Page 56 of If I Stopped Haunting You

“I feel differently now,” she said, ducking her head.

“You love tweed jackets.”

“But I hate them onhim.”

“Liar. He just gets better with age. He’s like a good whiskey. I should know, I kissed him once.”

Pen blanched. “Youwhat?”

Laszlo rolled his eyes. “It was ages ago, back when we first met and I hadn’t decided how I felt about him, and he hadn’t decided how he felt about me, yet, but that’s beside the point. Imight not be his type, and he’s certainly not mine, but you two?” He whistled.

“Whatever you say, Lasz,” she said, waving her hand in dismissal. “I don’t have a type.”

“You don’t have a type? Oh, my dear, sweet Penelope.” He laughed, stopping in the snow to face her. She sighed, her shoulders slouching as she met his eyes. “In all seriousness, how long has it been since you’ve dated someone, Pen?”

She kicked the snow.

“Two months.”

“Are you still lying to me?”

She flung her head back as she groaned. “Fine,” she relented. “Seven.”

“Years?”

“Months!” She laughed, smacking him on the arm. “Months.”

Laszlo shrugged, motioning to the castle behind them as he rubbed absently at his arm.

“Look—and hear me out,” he said, holding up his hands as if in surrender. “You may havehatedNeil. He’s not always the most transparent or straightforward person, but have you ever thought, maybe, that there was more to it? I mean, why did you start hating him in the first place?”

Pen puffed out her cheeks. “It started when he personalized a book to ‘Penny’ instead of Penelope.”

“See!” Laszlo threw up his arms, turning away. He paced, shaking his head. “Isn’t that childish? And because ofthat,you turned him into some rival. You made it your life’s goal to take himdown.”

“Lasz, you don’t understand. Maybe that’s what made me look at him closer, but it’s not just that. That moment only instigated my doubt. He had this standing in the book community. He had everything I wanted, and he wasted that power. He shouldhave stood his ground and workshopped it to other publishers if he was so worried about losing power over his books. He took advantage of—”

“His advantages?” Laszlo raised a brow. “I love you, Pen, I truly do, but people change. And until you get to know someone like Neil, you’ll never understand why they do the things they do.”

“Laszlo, no offense, but you’re white. You don’t get it.”

“I know I’m white. I know I have my own advantages, especially in a space like publishing, but shouldn’t that make you understand whyhedid the things he did? Don’t you see it? I’ve been friends with Neil for well over a decade, and I’ve seen what these choices have done to him. Maybe he’s a sellout, letting his publisher walk all over him, but he had reason to, and you know it. Was he supposed to say no to the only publisher who offered?”

“I… didn’t know that.”

“No one does. They don’t talk about what it took for him to get to where he is, Pen. They only talk about his successes. He simply hasn’t corrected them.”

Pen paused and looked up at her friend. Neil had never been her enemy. She’d turned him into a vessel to direct her anger, because of what? Because her book didn’t do well? Because she couldn’t figure her shit out? There were already so few Indigenous authors, particularly in horror. What had she been doing turning one of them into her enemy for something he felt powerless about?

“I guess I should have seen it. I just wanted someone to blame for my own problems, for my lack of success. Is that petty?”

“Maybe.”

Pen sighed and nudged Laszlo’s side. “How did I go all these years and not see it?”

“Because the publishing industry wants you to fight. They want there to be one of you, and you two were scrabbling for that spot, for a place on the shelf. Your names are literally ‘Storm’ and‘Skinner.’ You had to battle for a spot on the same exact shelf, Pen.”

“Wait, what?”