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I’d escaped the stage in one piece, my interview complete. Now I was back in the green room, trying to remember how to breathe normally and staring at my phone.
Lo: Mom said the chickens are upset. They’ve not been producing the normal amount of eggs. She’s worried about you, so I’m going to stop out at the place and bring some from the store. They’ll be organic and free range, don’t worry. Or I can grab some from my neighbor’s place. They love their chickens. They built a whole playground for them. She messaged they had extra. I’ll try her first, and if she doesn’t have any left, I’ll go to the store. Anywho, let me know how the interview went!! I’m sure it went great. You always think you do worse than you do. Love you lots. Want to have some wine tonight? I know Mom has some on hand, but I can grab some extra too. BYE!
Elowin was like a sister. That’s what I called her in my head—like a sister. But Elowin, or Lo, would call herself my actual sister. It was easier for her, easier for them, her parents, Vicky and Harold Mitchell. They were a bit more reserved than Lo, but I knew the sentiment was there. They considered me their daughter, their second girl. But for me, on the outside, it was safer to remind myself I wasn’t blood.
I wasn’t really family.
I did love them. All of them. I’d never be able to express how grateful I was to have met them at fifteen. It was an awkward age, so bless their hearts for that as well. Lo was three years older than me. I was a freshman, and she was about to graduate, so we got one year in the same school together. After that, she went to Texas A&M, and I spent time with her during her school breaks.
Me: The interview was okay, but I tripped on the way out and I think the camera got it. I was mortified.
Lo: Heyyyy!! Don’t worry about that. Even when you trip, you look like a little swan. Graceful and elegant and all class. Plus, with your story, no one will laugh.
Me: Hopefully. Wine sounds good tonight.
Lo: REALLY??? Yay!! I’m excited. Want me to come alone or should I bring Roger and the kids?
Me: Bring Roger and the kids. You know your mom and dad will dote on them.
Lo: I’m asking because you know Roger is going to want to have wine with us, and if he wasn’t as head over heels for me as he is, I’d be worried! He adores you. But you’re warned. He’s going to be on cloud nine since you finally agreed to be interviewed.
I sighed. Roger had this delusion that if I put myself out there more for publicity, my story would make me money. A few writers had reached out, asking to interview me, but I’d turned them down. Roger wanted a movie, and he thought a bestselling book would be the ticket to that. I’d had a few inquiries, but Roger didn’t understand that I flat out wanted nothing to do with any publicity—no books, no newspaper articles, no blogs, no television shows, and most certainly no movies.
They didn’t entirely need my permission, but I’d kept details quiet, so without me, all they had were theories and rumors. Only I—and certain people in law enforcement—knew what had happened that morning when I came across the Midwest Butcher.
I blamed the wine Lo had supplied me and my own soft heart for agreeing when the local news channel had contacted me. They were doing a segment on domestic abuse and violence and said they thought my story would draw even more viewers. I’d agreed only for that reason.
Me: Roger is hilarious. Bring on Wine Roger!
Lo: I’m going to remind you of this when he’s badgering you tonight about why you’re not dating.
She was right, but I had a soft spot for Wine Roger. He would be considered a golden boy, or now a golden husband—one of those guys who grew up popular, good-looking, and nice, yet it never changed him. He was nice in school, nice in college, and still nice. He could’ve had a huge ego with his perfect tan, sharp jawline, smoldering blue eyes, and broad shoulders. Roger could’ve been famous himself if he’d wanted. He played baseball in college but chose to marry Lo and start a family instead of going pro. Lo always got choked up when she talked about it, because they’d made a conscious decision to have her pursue law and her career. Roger got a job at his father’s golf course and took care of the kids while Lo went to law school.
Man. Thinking about them again, thinking about all of them, I realized just how lucky I was.
None of them should’ve loved me. None of them should’ve accepted me. With my past, my very heavy baggage, all my therapy, all my issues? Yet still they let me live with them.
I didn’t deserve them.
I gathered my things, exchanged the borrowed shirt for my sweaty one, and headed for the elevator.
“You did great, Miss Harm,” said one of the staff as he walked past me.
I should’ve lifted my head and squared my shoulders with confidence. But that wasn’t me. Instead, I ducked my head and mumbled, “Thank you.” Learning to be invisible had saved my life, literally, but Lo’s text was on my mind. She was right. Roger was always asking to set me up. He had two friends he said would love to go out with me.
Roger and Lo didn’t get it.
Sometimes the way to get through life was to be as small as possible.
There were reasons I didn’t date.
“My agent says your trip is already trending.” That same deep baritone from earlier, smooth like whisky, sounded from behind me in the elevator.
Gah! I’d been looking at the floor as I got on. I’d not even noticed him. Brett Broudou was there, staring at me. This guy wasn’t small. At all. How had I not noticed him?
Where are my survival instincts now?
His words penetrated. My gaze jerked to his. “What’d you say?”
