Chapter 35
Scarlett
“I feel like I should be wearing dark sunglasses and a giant scarf to hide my features,” Trina quips as she sits down in a chair next to me.
“What do you mean?” I don’t have the energy to play around or figure out what the hell she’s talking about. I’m amazed I even got myself to this coffee shop, but when she called and asked me to meet her, I also didn’t have the heart to say no. After that meeting and my encounter with Charles, I’m completely out of steam. If only someone could tell me what to do next. Maybe Trina has a plan.
“I don’t know.” She shrugs, clearly a little sad her joke didn’t land. “Are we going incognito or something? Should we be hiding from the paparazzi?”
Frowning at her, I take a sip of my latte because, in typical Trina fashion, even though she asked me to meet here, she was late. “I’ve never been famous enough to be followed by paparazzi.”
She sighs and droops her head so low that it almost hits the table. “I’m just trying to keep this lighthearted, Scarlett.”
“Why?”
“ Ohmygod .” She groans it all as one word, her face now tipping upward. “I don’t know. This is kind of uncharted territory for me.”
“Because I stuck around this time?” I ask plainly. While I may have tried to hide how much Charles’s last insult hurt me, his words buried themselves deep and pulled me right back down to a dark place I haven’t inhabited in a while. Even in this coffee shop, nothing feels right or looks right. Everything is just a bit too loud, too bright, and I can’t quite make sense of what I’m seeing. It’s like I’m living in a movie of my own life when I want to hide in my apartment under a blanket and never come out.
Which I’m sure is exactly why Trina insisted we meet here instead of just coming over.
She covers my hand with hers and squeezes. “Honey, no. I got a little worried there when you went all statue on me in that meeting, and I’m glad you’re still here, but I know all the work you’ve done. I didn’t doubt for one second things would be different this time. I’m proud of you.”
A sudden ache blooms in my chest, and it pushes a knot of emotion up into my throat. I swallow hard and try to blink it all away, but the damn thing sticks there. I’m not used to experiencing this many feelings in such rapid succession. I wish they’d all just go away and leave me to wallow in peace.
But between Ryan’s unconditional forgiveness yesterday and Trina’s pride today, I’m starting to realize I’ve buried some things pretty far down. Suddenly, a lot of Dianne’s mantras are starting to make sense. Emotion needs motion. Name the beast. You can’t heal until you face your demons. So many clichés I had passed off as lines she had pulled from various therapist textbooks and regurgitated at me. But she has always been convinced that my depression has been triggered by a need to bury my true feelings and hide from them, that I wouldn’t find real healing until I faced my issues head-on.
I hate to admit it, but I think she might have been right. Because as much as these past few days have hurt, I’m starting to feel lighter. More capable. Like I could take the next problem and deal with it instead of running away, like Charles said. Even if I desperately don’t want to.
“I had a miscarriage,” I blurt out.
Fuck, I need to get better at doing that. For a person who deals with words for a living, I sure don’t know how to talk. Yet this time was somehow easier. I’m getting used to saying it aloud. Maybe that’s part of the healing, too.
Trina’s eyes go wide, and her hand clutches mine on the table. “What? When?”
I clear my throat, determined not to be an awkward mess about the rest of this conversation. “Five years ago. In New York.”
Her entire expression shifts from shock to horror, and I’m suddenly wishing I could melt into myself again. But I take a deep breath and watch her carefully, readying myself to take on whatever emotion comes next.
“You were having a miscarriage when we handed you that deal.” She states it like a fact, then uses her free hand to cover her red-painted mouth. “Holy shit, Scarlett. No wonder. Why didn’t you say anything?”
I shrug. I don’t have an answer for that. Words escape me yet again.
Trina must realize I’m not going to respond because she drops her hand from her mouth to the table. She still hasn’t let go of mine with her other hand. “Ryan’s?”
I nod.
“Does he know?”
“I told him yesterday.”
“Well.” She laughs without an ounce of humor. “You’ve had quite a couple of days, then, haven’t you?”
The smile that breaks my lips open feels like a rainbow after the rain. I should have known a long time ago Trina wouldn’t blanch at this. She is as steadfast and supportive as they come. But I didn’t think I could trust anyone back then. I’m glad I can now.
“Second time in my life that’s been true.” It’s a dry joke, just like hers.
Trina nods thoughtfully, her warm hand still resting on top of mine. “Lots of parallels, I suppose.” When I blink at her in surprise, she winks. “I can be literary, too, you know.”
