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I blink my eyes open to a picture of me on Pearl Beach, talking with some of Mortie’s fans, and suddenly, it all makes sense. Why she was there that day, her eagerness to volunteer on the ranch, and her snooping in my room yesterday.
Unsuspecting, she reaches up on her tippy-toes for the tin can full of coffee grounds in the cabinet, humming to herself as she makes a full pot. But I’m paralyzed, watching her work as a pain almost worse than grief batters my insides.
Heather’s sweet smile drops the minute she turns to see what I’m holding.
My skin crawls when she mutters a quiet, “I can explain.”
She doesn’t try to deny anything. But why would she? She knows exactly what I’ve found.
Heather pads from the kitchen to the edge of the living room, arms wrapped around her middle. More than anything, I wish we were still in bed, tangled up in each other in blissful ignorance, instead of facing the reality that the woman I love could betray me like this.
After setting her camera on the couch, I stand and reach for my phone. I find the article about my sister’s funeral and turn the screen so she can see.
“Party Girl Leah Matthews Dead at Twenty-Five,” I read aloud.
A shiver wracks her body at the raw disdain constricting my voice, and she has the audacity to close her eyes, as if she can’t bear to look at what she’s written.
“I know you’re a journalist, but what I don’t know is how you managed to find me. Were you sent here to spy on us?”
Her eyelids flutter open, full of unshed tears.
“Give me the truth or nothing at all,” I grit, and with a dejected frown, she submits instantly.
“We got a tip that your brother was coming to Tauntuma for rehab after his wreck, and it was my job to report on it.” Carefully, she reaches for her phone, handing it to me once she finds what she was searching for. “But then, my editor sent me this.”
I study a photo of Mortie leaving the hospital from top to bottom, spotting Leah’s bracelet glinting around my wrist. Sometimes, on days like that, when my anxiety is spiraling out of control, I’ll wear it to ground me.
It’s always been a source of comfort, like having a part of her with me wherever I go. But in light of what Heather shows me, it feels like a crutch.
“She believed Leah may still be alive and reassigned me to investigate,” she says. “But we thought you were still in Tauntuma. Ending up in Augustine with you was purely a coincidence.”
Unrelenting anguish carves through my insides, spreading its inky tendrils like a sickness until I’m forcing bile down by the swallow. I refuse to believe fate is responsible for this.
Everything I’ve confessed to her—Leah’s death, faking as my twin while he’s detoxing, the safe haven of Augustine, and everything in between. It’s all going to end up on the front cover of a bullshit magazine as breaking news, and when Mortie’s director catches wind of it, he’ll be finished.
I’ve always been the fixer in our family, but for the first time, I don’t know if this is something I can fix.
Fear gurgles in my stomach. A magazine likeLusteris going to find every loophole imaginable in the NDA she signed.
“Congratulations, Miss Sinclair. Looks like you’ve got everything you need for a best-selling story.”
“I… I can’t write it,” she says.
I force myself to look at her. “But will you?”
“I made a decision last night before you ever came to my door to find a way to make this right.” Her hands fidget at her sides, face contorting as if she’s trying like hell not to cry. “But I have to give them something, Marcus, or I’m going to lose my job.”
It’s then that I realize how unbelievably fucked I am. Because I can’t beg Heather to quit her job any more than I can beg Mortie to sober up.
Intense pressure pounds behind my eyes, and if I were able, I’d tear my heart out, right here and now. Because it’s weak for her.I’mweak for her, and as much as this should make me hate her, I don’t.
“I can’t even look at you,” I mutter, stepping around her trembling form.
A pained whimper shudders from Heather’s lips as her hand strikes out, grabbing my bicep to stop me. “You said it was us against the world, no matter what.”
I stare at the fingers gripping my arm. “That was before I knew you were using me.”
“It might have started out that way,” she says when I pull away from her, “but I didn’t know the truth about Leah or your brother. I-I didn’t know aboutyou.”
