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Morgan knew that life could turn on a dime and alter your course so far left, it would take years to find your way back. It could cripple and maim and destroy. She knew this. It was the main reason she’d pulled back, content to watch things from the shadows. Safe in the protection the dark, silent corners afforded. If you didn’t let yourself care or love, then the probability of getting hurt was pretty much zero.
She’d lived by that code ever since the accident. But somehow, Cooper Simon had managed to smash down those walls, and now she was out in the open, her face turned to the sun, her heart exposed and vulnerable. She’d realized it days earlier and had managed to convince herself that maybe this time, things would be different. Maybe this time, she wouldn’t get hurt.
But that’s the thing about life. Its unpredictability is the one thing that makes it so damn predictable.
It was late afternoon when the doorbell rang. Morgan had spent most of the day in her father’s office. Along with his general lack of enthusiasm for most things over the past six years, his records were in shambles. She couldn’t spend every waking minute out at the McLaren place, and with her head in the clouds, she needed a distraction.
Once she’d exited the bookkeeping program, Morgan glanced at her watch and headed for the door. It was almost four, and anticipation tingled along her spine. Within the hour, she’d be at Cooper’s. She smiled at the thought.
Not bothering to glance through the side window, she opened the door expecting, well, she didn’t know what she’d been expecting, but it sure as hell wasn’t a flash going off, along with a stranger standing on the porch, holding what looked to be a video camera and a microphone.
Confused for a moment, it took a bit for her brain to catch up and comprehend what exactly was going on.
“Miss Campbell, any comment for us on your relationship with Cooper Simon?”
Ice rushed through her, and she froze. “I… Who are you?”
Dressed in jeans and red-and-blue-plaid flannel, the stranger was on the tall side. He wasn’t as young as he’d first appeared, and his dark, curly hair was peppered with gray. It stuck out from beneath a faded ball cap. Overly large framed glasses magnified shrewd blue eyes, and she shuddered as they did a slow perusal of her body. The fact that they lingered along her right side, there where her collared shirt and hair hid her scars, had alarm bells ringing almost immediately.
“You’ve heard of Hollywood Tattler?”
“I…” She had. Of course she had. Everyone in America had.
Those damn alarm bells intensified, and she took a step back, hands clawing at the edge of the door as panic rolled through her, accompanied by a healthy dose of fear.
The man took a step forward, his large foot shooting out and effectively stopping the door from slamming shut.
“Can you give me a comment on Lee Holloway being the pseudonym for Cooper Simon? Can you tell me when you found out? How you found out? Did you know about Holly Adams? About their baby and the attempted suicide?”
Shock held Morgan still. Cooper was Lee Holloway? Who was Holly Adams? Why did the name sound so familiar? And…baby? Cooper had a baby?
“Morgan?” Cold and calculating, the man stared back at her through the five-inch opening his foot had created. But his face began to shimmer and blur.
“Please go away,” she whispered.
“Give me a comment, and I will.”
She swayed a little and closed her eyes, but it was no use because the reporter’s voice was right inside her head.
“Lee Holloway has a history of writing about things that supposedly impacted his real life. In retrospect, his first book is somewhat autobiographical in nature, considering the subject matter.”
Dazedly, Morgan’s eyelids fluttered open. Her throat was dry, and she croaked, “Subject matter?” She couldn’t think. Couldn’t process.
“Yes. Long Time Gone seems to be about his rocky relationship with Holly Adams. Do you think your story will make it to print? The accident that claimed your mother’s life and ruined your track career? Sounds like a juicy movie to me.”
Morgan’s stomach tumbled all the way to her knees, and she clung to the door, because if she didn’t, she would have collapsed.
“Go away.” It started as a whisper but ended on a wail. “Go away!”
“You heard the lady. Get the hell off this property, o
r I’ll toss your skinny ass myself.” The threat was real, and as Hank jumped onto the porch, quickly followed by Sara, the reporter realized he’d overstayed his welcome. Clutching his equipment against his chest, he slid past Hank and jogged to the van parked at the edge of the driveway.
“Morgan.” Sara’s voice was soft, and all it took was one look. One look and she fell into her sister’s arms.
How long they stood in the doorway, Sara’s arms around Morgan, was unclear. But after a while, the room came into focus, and, like an old friend returning, the mask she’d put away weeks ago came back. It slipped over her. In her. There were no thoughts in her head. No questions. No possible answers to questions. There was nothing.
It was strange but familiar.