I laugh, then, and it sounds crackly, but it feels good. Swiping at my eyes, I realize I’ve been crying. When did I turn into such a weeper?
“So, what are you going to do about it this time?” she asks. And here we are, at the precipice of the question she probably called me here to ask. She knows I don’t want to do this again. Our terms were to never rush a release or have another press tour like that.
Chewing on my bottom lip, I meet her gaze and hold it. If I’m going to say this, I want to be looking her in the eyes when I do, facing it head-on.
“I don’t think I can do it.”
She studies me for a moment, then her red lips twist into a sad smile and she nods slowly, as if she knew already. “I’m so sorry.”
I flip my hand over so I can squeeze hers. “Me, too.”
“I came here with a plan to wiggle out of your contract with Anastasios and pitch this book to a bunch of other houses, but…do you want to hear it?”
Another editor and another campaign and another risk? I shake my head. “I don’t think I’m in the right place for that right now.” I watch Trina try to hide her disappointment for a minute, then I add, “That’s not a never . It’s a not right now .”
“That’s fair,” she begrudgingly admits. “What will you do?”
Sighing, I look out the window in front of me. People walk back and forth, laughing and enjoying the sunshine. Spring in Chicago is wonderful like that. All of a sudden, the cold breaks and everyone sheds their outer layers. For months, people talk about how nice the weather is and how wonderful it is to be outside again after the bitter cold of winter. I want to be those people. I want to walk in the sunshine and talk about simple things and be happy.
Can I be happy without writing?
“I don’t know,” I say honestly. It’s an answer to both of our questions, and it’s the best I can do right now.
“You’ll figure it out,” Trina says.
I hope she’s right.
Trina and I chat for another hour or so. The door is open now, so she asks me more about everything that happened five years ago. I tell her some things, but she reads me pretty well and changes the subject when I get uncomfortable. It’s nice having a friend to talk to. I guess that’s what we are now—just friends. Even if my royalties still pay for her groceries.
When we finish our coffees, we part ways. I check my phone on the way back to my apartment to see four missed calls and no voicemails. Three are from Ryan, but one is from a number I haven’t seen in a long time. I stop in the middle of the sidewalk and stare at it for a minute until someone bumps into me, and I move nearer to a building so I’m out of the way.
It couldn’t have been a mistake. She hasn’t called me in five years, whether on purpose or otherwise. I never thought I’d hear from her again, and suddenly, I desperately need to know why she called. With a heaping dose of false confidence in my own ability to keep it together, I touch the number and bring the phone to my ear. It rings once before she answers, like she’s been waiting for me to call back.
“Scarlett?”
“Mandy?” Her voice is unmistakable, but I still can’t believe it. That feeling of watching myself live my life is back because it doesn’t seem real that I could be talking to my former best friend after five years of silence.
“Holy shit,” she breathes out. She sounds relieved. “Are you okay?”
Where was this concern years ago when I was going through the absolute hardest part of my life alone? If I had any energy left after the day I’ve had, I’d shout all of the creative obscenities I’ve been saving up over the years. But right now, the best I can muster is curiosity. “What do you mean?”
She launches into her questions at about a mile a minute. “I saw that post and all the comments. You’re publishing again? Was this some kind of marketing ploy? I’m guessing no because it’s not like you. Were you supposed to use your name? Who outed you? Did Ryan find you?”
“Whoa,” I interrupt her. “Slow down. Where is this coming from?”
Taking a deep breath, she starts again, calmer this time. “That post of you and Ryan at that coffee shop. It’s all over social media. But it felt weird, you know? I took that picture. I remember going with you guys and taking a bunch for you to use and you posted that one. So, I guessed something wasn’t right, and I wanted to…” She trails off.
“You wanted to what, Mandy? Get a front-row seat to the show?” Even I can hear the bitterness in my voice, but I decide to lean into it. If everyone who has ever wronged me wants a piece of me today, I guess they can each have a small one until there’s nothing left.
“No.” She sounds frustrated. “Listen, you’re not going to believe me, and that’s fine. I wouldn’t expect you to. But after the last time we talked, I thought a lot about our conversation. It haunted me, you know? I was wrong. Ryan called looking for you, and that was when I realized you’d left. I wanted to apologize but…I didn’t know if you would have answered.”
“I wouldn’t have. I really needed you, and you acted like a bitch.” I hadn’t meant to say it quite so bluntly, but no matter what I had said, the sentiment would have been the same.
