Names of characters I’ve come to know appear on the screen. I rapidly scan the document, taking in every brass-knuckled divorce settlement, affair with the nanny, and erectile dysfunction with stoic determination. This is it. The reason Margot fled Los Angeles to reinvent herself. I honestly expected to find evidence of some kind of public breakup, but in a way, this is so much worse. This brutally honest document is a blueprint of everything she’s scared of. It reveals a lifetime of broken expectations andheartache, and instead of offering words of comfort, her fans disowned her.
My hand tightens around the mouse until the plastic makes a strained squeaking sound. It’s so fucking unfair. After everything she’s given her readers, she deserves a little loyalty and compassion. She deserves someone who can show her that not every man is a selfish prick destined to leave her high and dry, and it sure as hell isn’t Ollie. After a steadying breath, I navigate back to the search results page and scroll farther down, because I’m not done putting people on my shit list.
Barker Books Rumored to DropNew York TimesBestselling Author Margot Bradley After Fan Outrage
I click the link with building anger. Barker has yet to respond for comment, which is essentially confirmation of the news. The entire publishing industry is now officially on my fucking list.
“Margot,” I say almost inaudibly, shaking my head as my brows crunch together. Suddenly, every one of our interactions is cast in a new light. I judged her as being prickly and defensive, but who the hell wouldn’t be after going through something like this? She’sstillgoing through it, and yet she came to remote Alaska, galaxies outside of her comfort zone, and is managing to crank out a new manuscript in a genre she’s never written in before. I’ve seen firsthand how hard she works at it every day.
I dig a knuckle into my left eyebrow, rubbing the knot of tension that’s forming. I can empathize because I’m the same way. When Mom was sick, my lab became my only place of solace.
My lab.
The news that my team and I have secured the Bauer-Hinckley Grant emotionally clotheslines me all over again. What with one thing (Margot) and another (Margot), I’d nearly forgotten theimpossible decision I’m facing. Before we left for camping, I’d sworn to myself that I’d cede the grant to the runner-up as soon as I got back. But here I am, and I still can’t bring myself to pull the trigger.
Exiting out of my Google search, I pull up the grant email and stare at it. I spent untold hours crafting my proposal and suffering through all the networking bullshit that academic prizes demand. Winning it after leaving my career behind feels like the universe spitting right in my face and cackling gleefully. The advances my team and I could make with this sort of support might spur entirely new early detection methods for TNBC. Methods my mother’s doctors never had. But accepting this extraordinary opportunity would mean leaving my one remaining parent to suffer without offering the support I can give. I love my work, but the simple fact is, I love my father more. I rub a hand across my forehead, clamping my eyes shut. It didn’t feel like a choice when I left everything behind, but now there’s an unexpected factor tipping the scales.
Margot. Her strength in the face of a complete career collapse. Her loving devotion to her sister. The way she felt beneath me and how badly I want her there again. It’s a giant red flag snapping in the wind, but I’m no match for the powerful chemical cocktail of testosterone and dopamine that my brain pumps out whenever I think of her.
Instead of measured expectations, I see us waking up together on the weekend in California, warm and slow and hungry for each other in the soft morning light. I see myself taking her to my favorite coffee shop and the Pasadena farmers market to hunt for perfect avocados. I imagine the way she looks in her natural element, free of parkas and snow boots, with the Santa Ana wind in her hair and the sun kissing her golden skin.
Christ Almighty.One kiss with this woman and I’m already planning our future together.
Trying to focus on the task at hand, I sigh and stare at theblinking cursor in the empty reply block below Dr. Kohanski’s email. If I accept the grant and leave Alaska, I won’t have to say goodbye to Margot in four weeks. But Jo could never manage running the lodge on her own while taking full-time care of my father, no matter what her opinion is on the matter. The off-season is one thing, but the rest of the year is too much work for any one person to bear. I exhale, trapped in an endless loop between what I so desperately crave and what family duty demands. I know what I have to do, and yet, as I begin typing my reply, the words that appear aren’t at all what I had planned.
Dear Dr. Kohanski,
I am deeply honored by the committee’s decision and sincerely thank you and the entire board for the faith placed in my team’s research. Unfortunately, I’m currently in Alaska, caring for my unwell father. Due to these extenuating circumstances, I ask that you allow me a little time before I make the decision to either accept the grant or cede the award to one of my well-deserving colleagues.
Thank you again,
Forrest
It’s not a solution, but at the very least, it might buy me a little more time. Holding my breath, I hit send.
13MARGOT
I could help you unpack?” Ollie offers.
“No, that’s okay. Thanks again for walking with me,” I say with an apologetic smile. “Good night!”
As I close my cabin door on Ollie’s disappointed face, it’s hard not to feel like I’ve fended off an overfriendly dog. The horny kind that wants to hump everything. I drop my hiking pack on the floor and let out a huge sigh of relief that morphs into a groan. My back and thigh muscles feel like they’ve been minced, and I want nothing more than to curl up by a fire and read my letter without a single man hovering over me.
I pull my hat off with a crackle of staticky hair and miss the basket I try tossing it into. How did I get myself into this mess? If I were writing myself as a character, getting caught in a tug-of-war between two men wouldnotbe a plot point. I unwrap the mile-long scarf from around my throat. Things in my southern hemisphere have been downright arid for a while, but honestly, self-deprivation is just easier. Far easier than this disaster triangle I find myself in with Forrest and Ollie.Not that Forrest is even an option, I scold myself, mentally kicking him out of the triangle as I toss my scarf at the basket and miss again. If there’s any kindof triangle situation, it’s between me, Ollie, and my cashmere sweatsuit.
Because Forrest makes you feel things you’re scared of,a small know-it-all voice inside of me pipes up. It sounds exactly like Savannah.
No shit, I snap back at the voice, toeing my snowy boots off while pelting my mittens at the basket. They flop down next to the hat and scarf, and the basket’s still empty.
Just like your love life, Pretend Savannah chimes sweetly. I roll my eyes. Leave it to my sister to telepathically attack me. But maybe some baskets don’t want to be filled with warm and cozy feelings. Maybe some baskets are destined to be decorative because they know hats can be pulled over eyes and scarves can choke. Case in point, the last timethisbasket willingly stored warm and fuzzy feelings, she nearly ended up married to a walking, talking asshole.
But Forrest isn’t Adam, my inner Savannah argues as I hang my parka.
That’s right, I shoot back.He’s even worse. Because Adam never made me feel the way Forrest did in that tent. Adam wouldn’t have tripped over himself to apologize the next day. He never would have gotten into a jealous huff over another man’s attention. Adam never made me feel like I was worth aching over, but losing him was excruciating anyway. Losing someone who might actually care is unfathomable.
When I stumble to my bedroom to change, I pause on the threshold, confronted with the haphazard pile of camping gear I left behind. A small dart of shame flies through me, landing in the pit of my stomach. Was Forrest right? Am I about to find my forgotten tent and have to burn it in the middle of the night?
I make my way cautiously to the pile. But when I begin searching, the tent is nowhere to be found.
