19. Leslie A Reluctant Alliance
Leslie: A Reluctant Alliance
The morning light filters through the curtains, too bright for the way I feel.
I groan and burrow deeper under the covers, squeezing my eyes shut. My limbs feel like dead weight, my head still fogged from everything that happened last night. The text. Amanda’s cryptic words. The fact that Reeves’ name appeared on her phone.
And Kyle.
I exhale shakily and shift slightly. The scent of lavender and vanilla wraps around me, familiar and comforting. Grace’s bed. Right. She made me sleep here last night, claiming the couch for herself. Something about how I “needed the extra comfort.”
The mattress dips beside me, and then a warm hand tugs at the blanket covering my face. “Rise and shine, sleeping beauty.”
I groan again, clutching the fabric tighter. “Go away.”
Grace ignores me and pries the blanket down until my face is exposed to the world. “No can do. You’ve been in bed long enough.”
I peek at her through one eye. She’s grinning, dressed in her favorite oversized hoodie, her dark curls a wild mess. “Seriously, Les. You need to get up.”
I shake my head. “Nope. Not happening.”
She sighs dramatically. “Fine. You leave me no choice.”
Before I can react, she dives at me, fingers digging into my sides.
I shriek and jolt up, writhing as laughter bursts out of me. “Grace! Stop—stop! I swear to God—”
“Not until you get up!” she sings, tickling me mercilessly.
I thrash against the blankets, gasping between breathless giggles. “I—I hate you!”
“Lies.” She grins, relentless. “Come on, say it. ‘Grace, you are the best best friend ever, and I am eternally grateful for your existence.’”
I wheeze. “Never.”
She presses her advantage, fingers finding the most ticklish spots.
“Okay!” I gasp, surrendering. “Grace, you are the best best friend ever, and I am—oh my God, stop!”
She finally pulls back, looking way too pleased with herself. “See? That wasn’t so hard.”
I collapse against the pillows, catching my breath. “You suck.”
She smirks. “But you love me.”
I roll my eyes but can’t fight the small smile tugging at my lips.
Then her gaze softens. “You okay?”
The playful moment fades, and reality creeps back in. The weight in my chest returns, heavy and suffocating.
I swallow, looking away. “I don’t know.”
Grace nudges my knee with hers. “We’ll figure it out, Les. You’re not alone in this.”
I inhale deeply, nodding, even if I’m not sure I believe it.
A knock at the front door startles us both.
Grace sighs. “That better not be my landlord. I already told him the plumbing is fine.” She gets up and pads toward the living room.
I listen as she unlocks the door, then hear Mia’s voice—soft but firm. “Morning.”
Grace calls out, “Les, it’s Mia!”
I push the blanket off and drag myself out of bed, my limbs still heavy. When I step into the living room, Mia is standing near the couch, takeaway coffee in one hand, her bag slung over her shoulder. She looks me over, eyes full of quiet concern.
“You look like you need this,” she says, holding the cup out.
I take it, the warmth seeping into my fingers. “Thanks.”
Grace flops onto the couch, tucking her legs under her. “I called in sick today,” she announces casually. “You’re stuck with me.”
I frown, sinking onto the armrest. “Grace, you didn’t have to—”
“Please.” She waves me off. “Like I was going to leave you alone when half of SMG is probably still talking about you.”
Mia checks her phone, sighs, then tucks it into her bag. “I need to head to the office, but I wanted to check on you first.”
“I’m fine,” I lie.
Grace snorts.
Mia’s gaze sharpens. “I’m still looking into Amanda. But . . . I think we should consider —”
I brace myself. “What?”
She hesitates. “Telling Kyle.”
A sharp, bitter laugh escapes me. “Right. Because he was so supportive last time.”
“I know,” she says quickly. “But if Amanda is involved, he needs to know. He has resources, Leslie.”
I shake my head. “He’s not going to believe me.”
Mia exchanges a look with Grace before standing. “Maybe. But I think Daniel might.”
Something in her tone makes me pause. I frown, narrowing my eyes at Mia. “Don’t do anything stupid.”
Mia lifts a brow, feigning innocence. “Who, me?”
“Yes, you,” I say flatly. “I know that look. Whatever you’re thinking, just . . . don’t make things worse.”
She sighs, then softens. “I won’t. Just . . . try to keep an open mind, okay?”
Before I can say anything, she’s already heading for the door. “I’ll see you later,” she calls over her shoulder.
Grace locks the door behind her and turns to me, clapping her hands. “Okay. What do you want to do first? Sit here and mope? Or do something to take your mind off things?”
I sigh, running a hand through my hair. “I don’t know, Grace. I—”
She cuts me off by tossing a game controller into my lap. “Too bad. We’re playing.”
I catch it, blinking at her. “Seriously?”
“Unless you’d rather sit there and overthink everything.”
I glance at my phone again, my stomach twisting. Kyle called yesterday, and I let it ring. Now, the silence stretches, taunting me. I tell myself I don’t care if he calls again. But a small, stubborn part of me keeps checking—just in case.
