She pulled the sheet up around herself. Spring was still flirting with the cooler temperatures off the water. “Why wouldn’t they believe you? Why would you lie?”
“It sounds like a thriller novel, Phoebe. It’s insane.”
“It’s too insane not to be true.”
“You don’t know authors. We spin a whole lot of shit.”
“That’s just an excuse and you know it.”
I slid off the bed and strode into the bathroom to clean up and grab a pair of sweats. I brought out a shirt for her. Nerves skittered down my back at the thought of telling Monte. I knew I was going to have to do it, but I wanted a finished book in hand when I confessed.
“Where do you think the end game is, Dutch? Never telling them? That’s crazy.” She snatched the shirt out of my hand and tugged it over her head, pushing her tangled hair out of her face.
“I want this book done before I tell them.”
She rose onto her knees. And just like that she looked impossibly young and so full of hope. “But if she knew she’d help. Maybe they could even get your book back.”
“The book is gone, Phoebe.”
It was the first time I actually said it out loud. I had to hold the dresser beside me. The actuality of it hit harder than a blow.
“You can’t know that. You have to fight for it.”
“How?” The word roared out of me. “How?” I raked my fingers through my hair, annoyed at the overlong curls. “Not only is it my word against his, but I literally have no proof.”
“Your voice is your proof. There has to be ways to?—”
“No.” I gripped the edges of the wood, grounding myself with the steady weight of it. “It’s not mine anymore.”
“Dutch.” Her voice gentled.
“It’s his now. I’m sure he’s sold it to another author. Shopped it under another name. Hell, he could have shopped it under himself. But it’s tainted, Phoebe. I’ll never know exactly what happened to it. I can never prove it’s mine.”
“There has to be a way.”
“There isn’t.” My voice was hoarse with the pain of it. She threw herself into my arms and I caught her tight against me. “There isn’t a way,” I whispered into the top of her hair.
Her arms banded around me and I felt her tears drip down my chest. The unfairness of it washing over the both of us. What I already knew becoming a knowledge she had to live with too.
“I’m sorry, Phoebe.”
She buried her face into the space between my pecs. “I’m the one who’s sorry.” She turned her face to rest her cheek over my heart. “I’m sorry you’ve been carrying this alone.”
I folded her closer, my scent still on her. I bent down and hooked my arms under her legs and brought her into the bathroom. We both stripped down, then stepped inside and quietly washed one another. Letting the water flow over us and rinse away the heaviness.
There were no more words between us.
All of them had been said except the handful of ones I was too afraid to confess.
Would she believe that it was because I loved her that I was able to tell her the darkest parts of me?
I kissed her forehead and bundled her in towels to dry her off. Instead of more of my oversized clothes, I stacked a pile of things she’d left behind over the last few weeks on the counter. A paint speckled hoodie and a pair of the soft yoga pants she preferred in the evenings.
I tugged on a pair of sweatpants over my damp skin and padded out to the living room to check on Mouse. He was passed out in front of the dark fireplace. I gave him a quick rub behind the ears before starting a fire.
When she didn’t return right away, I let her be. Maybe she needed a little time to herself after all we’d discussed today.
I couldn’t blame her.
