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“What, what?” I ask again, even though I heard him the first time.
This is not happening, this is not happening, this is not happening.
And it just gets worse when Wyatt shrugs likeno big deal, because that’s how he rolls. “It was meant as a joke. I sent it to your publisher to see what they’d do.”
Henry jumps to his feet. “No, no, no. Wy, you can’t do shit like that. Levi’s being established as one of the literary voices of his generation.”
I wouldn’t go as far as to say that, but I appreciate the compliment.
Ideas fly through my mind at a frightening speed, starting with possibly denying I wrote the book. Or, maybe somehow getting it back before it goes public that it’s by me.
I could also kill Wyatt too, just to make sure nothing like this ever happens again.
A vein pulses on the side of Henry’s temple. “Wyatt, he wrote that thing for fun, as a palate cleanser. Something to laugh about. It wasn’t ever supposed to see the light of day. Hell, I never even read it,” he says, his voice getting louder with each word.
He never read it. Well, that hurts.
“Look guys,” Wyatt said, still not realizing the consequences of what he’s done. “Don’t get your panties in a wad. Your name is nowhere on it. It just says Ryder Night. A made-up person. You’re good, Levi. Everything is fine.” He picks up the TV remote and starts looking for something to watch. Classic distraction.
He has a point, that there’s really no way anyone can tie that back to me. A modicum of relief washes over me. Still, it’s a risk to have something out there not meant for public consumption.
He settles on Three and a Half Men, a show I can’t stand. I’m about to ask him to change the channel, when he mutes the TV and turns back to Henry and me.
“Guys, I sent it a year ago. When I never heard anything, I forgot all about it,” he says, like that makes it all okay.
Henry steps closer to him. God, I hope he doesn’t hit him. Even though he probably deserves it. “If there’s no name on it, how did this person who emailed you get in touch?”
“Oh, that’s easy. I set up an email address with the fake Ryder Night name and put it at the back of the book. I forwarded that to my regular email so I wouldn’t miss anything. I didn’t think anyone would ever contact me. I really didn’t.”
I get to my feet too, and the coffee I drank earlier becomes a curdled mess in my stomach. I look for something to throw, but I don’t really do shit like that. Nor do I hit my friends, no matter how badly I’d like to.
“Look, I’ll get rid of her, don’t worry. She’ll never trace this back to you,” he says.
I want to explode. But I’m staying calm.
So help me God.
“Who did you get the email from, Wyatt? At Empire?” Henry asks.
He looks back at his phone. “From APlum. Wait, she signed the email. Amalia. It’s from Amalia. Hey, is that the woman we were talking about earlier?—”
For fuck’s sake.
I run over to my kitchen table and start kicking over chairs. All four of them. None break, but it feels good, and the racket is deafening.
“Yes, that’s her!” I shout at the top of my lungs.
Wyatt gets to his feet, joining Henry and me. “Guys, they’ll never trace it back to Levi. It’s impossible.”
“No, it isn’t,” I holler, louder than last time.
“Calm down. You both sound like a couple of little bitches,” Wyatt shouts back. “I’ll get rid of her. No one will ever know you wrote this, Levi. Your career will be fine.”
I grab a jacket and head for the door, done with everyone and everything. I yank it shut behind me, leaving the guys alone in my apartment. Dressed all wrong, I walk into a driving rain that stabs at my face, and all I can think of is that sexy woman Amalia reading my sexy shit, and wonder if she liked it.
7
AMALIA