“Fine,” I mumble, tossing my phone aside and shifting into a more comfortable position. “But don’t cry when I destroy you.”
Grace grins. “Sweetheart, I never lose.”
***
An hour later, I have lost.
Twice.
Grace is laughing as she collects our plates from the coffee table. “Damn, Leslie. I thought you were supposed to be competitive.”
I groan, tossing my controller aside. “I am—just not today.”
She shakes her head. “Alright, that’s enough. We need food.”
I glance at the kitchen. “We literally just ate.”
She shrugs. “So? Let’s cook something.”
I stare at her. “Grace, what is this? A distraction technique?”
“Absolutely.” She grins. “Now, get your ass up.”
***
Cooking helps.
It gives me something to focus on other than the storm in my head. Grace chatters away, making bad jokes and tossing flour at me like we’re in some ridiculous rom-com.
For a little while, I almost feel normal.
Almost.
Then her phone rings.
She glances at the screen, her expression shifting.
Before I can ask, she stands and steps away, pressing the phone to her ear. “Hello?”
I pretend not to be listening, stirring the sauce in front of me.
Her voice drops lower. “Yeah. Now?” A pause. “No, fine. Was just—” Another pause. “Alright. I’ll see you soon.”
I turn off the stove just as she hangs up. “Who was that?”
Grace hesitates. “Just . . . someone from work.”
I narrow my eyes. “Didn’t you call in sick?”
She gives me an innocent look. “And yet, they still have my number.”
I don’t buy it.
But before I can push, she claps her hands together. “Finish up, Leslie. You’re getting dressed.”
I blink. “What?”
She grins. “We’re going out.”
***
I don’t realize where we’re going until we step into the restaurant.
And I see him.
Kyle.
Sitting at a table in the corner. Next to Daniel.
I stop so fast Grace nearly walks into me. “Grace,” I hiss. “What the hell?”
She gives me a nervous smile and grabs my wrist. “Just—come on.”
I dig my heels in. “You lied to me.”
“I technically omitted information.”
I shoot her a murderous look.
She sighs. “Fine. Daniel called me. He got my number from Mia.”
My stomach knots. “Why?”
She hesitates, then exhales. “Mia told him we think Amanda is behind everything, but we don’t have proof. He wanted to talk.”
My stomach knots. “And you didn’t think to mention that Kyle would be here?”
“I didn’t know!” she says quickly. “I swear.”
My pulse pounds in my ears.
I should leave. Turn around and walk out before I let Kyle rip me apart again.
But then Daniel stands, catching sight of us. He nudges Kyle, then walks over, his expression unreadable. “Leslie.”
I cross my arms. “Daniel.”
He gestures toward the table. “Sit.”
I hesitate. Then Kyle turns his head, and our eyes meet. He looks tired. The dark circles under his eyes make him look like he hasn’t been sleeping for days.
For a second, neither of us moves.
Something flickers in his gaze—something raw. But I don’t let myself fall for it.
Not again.
Daniel nudges me toward the seat across from Kyle. Then he places a hand on Grace’s back and steers her toward another table.
Leaving us. Alone.
I exhale sharply and slide into the chair, keeping my spine stiff. “I don’t know what you want, but—”
“I was wrong.”
I freeze.
Kyle’s voice is quiet. Firm.
But not cold, not like before.
“I was wrong to doubt you,” he says, his gaze never leaving mine. “And even more wrong to push you away.”
Something clenches in my chest.
I want to believe him.
God, I want to.
But the memory of that conference room—of his doubt, his silence—claws its way back up.
I shake my head. “Kyle—”
“I didn’t know what to believe,” he says, his voice rough. “Everything was happening so fast, and I—” He exhales sharply. “I was scared.”
That shocks me.
Kyle Donovan, scared?
I blink, caught off guard. “Of what?”
His jaw tightens. “Of being wrong about you.”
I don’t realize I’m holding my breath until I feel my lungs burn.
I look down at my hands, at the way they tremble slightly against the table.
“I don’t know if I can forgive you for that,” I whisper.
A muscle in his jaw twitches. “I know.”
Silence stretches between us.
The restaurant buzzes with quiet conversations, the clinking of silverware, the hum of low music.
But at our table, it’s just us.
Kyle clears his throat. “Eat, Leslie.”
I hesitate.
Then, slowly, I pick up my fork.
We eat in silence. But my mind isn’t silent.
It’s screaming.
Because a part of me—no matter how much I try to fight it—is starting to soften.
Starting to want to believe him.
But then I remember. I remember standing in that conference room, waiting for him to defend me.
And I remember how he didn’t.
I swallow hard, setting my fork down.
Kyle watches me, waiting.
I meet his gaze.
And then, quietly—almost gently—I say the words I know will hurt him.
“It’s too late.”
His expression barely changes. But his eyes?
They shatter.