Page 73 of Blacklist

I head to the kitchen, ready to cry on Felix’s shoulders, before I remember that he’s gone out for the night. There’s a plate of cookies sitting out for me with a note to eat as many as I like. He’d known how dinner was going to go down. I grab them and shove them in a bag. I need to get out of here. Daddy isn’t going to let me leave Valmont. Everyone thinks having money is liberating. I know the truth. I live in a gilded cage. I don’t have money of my own. I don’t have resources of my own. Nothing here is mine. Not even my free will.

I take Mom’s Roadster, because it’s my favorite and because it pisses my dad off every time he discovers I’ve taken it out of the garage. Sometimes I tell myself the pretty lie that I’m running away, but the truth is, I know I’m on a leash. I know exactly how far I can go. There’s nothing for me in Nashville. All my friends are at school. Poppy will let me crash at her place.

But Poppy doesn’t understand. She tries, and I love her for it, but I don’t want to be cheered up. I want to wallow. I want to feel this. I want it to be okay that I’m mad—that I’m furious. I want to feel every bit of this pain without someone trying to take it from me, because it’s the only thing I have left that’s mine.

And I can only think of one person who will let me do that.

23

Adair

Present Day

It’s been a long time since I made it downtown. Back when I was a teenager, I would lie and tell my parents I was going to Valmont Gallery shopping center with Poppy. Then we’d drive into Nashville, meet up with the others, and flirt our way into the various clubs before crashing in the pool house of whoever’s parents were out of town that weekend. We’d pick up Hennie’s hot chicken on the way home and stay up all night gossiping about our fellow classmates and our plans for the future—the lives we thought were ahead of us. None of those plans worked out the way we thought they would. And Nashville? As much as things come and go—new restaurants, new honky-tonks, new street artists—for the most part it hasn’t changed, either. It’s still a town of rebels and whiskey, music and dancing, and dreams dashed by reality. These days as many people come to Nashville to try to make it as New York or Los Angeles. The city’s cemented itself in the music scene, but there’s a lot more going on than just country singers and karaoke bars. Although there’s a fair bit of that, too. The memories pull me in the direction of the Barrelhouse. I drive past, noticing a sign declaring it to be under new management. Nothing is sacred.

I park the Roadster in front of it, trying to catch a glimpse through the dark windows. It’s too early for them to be open for the day. I wonder how much has changed, but before I can look it up on my phone, Shelby from the animal rescue calls. She probably wants me to pick up a shift over the weekend when most of the other volunteers don’t want to work. I never mind. There are more adoptions on the weekend. By the end of Sunday, I feel hope for humanity again. “Hello?”

“Adair, I’m so glad I reached you!” Shelby always talks fast, as though any minute she expects an emergency. In fairness, she runs the city’s largest no kill animal shelter. That means she oversees a revolving door of abandoned dogs, cats, and everything in between. She’s even gotten a few horses dumped in the parking lot.

“What’s up?” There’s a flicker of movement inside the Barrelhouse. I crane to see, phone pressed to my ear.

“The gala raised over one hundred and fifty-thousand dollars!” she squeals. “I can’t thank you enough.”

“It wasn’t really me.”

“It was your friend, and I know you helped.” She’s not having it. I’ve never been comfortable with getting credit for using my connections. It feels wrong. “We had one person donate an insane amount, and I’m sure you already know this: Zeus found a home.”

I slump against my bucket seat, pushing up my Givenchy sunglasses to press a finger against my suddenly throbbing temples. “I know.”

“Oh, don’t be sad, honey! This is good news!”

If she only knew. I swallow hard against the rawness in my throat. “I know. I’m happy for him. I’ll just miss him.”

It’s mostly true. I am glad that Zeus found a home, even if it wasn’t with me. I’m just not thrilled about who adopted him. My eyes skip back to the under new management sign in the Barrelhouse window. Sooner or later, you lose everything you don’t fight to keep.

“I was hoping you could do me a favor,” Shelby says.

“Sure,” I say absently.

“I was hoping you could check in on Zeus and his new owner, Mr...” Papers shuffle in the background. “Sterling Ford. I would do it but I thought you might want to see Zeus and things are crazy here.”

I really need to learn not to commit myself to something before I know all the details. “Oh, I’m not sure…”

“Honestly, his donation is huge. I’m grateful, but I’d also like to build a bridge there, know what I mean?”

I want to tell her that I burned the bridge between Sterling and I a long time ago. “I’m not sure I should be the one to build it.”

“He mentioned you specifically in the adoption papers,” she says. “You must have caught his eye during the auction.”

“Sure,” I say miserably.

“Thank you! And cheer up, I’m sure Zeus is going to be loved.”

“I hope so.” We end the call, Shelby promising to text over the address.

I’d plan to spend the day popping in to a few favorite shops and working up the courage to visit my unexpected inheritance. Now, stepping foot into Bluebird Press feels like the lesser of two evils if the other is a visit to Sterling. I guess I’ll tally that in the win column. I ignore Shelby’s text for the moment and pull up Bluebird’s address. A few seconds later, GPS directs me to its offices.

The press isn’t what I expect when I find it tucked into a back street a block from Broadway. I’ve always imagined a publishing house sitting atop some lofty high-rise, floor-to-ceiling windows, people bustling about and shouting out deadlines, editors in corner offices making phone calls to authors and agents all day long while girls with coffee carts deliver lattes. Maybe that’s how it is in New York.