wearing blue at all. So then I start scanning faces. I memorized in detail the man’s face from the photos.
Large nose. Slightly pointed. Dark eyes that were wide and round with thick dark brows. His brown hair was clipped short. His pale skin had glowed, as if he was taking delight in the entire interaction. He looked specific and yet like everyone. The perfect kind of face that gets lost in a crowd.
“This has been a record-breaking turnout,” Melanie says as she walks up behind me. “Even with the little hiccup of the stalker. I got word from our legal team and contacted your guy about looking into KillerPlotTwist.”
I find myself letting go of a deep breath, as if I was holding onto something since the incident. “Good.”
“We’ll catch him,” Melanie says confidently, as if publishing and solving crimes are the same thing, and she is an expert at both. “It was an oversight to not consider this possibility. Rachel’s fan base is large, and we haven’t dealt with this level of crossover interest before. It’s not just your readers showing up now…it’s the internet.”
I glance out at the sea of faces again, more aware now of how many are holding their phones in front of their faces, filming, livestreaming, snapping selfies with books and cutouts.
I rake a hand through my hair, the back of my neck still buzzing from Gregory’s words.Where Barrett understood life before he lost himself to it. He was just a kid, quoting his mom, and yet…it is the truth. I just haven’t wanted to admit it.
“How did this get so big?” I ask.
Melanie shrugs. “People love stories, but Rachel’s stories…She’s made it more like a movement. Your character isn’t just a detective anymore. He’s a romantic lead.”
“He wasn’t meant to be,” I say, mostly to myself.
Melanie’s eyebrow arches. “Evan, we’ve been together since book one. We both know how he used to be. Barrett had depth, pain, longing, and yes, love. It’s not Rachel’s fault that people saw what you left unsaid.”
She’s right. I know she’s right. And I hate it.
“You know, the book hasn’t gone to the printer,” she adds. “There’s time to change the ending.”
And I’m not sure if she’s talking aboutDeath Before Daybreakor my own life.
Melanie’s phone buzzes, and she steps away, already muttering something about hashtags and security. I stay where I am, watching the swirl of fans and phones, wondering how many of them are here for me and how many of them are here for Rachel.
Chapter 18
Rachel
ThatLilyishere.That these bubbles do smell amazing. That security is alert and doubled. That Lily is monitoring my phone, flagging potential threats and blocking all psychos. That Evanisn’there.
I list the five things I’m grateful for in my head before I take a deep breath and go under the heavenly-fragranced water. My hair plays with the bath water. I feel it float to the surface while I pull my body deeper into the tub. Lily wasn’t kidding when she said this was Olympic-sized.
I replay the moment the man in the blue shirt stepped up to the microphone. The way my throat had felt strangled as soon as he began to speak, as if his knowledge of what he thought he knew about me, of how he had imagined me, should make me happy.
