Page 107 of Take The Risk

​Now, Cady-Jo and I were alone. Or as alone as we could be.

​“May I?” She was subdued as she came forward.

​“Have a seat.” I moved down to make sure there was plenty of room for her, and plenty between us. Just in case.

​My mom started fussing at Ty, making sure he got food for himself, too. I’d been surprised at their relationship when my parents visited me in the hospital. With my identity making the rounds in the media, I had expected censure, even anger from my parents. I woke up to very different people. It seems my fiancé—I was curious when he was going to tell me that we were getting married—chewed my parents out. He made them reevaluate their perspective on my career.

​Subsequently, Mom seemed to adore Ty, and Dad wanted to adopt him. The mind boggled sometimes.

​“She approves.” Cady-Jo was the first to speak.

​I remained silent, not sure what to say.

​“So do I,” she added, a look of such pure sincerity I was momentarily taken aback. “I owe you an apology, Phoebe. I can make excuses, find ‘reasons’ to justify my actions. There are none. I’m not proud of myself. I became someone I never thought I could. You were the victim of that. You and Ty.” Tears welled in her eyes, and she furiously tried to blink them away. I knew when someone was trying to manipulate me. This wasn’t that. “I will forever be grateful to you for saving Jesse.”

​The police said if I hadn’t moved when I did, Jesse would have been killed. I almost was.

​“I would have gone to jail, you know,” she said quietly. “I deserved that. Thanks to you, I got to stay home with my kids, and as a mother—” Her voice broke.

I pressed my lips together. “I didn’t do it just for them. I did it for you, too.” I needed her to understand why I’d gone or rather had the D.A. come to me. Cady-Jo had been offered a plea deal for her assault of me and had declined it, willing to plead guilty. She was facing five years in prison. She didn’t turn the deal down to be a martyr.

​I’d watched her court appearance, Abby having snuck in and recorded it. I’d seen a broken woman standing at the defense table. I knew what it was to be broken. I’d once said it would have been funny if it wasn’t sad how her life and mine had mirrored each other’s. The events had changed, but in that moment, she and I shared another commonality.

​I’d called the D.A. that day while Ty was picking up Lock from school. Cady-Jo wasn’t going to be charged with felony assault. I wanted the charges dropped. They refused, so I did something I’d never thought I would: I threatened them, using my power as a best-selling author and as Edith Devereaux’s adopted great-niece. We’d settled on a misdemeanor charge with community service, no jail time, and dear Lord, psychological counseling. Mandatory psychological counseling.

​Ty tried to hide his relief from me when he’d learned his mother’s sentence. He’d already made it clear to me I would always come first, even if it meant he never saw his mother again. Loving someone as deeply as I loved him meant I wanted him whole and happy. And he loved his mom. Just as he should.

​“You still didn’t have to do it.” Cady-Jo regarded me curiously. “I’m not sure if you can ever forgive me. Or even if I deserve forgiveness. I want you to know that I will live with what I did every day.”

​“I’ll forgive you.” Not right away, but she knew what I was saying. “I should have been honest with you when things changed between me and Ty. I’m not used to living in the light, as it were. None of us are guilt-free in this.” It had taken some time for me to really realize that. “I don’t know where we go from here, Cady-Jo. I don’t—I’m in love with Ty, and that’s not going to change or disappear.”

​Her face warmed, and I once again didn’t know what to make of it. I caught Delilah out of the corner of my eye, standing at Rowdy’s side. Ty didn’t look like he was going to kill him. A lifelong prejudice was evolving. I hoped another would, too.

​“It won’t be easy, and you and I have a long road ahead of us. But…” I laughed when the story popped into my head. “Once upon a time, there was a woman named Phoebe. She ran away from the darkness of a city to find a beautiful manor in a small town.”

​Cady-Jo knew what I was saying. “And a woman came to welcome her with a basket just like her mama taught her to when a new woman came to town.” Cady-Jo reached down, picking up the basket she’d brought. “It was a sign of welcome and given in the hope of friendship.”

​Taking the basket, I saw the rest of the story play out in my head.

​“When I was a girl and a new woman came to town, Mama would bring her a basket,” Cady-Jo explained. “She said no one ever understood the trials of being a woman more than another woman.”

​I looked in the basket. There were creams, bath salts, body scrubs, an eye mask, a bottle of wine, and a book. I raised an eyebrow at her, picking it up.

​She ducked her head. “I usually put a P.J. Alexander book in there. Given you’re her…”

​“I happen to love Becca Wynn.” I put the book back down, laughing.

​Holding out her hand, she sat up straight. “Hi, I’m Cady-Jo. Welcome to Maplehurst.”

​Taking her hand, I shook it as firmly as I dared. Stupid injuries. “I’m Phoebe Lebonaire. It’s nice to meet you.”

​“Phoebe Lebonaire! The author?” She placed a hand over her heart, eyes wide. “I’m a huge fan!”

​I laughed and then sucked in a breath, coughing, which was way worse. Ty strode over, putting a plate full of food on the table. He crouched down, his hand going to my ribs and the other soothing my back the way he knew I needed when this happened.

​Once the fit of hell was over, I was wiped out and needed to lie back. Ty handed me my plate of food with an order to eat. The party around us moved on with Cady-Jo sitting on the couch beside us. People mingled, and conversation flowed.

​Eating, I did what I always did. I people watched. As the afternoon turned into the evening, the golden sunlight spilling in from the large bay window, I could see the stories unfolding in my mind. Not all of them would be easy, not all of them would magically have a happy endings. Some stories, like mine and Cady-Jo’s, would take a long time and a lot of work to fix.