Page 54 of The Exit Strategy

“Why not?”

“It didn’t work out.” The words taste like ash.

Junie stares at me as she processes my answer. I watch her weigh it against every other nonanswer I’ve given her since she arrived. She doesn’t believe me. I can see it in the set of her mouth.

But she gives up on it, just as I fear she’s given up on me.

As she lowers her gaze to drop her file onto my desk, I follow her line of sight moments too late.

She’s staring at the framed photograph, lying down, partially covered by a design, next to the pencil cup she made me for my Master of Architecture graduation.

I see the question before she asks it. The slight tilt of her head. The way her fingers twitch toward it, then pull back. She’s deciding whether to cross a line, and I can’t believe how much I wish she could cross it.

“What’s this?” She doesn’t pick it up. She just gestures at it, giving me the option to lie.

The photograph is of me, standing in front of the memorial rendering in her kitchen. The design I’d planned to submit to Meridian’s internship program. The internship that would’ve catapulted my career. The design that won Natalie my place in that firm.

And I’m not alone in that photo. Natalie’s on one side of me, clenching my arm so tight I walked away with half crescent moons dug into my skin. Junie’s on my other side, andthat’s where I’m looking. Only her shoulder and dirty blond hair are exposed now—and that’s what she caught a glimpse of.

If Junie sees Natalie in that photo, she’ll build a story that’s wrong in every direction that matters.

I can’t give her more ammunition for a wound I didn’t cause but can’t mend or even explain.

It’s a photo I keep to remind myself why I heel to Natalie’s manipulations—I’ve only ever wanted Junie.

“It’s just…old stuff…from the firm I applied to years ago,” I say, but I can hear how thin my lie sounds. “From before The Haven.”

Junie’s hand draws back. She meets my gaze and holds it for three beats too long. One for the question, one for my deflection, and one for the hurt she tucks away so cleanly I almost miss it.

Almost.

“Right.” She nods once. Professional. Controlled. The ice slides back into place so seamlessly, it’s like watching a door close in slow motion. “Old…firm…stuff.”

Her gaze darts back to the photo. The wisp of golden hair that can only belong to her. To my gaze that stares not at the camera, but to the girl just to my left.

I want to flip the photo over and explain everything. But telling her means telling her why Natalie’s blackmail works in the first place. And the reason the blackmail works is standing in my office, wearing my grandmother’s ring, staring at me as if I kicked her puppy.

So I say nothing, and Junie finally remembers the folder in her hands. “The insurance filing.”

I take the folder from her, and she’s very careful about not allowing our fingers to touch, but the ring catches the lamplight, and as she pulls her hand away, suspended forone second, my grandmother’s diamond throws a pinpoint of light across the ceiling like a small, private star.

We both watch it. Neither of us acknowledges it.

“I’ll review it.” The words sound like gravel under the tires of a Mack truck.

“Good.” She tucks a strand of damp hair behind her ear. And for one brief moment, I imagine it damp for other, more provocative reasons.

Then she smacks me in the face with her sincerity. “Your designs are—” She presses her middle finger to her temple and presses, hard. “I’m glad Nana Mae entered you in that competition. Not because she wants you to beat Paula Van Holten, but because your work is?—”

I take a step forward, unable to stop the pull she has on me.

She glances up, startled, or put off by our sudden closeness, but she doesn’t retreat, even as I take another step forward until we’re sharing air.

This close to her, my body thrums, like she controls the heartbeat and the blood pumping through my veins. I’m electric next to her. Amplified in ways I’ve never considered before.

She’s the half of me that’s necessary for survival, and now I know why I’ve been slowly dying inside. You can’t live when the best parts of you are missing.

“Your work is extraordinary, Cole.”