“We can joke about it all we want, but after last night, I’ve crossed a line and disrespected her wishes. That isn’t who I am,” I admitted. The churning in my stomach was a mix of a slight hangover and guilt, a nasty combination.
“If anyone crossed a line, it was me. And if I did something that puts you in a shitty situation, I’m truly sorry, but Scarlett, you deserve to be happy, and I know I’ve seen glimmers of happiness shining right out of you.”
Everything compounded all at once, drowning me in a pool of anxiety.
I pulled the T-shirt over my head, frustrated now as I swiftly shuffled through the door and into the living room. “I’m so fucking sick of everyone telling me I deserve happiness. What if I don’t? What if it isn’t that easy? Every single time I get close to what I think might be a glimpse of happiness, somethingbad happens.” My voice was louder now, booming back toward Stetson.
“Scarlett—” He followed behind me, seemingly unbothered by the thunder rumbling around us. “Where is this coming from? This can’t all be because of the article and Donna; there has to be something else. What aren’t you telling me?”
My jeans and boots were in eyeshot; I ripped the denim up my thighs and grabbed the boots in one hand. “Stetson, I can’t do this. Any of it.” My chest heaved in defeat as I pulled the arched front door open, turning back to catch one last glimpse of him. “I’m sorry.”
“Donna? Are you here?” I asked, the anxiety coursing through my veins, the constant pulse of it making me nauseous.
Even though it was Saturday, I was almost positive Donna would be at work.
“Back here.”
My feet shuffled toward the voice that wafted from the back of the office.
“Oh, darlin’, I was not expecting you,” she said, then gave me a once-over. “Is everything okay?”
I guessed the oversized T-shirt, jeans, boots, and disheveled hair and makeup weren’t giving my best look.
“Not really,” I released. “I don’t think I can finish the Stetson Walker article.”
“Why?” Her eyes looked just as disappointed as her voice sounded.
“Has Delilah not told you already?” I asked.
“Delilah?” she questioned. “No, she didn’t say anything to me, but she is on a month-long vacation with Alexis and Abby. Said she needed a break from Quincey Falls,” Donna said, shrugging her shoulders. “You never know with that girl.”
I wasn’t sure if having Delilah spill the news first would’ve made this easier or not, but nonetheless, I had to.
“I don’t even know where to start, but I guess being honest with you might be the best place.” I heaved a deep breath, combing my fingers through my ratty hair. “As of last night—” I gazed down at my outfit. “Stetson’s and my relationship is no longer professional. I know you trusted me with this article, and I let you down and for that. I’m so sorry.” I dropped my head, hating that I was too much of a coward to look her in the eyes.
“Oh, Scarlett. You haven’t let me down. Have you even had a chance to read what you’ve sent me so far? The article is incredible.”
Her words pulled my gaze to her. “Really?”
I’d kind of forgotten that I’d slowly sent her bits and pieces of the article over the course of the last couple of weeks.
“Really.” She beamed. “I have to say, the way you depict him as a real person, pulling back all the shiny layers that we normally see and instead showing the raw and honest version of him is truly spectacular.”
A tight-lipped smile slipped out. The raw and honest version of him was my favorite.
“But there is so much more that needs to be written, and after learning some of it, I just don’t feel like I can be the one to write it,” I said.
“Care to share?”
“I can’t. It’s not my place. Not anymore. I’m sorry.” The realization left me empty, like everything I’d worked for over the last couple of months had been discarded with the rest of the trash.
“You don’t have to be sorry; I’ll figure it out. But I do think you should take a couple of days to think about this. A lot of people can write, but not many can write like you and even fewer can evoke the emotions you do. Stetson feels safe with you, that’s obvious, so if we switch writers, it’s not going to be the same. And I think you owe it to yourself to finish this one.” I understood what she was saying, but she also didn’t know the full story, and that always changed things.
She wrapped her body around mine, her fragile arms giving me a tight hug. “I won’t force you to write it, but I will force you to think about. Give yourself at least a week, and then you can let me know. Okay?”
My body melted closer to her, using her embrace as the support I needed.
“Okay,” I agreed. “But what about Stetson and me?”