“Yes,” she admits, though it sounds like it pains her. “I did. I’m sorry. I think…” She trails off, then makes a frustrated noise. “I was so jealous of you. There I was, after two years with a book on submission, signing with a small press. And you…well, you know what you had. It never even crossed my mind that you weren’t happy. How could you not have been?”
“It would seem a lot of people had that exact same question,” I say drily.
“Right. But you get so scared when you sign that first deal, you know? It all feels so tenuous, like it could fall apart at any minute. You get people telling you to behave, watch what you say and who you’re with—”
I let out a low growl and start walking again. Something about standing still and rehashing old shit feels unbearable. “I don’t really need to hear all over again about how my life was perfect and I had no reason to be upset, Mandy. I’ve spent years unlearning all of that.”
“I know,” she interrupts. “I know. That’s why I finally called you. You were never the problem. The industry is the problem. JMP was the problem. I…” She coughs. “I was the problem. And I get it if you never want to talk to me again. But please believe me when I say the only reason I called was to see if you’re okay.”
A beat of silence passes while I walk and think of what to say. When I come up to my building, I open the front door and get into the elevator. “I was, eventually. And now I’m not. But…the darkness doesn’t get to take over anymore, you know? I will be okay again.”
That’s all I can give her. As lonely as I’ve been and as much as I want my friends back, the hurt she caused is still very real. It’s going to take time for her to earn my trust again.
When the elevator doors open on my floor, I peer down the hallway. A figure is sitting across from my door, silhouetted by the afternoon light coming in from the window at the end of the corridor. He’s leaning his head against the wall and resting his arms against his legs, which are bent at the knee and folded up near his chest. The sunlight glints off his glasses, but as soon as he turns his head to see me, he folds his long limbs under him and jumps up to face me.
“Hey,” I say into the phone. “I have to go.”
“Okay.” Mandy sounds defeated but maybe also a little hopeful. “Can we…talk again sometime?”
I could lie. I could reject her outright and say something hurtful so she can get a taste of her own medicine. But despite what people might think, I never wanted to hurt anyone. I only ever wanted to protect myself.
“Yeah, maybe,” I say as Ryan locks eyes with me from where he stands. “I’ll call you.” I don’t wait for her to say goodbye before I hang up. But it isn’t long before I break eye contact with him and walk up to my door to unlock it.
“I’m kind of peopled-out today,” I tell him as I open my door. He follows me inside, and I sigh as I close the door behind us. Suddenly unbearably tired, it takes a lot of effort to face him, but I do.
He looks haggard. His dark hair is standing up at all angles, which is clearly the work of his worried hands. His glasses are smudged, so he’s probably been rubbing his eyes. His clothes are rumpled, too, which makes me wonder how long he’s been sitting on the cold floor of my apartment hallway.
“I needed to see you.”
I walk past him to toss my keys and purse on a chair. “Why? Figured I flew the coop again?” God, when the fuck did I get so angry? If anyone had asked me even two days ago, I’d have said anger was never my primary emotion—at least it hasn’t been since I was bleeding in a hotel room in New York—but it sure feels like it is now.
Ryan steps closer but doesn’t touch me. I don’t know what would hurt more, having his hands on me or not, so I stand right where I am and decide to let him make the first move.
“Are you going to leave again?” He whispers the words as if speaking them any louder would summon a repeat of the same curse that came upon us last time.
I huff and look to the side, unable to meet his eyes again. “Depends on what you mean by ‘leave.’”
Like a switch has flipped, his long fingers circle around my biceps as if holding on to me could keep me from disappearing before his very eyes. “Scarlett, no—”
“I can’t do it, Ryan.” I also can’t listen to his pleas. If he begs me to keep writing, I might give in. For this man, who has seen the worst of me and loves me both in spite and because of it, I’d do anything.
“Don’t leave me again.” His voice is deep, husky. It’s a command and a prayer, and he’s looking at me like I’m the goddess who could answer both.
“I couldn’t,” I say. “But I can’t see any way out of this with all the pieces of me intact, either.”
He drops his hands and takes a step back from me, and the loss of contact is so unexpected, I gasp. But the look on his face is one of pure devastation. He shakes his head slowly as he says, “You’re pulling the book.”
Straightening my spine, I feign the confidence I need to get through this. “I have to. I won’t survive another round. And please don’t tell me it’ll be different this time. It doesn’t matter.”
