Unknown; Bullshit and we both know it.
Gwen; If you don’t tell me who you are and wtf this is about, I’m blocking you.
Unknown; Look. The only thing I want to know is if the car is taken care of.
It was. I hoped. But no way in hell was I confessing to that over text.
Gwen; Didn’t tell me who you are or what this is about. Blocking you.
Except, I didn’t.
Whoever this person was, they knew what I’d done. Blackmailers would’ve shown proof by now. Either they didn’t have any or they were telling the truth.
They were covering for me.
But why would they do that for a stranger? And how would a stranger have gotten my number?
They called themselves a friend. I had too many of those to count.
My close friends would’ve confronted me by now. Just like Simone had this morning.
Just as it would’ve made sense for anyone else close to me to confront me. Or, hell, if they’d been watching from the sidelines, they could’ve lent a damn hand.
No one did.
Whoever this person was, we couldn’t have been all that close.
Ding.
Unknown; I’ll take that as a yes then.
The bell at the checkout counter rang three times, the shrill sound passing through the bakery like the yard alarm in a prison.
I got to my feet, steadying myself with the porcelain sink. My legs shook beneath me, and they threatened to topple over once I let go of the sink’s edges. I didn’t dare look at myself in the mirror as I splashed some water on my face and scrubbed my hands. Drying them, taking one last breath, I strode out of the bathroom.
Nine more cakes to go.
TellingSimone about the mystery messages might’ve been a good idea.
But she already knew too much. Last night, I’d put her in the line of fire. In a way, I guessed she did that to herself, but I fired a machine gun in her direction.
Everything was at risk. Her budding business. Custody of her child. Before, she may have gotten off with fines for the identity fraud, but now? Now, she had aided and abetted.
I told her nothing when I picked her up from work. As we drove back to the ranch—her in the driver’s seat because of my exhaustion—she tried to start conversations about anything, everything. I quickly shut down every attempt. Not with rudeness. Just short replies that wrapped up the conversation before it could start.
When we got close to the ranch, I took the wheel and she climbed into the backseat. She squatted on the floorboards and covered herself up with my mounds of spare hoodies. Why did I keep so many of those back there? Laziness. It was cold when I left in the mornings, but then I got hot and tore it off during the drive and tossed it in the backseat, where I inevitably forgot it.
Supposed they came in handy right about now.
Simone’s reasoning was simple. If anyone saw her in the passenger seat, they may mention it to Rhiannon, and she would know Simone lied about the conference.
Seemed logical enough to me.
A few yards from the gate, we did pass another car. I recognized the woman behind the windshield, but I didn’t know her name. We exchanged a wave and honk regardless.
“What was that?” Simone asked.
“One of the girls from the apartments,” I said, pulling off to the shoulder to give her room. As I watched her taillights in my rearview, I readjusted the wheel and got back on the gravel road. “I was just letting her pass.”
