Page 32 of If I Stopped Haunting You

“Get out!” someone screeched.

Neil snapped his head back, his skull cracking against the door. Before he could get out a word, he was bombarded with a flurry of pillows, and he held up his hands in defense as Penelope Skinner cried out furiously.

“Skinner, it’s me!” he yelled. He caught a pillow and tossed it to the side. “Stop, it’sme.”

The barrage of soft ammunition stopped. Wincing, Neil squinted against the dimness as Skinner pulled on her glasses, eyes wide. Her hair was mussed from sleep, her cheeks warm and flushed. Her braid had come undone in the time since he’d seen her last, dark hair spilling into her eyes as she looked up at him, brow furrowed. He was suddenly mesmerized, taking her in. Damn it, why couldn’t he bring himself to say anything?

“Are you just going to stand there?”

“I’ll be going,” he said, turning to the door.

His hand stilled on the doorknob, his nails scraping against metal. He knew he needed to turn it, but he couldn’t convince himself to, not whensomethingwas somewhere out in the hall. Probably waiting for him. Neil leaned his forehead against the door, fingers shaking and heart pounding.

“Storm?” He heard the creak of the bed, followed by the quiet padding of footsteps. Warm hands covered his, prying his fingers from the doorknob one by one.

“Storm,” she repeated, calmer, “what happened?”

“There was…” He frowned as he focused on their joined hands. Hers were so warm as she held his. Gentle.Kind.“I saw a…” But what had he seen? What had he smelled?

He was an author, and for the first time in a long time, words were failing him.

Penelope Skinner looked at him as if she understood. And he supposed she did. She’d seen something too. Dropping her hands from his, she stepped back. “Why don’t we…” Her voice trailed off as her eyes caught on something at their feet. “What’s this?” she asked, stooping to grab it.

Reality slammed back into him. “Wait, Skinner, that’s not—” He bent to reach for it as she straightened, her elbow slamming into his gut. Sputtering, Neil stumbled back a step, coughing. “You’re so violent,” he wheezed, plopping onto her bed.

She ignored him, turning it over in her fingers. “Sorry,” she read. “What is this?”

He couldn’t get the words out. Cowardly, damn it, he was so fucking cowardly. Clearing his throat, Neil held out his hand. “It’s nothing. I’ll take that back, please.”

Skinner raised a brow. “It’s not nothing,” she argued, rounding the bed. “I’d recognize your sloppy handwriting anywhere.”

“It’s notsloppy.”

She pulled out her laptop and switched it on, the thumb drive poised for the USB slot. How could Neil have been so foolish? He’d had a moment of courage. Now, he didn’t want anyone to read it, least of all Penelope Skinner. She’d just find more excuses to hate him for giving up this version. For letting go of this story.

Coward.

“What is this?” she asked, staring daggers at him as the computer started up. Skinner grinned when he didn’t reply. “Did youmake me a cute PowerPoint presentation about how I’m the superior writer?”

He said nothing in response, frozen as he watched her type in her password and click on the pop-up, taking her to the thumb drive’s files. Frowning, she clicked on the single file.

Within moments, his words filled the screen, thousands of words he’d been so proud of nearly five years ago. Though his book had been a raging success, this was the version he’d wanted printed. Words only his agent, editor, and two beta readers had read. Skinner’s shoulders drooped as her eyes flicked over the screen.

Neil stood and crossed the room. Jaw clenched, he reached out and closed her laptop, not quite meeting her gaze.

“What is this, Storm?”

He ran a hand over his chin, his fingers scratching across thin stubble. “I thought, maybe if you saw the original… If you understood what I was trying to do inFrom What Savages May Be…If you just…”

If she just what? Neil trailed off, face red-hot, skin itchy and irritated. Skinner was looking at him peculiarly, emotions flitting across her features too fast for him to take in. She stood and gestured to her laptop.

“In a single page, I can already see what you’ve given up. Why? Why would you let them butcher your work like this?”

“Because I didn’t know what to do!” Neil grimaced, reaching up to prod the bump forming on the back of his skull. “In publishing, there’s only ever one response when you’re BIPOC, and it’s ‘yes.’ If I said no, I wouldn’t be where I am. They wanted to publish my book, just notthatversion.”

“But look what you gave up! Look what you did to get here.”

“And I’m embarrassed, okay?” Neil pointed sharply at Skinner. “We can’t all be as brave as you. You don’t care about what people think of you.”