Page 26 of If I Stopped Haunting You

“Still the youngest.”

Skinner’s eyes flickered around the room, careful to avoid Neil. Leaning forward on her knees, she tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “Truth,” she chose after a long beat.

“Boring,” Daniela drawled. She sighed before her eyes flicked to Neil and back to Skinner. Neil watched them curiously, something passing silently between the two women. “Why did you throw the book at Neil?”

“Yeah, I should have expected this.” Skinner sighed. She rolled her neck back, toying with the loose strands of dark waves that had fallen free of her braid.

Suddenly, he didn’t know what to do with himself.

“It’s easier for men in the publishing industry. You make mistakes, you say the wrong thing, and most of the time, you don’t get canceled.” She gestured to him, sharp and meaningful. “And thereyou were, sitting up there on your little throne, leaning toward your mic, telling me I’d never be as good as you. Even if I was right—”

“You’re not right,” he said automatically.

She smiled, and Neil’s gut twisted.

“Aren’t I?” she asked after a beat. “You have so much power in your position. You know what this industry does to voices like ours, and when I called you out, what was your first instinct?” She leaned forward, and Neil found himself frozen under her scrutiny. “You and I could have spent this entire time working together to strengthen our positions in this genre, but you never cared. And there you were, sitting with your glowing stack of books before you, and all I had was a measly copy of my one and only, and I just…”

She mimicked throwing it and he flinched, extending his fingers on instinct to smooth over the small scar above his brow.

Silence settled between them, and Neil reached for his whiskey, taking a long, eye-watering drink.

“You’re not wrong,” he admitted. “Maybe I could have tried harder, said no more often when editors and my agent wanted to change things. Hell, I probably should have left my publisher years ago, but I also wonder if they’re right, you know? If my other ideas, if my stories just aren’t good enough, and they’re the only ones who will publish me. I know what Icouldbe doing, but I already tried it. Nobody wants that. Nobody will buy it.”

“What do you mean?” Skinner asked, frowning.

Neil held up his glass, laughing. His mind was foggy, the whiskey finally hitting him and clouding his thoughts. He barreled on, ignoring Laszlo’s look of concern. “Oh, Itriedto write the stories you claim you want to protect. Itriedto be the hero you wanted me to be, but there’s only so much a Native man can do in a country that’s been built on the genocide of his people.”

The room fell into silence. Neil had always been good at endingconversations. Laszlo cleared his throat and squirmed as his and Daniela’s gazes met.

“Fuck the colonizers!” Daniela yelled, throwing back her head and holding her glass high.

Neil met Skinner’s wide eyes over his glass. “Fuck the colonizers,” he whispered, taking a drink.

“Fuck the colonizers,” Skinner echoed.

“Can I say that?” Laszlo asked.

Skinner’s lips puckered in thought as she turned to Daniela. Neil shrugged and gestured to Laszlo.

“He is our token white friend,” Daniela said.

Skinner laughed. “Eh, why not?”

And as they all raised their glasses and drank, something seemed to settle in the room. When Neil glanced up and met Skinner’s cloudy gaze, he thought,Maybe we’ll be okay. Maybe we’ll move on.

Then she tilted her head, something else in those gray depths.

“Neil Storm.”

Neil tried to focus on her words, but he’d severely underestimated the whiskey. He licked his lips, eyes narrowing on her. He made a soft sound at the back of his throat, urging her to continue.

Her eyes glinted. “Truth or dare.”

He tapped the rim of his glass, eyes never leaving hers. “Dare.” His voice came out gravelly, a smile curling the corners of his lips. And then Penelope Skinner smiled, and it was too much like Daniela’s, all harsh lines and cruel gleams. Neil’s stomach dropped. God, she was terrifying.

“No, truth,” he amended, sitting up.

“No take-backsies,” Daniela singsonged.