Page 161 of Love Felt Like This

“Why?” I ask. “What are you seeing online?”

“My inbox hasn’t been this full since your appearance on the comedy show.”

That night now feels like years ago.

“Where’d they get pictures?” I ask.

Jimmy lets out another exhale, and I know his answer before he says it.

“That town. You knew it wasn’t going to be airtight, Griffin.”

“I was optimistic.”

“For once in your life.”

I thought I was getting away with something.

There’s a rustling on his side of the line. I can just imagine his hands running through his hair, ruining the gel.

“All I’ve got,” he says, “is some woman named Taylor.”

My stomach drops.

Taylor. Thrift-store Taylor.

Not kind. Not nice. Not even a little bit.

From the living room, Nana groans, “Are you kidding me?”

I walk back down the hall to peer out the sliding glass door. A couple of cars idle in the road.

Greg cycles toward them and stops at the end of the driveway. He slams down the kickstand, waving his fingerless gloves in the air. “Private property, you vultures!” But all that does is make the cars putter farther down the street and wait there instead.

I don’t recognize the cars. Could be locals I haven’t met yet, but I doubt it. It’s likely a nearby reporter or two making a beeline to get the story, somehow having acquired Beverly’s address too.

I relaxed too much in Elk Grove, and I forgot it was possible to be uncomfortable. Things always leak. I should have known better.

“So what now, Jimmy?” I ask. “We’ve got people waiting outside their house.”

At that, even Beverly’s eyebrows pinch inward. For a second, I wonder if she’s angry at me. But the scathing look is angled toward the street.

Jimmy sighs. I don’t like the sound of it. “You know what you need to do. I don’t have to say it.”

He doesn’t.

I need to leave Elk Grove early. This is an unsafe environment for Ava now. At least in LA, our yard is gated. That type of protection doesn’t exist here, despite Maria now pulling down the road in her rickety red truck, followed by Eddie and Tom. All three of them honk, but it carries just as much of an intimidation factor as Greg’s bicycle.

The door opens downstairs, and Greg stomps up to our floor, removing his coat with a “Cavalry is here.”

“I can book you plane tickets this afternoon,” Jimmy says in my ear.

I nod, glancing over at the living room, with Beverly distracted by the commotion outside and the rest of the family cornering Greg for any information. I find Ava blinking at me. As if she knows.

She waves.

I wave back.

I should have kept her safe.