Ryan’s expression hardens, and fear settles deep in my gut. Despite all the reassurances—that I am more than my books, that he loves me for who I am and not what I write, that he’ll stay by my side no matter what—my books have never truly been off the table. When words and souls and bodies are so wrapped up that you don’t know where one ends and the other begins, what happens if one of those is untangled? Does the whole thing unravel?
“The world needs this book.” His voice is firm. “You’re not going to let some asshole win, are you? This won’t last forever. They’ll convince JMP that signing you was a good move, and then it’ll be over.”
“It’s more than just what Charles did.” I sink into an empty chair. “You and I both know that once they realize how much they can make if I play along, they’ll never let me rest again. We like to tell ourselves that it’s about the art, not the money. And that’s true to some extent…until someone makes a bunch of the latter.” I turn my gaze up to meet his again, needing him to understand. “I loved writing all my books, Ryan. They’re all pieces of me, and the fact that each one of them has gone through you in one way or another only makes them more special. But I can’t take part in another money-making scheme that involves these books I love so much. It won’t make me happy. I want to be happy.”
I turn my eyes to him, internally pleading for him to understand. All I’ve ever wanted was to exist with my words. With him. I can’t do that with so many other people in the mix. And I certainly can’t do that when I’m not actually with him, when I’m traveling the country living for phone calls and counting sleeps.
Ryan falls to his knees in front of me. He cups my face with his hands, and I have no choice but to look right into his brown eyes. “You’re a writer. You’re the best damn writer I’ve ever worked with. You cannot let Charles Hall take that away from you.”
“I’m not letting him take anything,” I counter. “I’m making a very conscious decision to keep it for myself.”
He shakes his head again, narrowing his eyes. “Then don’t let him take it away from the rest of the world who needs it.”
“From the rest of the world? Or from you?”
Ryan flinches, and his fingers go stiff where they rest at my temples, but he doesn’t say anything.
“I’m not leaving you. I already told you that. But I think you need to decide if you can be with a different version of me. One who isn’t a best-selling author. One who is messier than maybe you even thought, given everything we talked about yesterday. Because that’s all I have to offer.” I take a deep breath. “This is me, and this is what I need. And I know now that I’m worth more than my job, but instead of supporting this decision, you’re yet again ignoring what this is going to do to me and begging me to make the best of the cards I’m being dealt. For what? For some anonymous audience who might feel something when they read my books? Or for you? Because this stopped being about me the minute they mentioned book clubs and tours and saving their own asses, and you know it.”
“It’s not about me,” he says, but I’m not convinced. “Where is the Scarlett who told Charles where he could shove it earlier today? You’re stronger than this. I know you are.”
“This is strength, Ryan. I need to be strong enough to recognize that no matter what I do, this is going to keep happening. And then, I need to be strong enough to walk away and stay away.”
“No,” he says quietly, disappointment stretching the word and making it linger in the space between us. He rocks back on his heels and drops his hands to my knees. “I don’t believe this is what you truly want.”
I throw my hands up. “Of course this isn’t what I want!” I exclaim. “All I’ve ever wanted is to write my little books and live my life and love you. Things just keep getting bigger and bigger without any input from me. I can’t write myself out of this one.”
Ryan jumps to his feet. “Yes, you can.” He punctuates each word with a point of his finger at me. “I saw you take Charles down about five pegs today. I was going to jump in and help, but you didn’t even need me. You weren’t going to let him have any satisfaction. I saw a fire in you that I haven’t seen in so long. But it’s still there. You still have it. Stoke those flames, Scarlett. Take the life you want. Grab it and make it yours.”
I stand, too. Somehow, it seems better to be standing when you shout at someone. “That’s not how any of this works! This doesn’t have a happy ending. I might have taken him down a peg, but Charles got what he wanted. And one way or another, Anastasios will get what he wants, too. Because I’ll either go along with his plan or I’ll be out of his hair. The only agency I have here is to choose between two bad options, so I’m going to choose the one that saves at least a part of me ”—my voice cracks on the word—“not the words I wrote on a page.”
He stiffens suddenly and runs a hand through his hair. Letting out a forceful breath, he drops his arm back to his side. “You are more than your words,” he says quietly. “I’ve told you that before, and I meant it. I’ll love you forever; I meant that, too. But this isn’t how it ends, Scarlett. Charles won’t win. He doesn’t deserve it.” His eyes meet mine, and I can’t help feeling like it seems final. “But you do. Be strong enough to take it back.”
Without another word, he stalks to the door, opens it, and leaves.