He has no fucking idea how understated his comment is.
“Thanks for doing what needs to be done.” Then he straightens, turns, and leaves the room, and me alone in it.
I look at her texts—the ones I couldn’t answer while I kept this from her. The last message is pure Luna. Excitement, exclamation points, and a boundless joy she couldn’t wait to share with me.
Your girl’s going national!!
A couple of hours ago, I’d have been smiling hard. I would have sent a bottle of champagne and a mountain of flowers to her house. I would have been burning with the desire to share her big news in person.
Now, all I can think about is Hollis leaking those photos. To the press. Through the smear page. If he sent them here, there’s no reason to believe this was his only move.
He wants to hurt her. And he knows exactly where to aim to do the maximum amount of damage. Her campaign. Her reputation. And most of all…
The hard-won self-esteem she’s built.
“There you are,” Luna says, picking up after the first ring like she’s been waiting for my call.
It’s the end of the day. I’m in my campaign office, she’s in hers. So close. And yet not.
“Sorry, I’ve been MIA. I saw your good news. That’s incredible, Luna.”
“We can get to that later,” she cuts in, seeing right through my tone. “What’s going on?”
“Not on the phone,” I say, roughly. “I need to see you in person.”
“How?”
I have a legitimate reason to call a meeting with her. But this isn’t something I would ever consider telling her across a cold boardroom table.
“My place,” I say. “It’s more discreet than yours. As soon as it’s dark, use the lower boardwalk path. Not the main street. Take the gravel lane behind the marine supply shop and come up through my back gate. Text when you’re on your way and send your location. I’ll leave the screen door unlatched. Just walk in. And wear a dark hoodie to be extra cautious.”
“Did someone find out about us?” she asks with hitching breaths, starting to panic. “Ash? Did he tell Diablo?”
“No. It’s not that.”
“Then what?”
I drag a hand through my hair, a hard rake against my scalp. “Just please come, Luna. I’ll tell you everything when you get here.”
“You’re freaking me out, DK.”
“I’m sorry for that. Will you come?”
“You know I will,” she says. “I love you.”
That honest-to-God shreds me.
I don’t eat dinner and I skip my workout. Mostly, I just pace the length of my kitchen, nervously killing time until the sun finally dies, imagining her doing the same.
At 8:30, she texts:
Mnandi Luna: Leaving now.
I stand in the dim of my kitchen waiting for her, my chest pulled so tight it feels like a cable rope is banded around my ribs. Six blocks. It takes less than ten minutes to walk, but every second feels longer than the one before it. My phone vibrates in my palm, her location bubble tracking steadily closer across the screen until it signals that she’s here.
A floorboard creaks on the back porch. I catch the silhouette of her dark hood passing the window. Before she can even reach for the handle, I open the door and pull her quickly into the shadows of the house.
She pushes her hood back. Her curls spring free. Worry pinches her face.
