The Ballad of Darcy and Russell

Chapter 8

Two years ago, at the Raven Rock community pool, I’d fallen asleep in the shade on one of the loungers. Apparently, this made me an irresistible target. Didi had bought a jumbo cup of ice water from the concession counter, and she and Katy decided to wake me up by dribbling little drops on me.

And that’s what they were doing until a kid ran past and bumped into Didi. She stumbled forward, and the entire cup of ice water was thrown on me. I’d woken at once, gasping and confused.

I had the same feeling now—startled and shaky, shocked out of a dream and back to reality with a jolt. Except now, I was not on a lounge chair at our community pool.

I was in Wylie Sanders’s helicopter, flying toward Vegas.

I stared at my reflection in the helicopter window, meeting my own eyes in the darkness.

What had I been doing? Who had I thought I was? It was like I didn’t even recognize the me from the last few hours. I wasn’t a character in a book or a movie, but I’d pretended like I was. I’d just decided that I was having a perfect night and that this was the moment—and the guy—I’d been waiting for.

But none of it had been true—and things like that didn’t happen in real life.

Because Russell had been lying to me, practically from the moment we’d met.

I glanced across the helicopter—he was in the seat opposite me. But then I immediately looked away again, my throat feeling tight. This was beyond humiliation. This was something I was pretty sure I’d never felt before—and never wanted to again.

I was cycling through shame, anger, embarrassment—then returning back to shame in a loop that was really a lot of fun for me. I had been about to sleep with this person—this stranger who had lied to me, over and over again.

Wylie Sanders.

Wylie Sanders was Russell’s dad.

It explained so much—inconsistencies and red flags that I just hadn’t wanted to see. It explained why he didn’t have a bag or a tent with him. It explained the lack of a bracelet and the Tom Ford T-shirt and going to bars in Paris. It even explained Jeopardy!.

It was why his pool game sounded so familiar—it was a line in “Saturday Night Falls.” Kids playing Brontosaurus in the pool / hear the laughter slowly grow. It wasn’t just déjà vu—I knew about it because his dad had sung a song about it.

I closed my eyes as all the things I’d said to Russell flashed through my head, like a montage whose theme was humiliation. I thought about the way I’d gushed to him about Wylie Sanders—how great he was, how much his music meant to me. How important it was to me and my dad. The personal memories I’d shared, not realizing he’d probably been secretly laughing at me the whole time. I cringed as I thought about the way I’d proudly put on my dad’s sweatshirt, understanding now why Russell had wanted me to take it off.

And all at once, I remembered what I’d said about his dad’s personal life. How it was a train wreck—how Wylie Sanders had so many different kids with so many different women. I hadn’t said anything that was untrue—but I’d said these things to his son. I could feel the creeping humiliation of being caught out, like in eighth grade when I’d been complaining in the bathroom to Didi about my lab partner—only to have her emerge from the stall, having heard everything.

I saw that Russell was mouthing something to me. We’d both been given headsets when we got on the helicopter and had been instructed to press the button on the side if we wanted to say anything, and be heard—it was too loud to understand anyone otherwise.

I shook my head at him, glad that I had this barrier, at least until we landed. If I didn’t press the button, he wouldn’t be able to talk to me. Wouldn’t be able to try and lie to me again, and I wouldn’t be tempted to believe it. I stared out the window, rubbing my arms—it was really cold in the helicopter. My sweatshirt was in my bag, but there was no way I was putting that on now. I hadn’t even wanted to be on this helicopter, and I’d told Russell that. But when it came down to it, I didn’t have much of a choice.

As he’d promised, once Russell talked to his dad—to Wylie Sanders—things started to move quickly. Suddenly, some lawyer was calling the hotel, followed shortly by some PR woman calling on the other line to see what could be done about this. Would the Silver Standard like a signed photo? A case of Sanders Vineyards champagne, or maybe some samples from the new tequila line? A shout-out on Instagram?

It started to become clear that we weren’t going to be hauled off to the police station—at least, not at the moment. And only a few minutes earlier, that would have made me incredibly happy. And while I was still relieved not to be going to jail, it felt like everything was tainted now.

When I’d gotten the all-clear to leave—Lily had insisted that Russell and I write down our contact information and had photocopied our licenses, something I didn’t love but didn’t see a way around—I’d grabbed my bag, headed straight for the automatic hotel doors, and walked out into the night.

It was getting colder, my hair was still very wet, and I felt myself shiver as I looked around, trying to trace my steps back, find the most direct path to the bus station. I was teetering on the verge of some combination of hyperventilating or crying—potentially both simultaneously.

I just wanted to go home.

I wanted to curl up in my bed and pull the covers over me and let this all become a bad dream. I wanted to be back in a place where things made sense, where my life was quiet and boring again. Where I wasn’t in the middle of nowhere in Nevada, trying to grapple with feelings that kept hitting me in waves, like I was caught in the ocean, unable to swim past the breakers.

“Wait,” Russell had called, running out of the hotel after me, his voice raw. “Darcy!”

“What.”I wheeled around on him, my voice catching in my throat. “What can you possibly—”

“My dad’s lawyers.” He held out his phone to me. “They need to talk to you.”

“Oh.” I took the phone from him—noting that it was almost completely charged—and had a brief conversation with a paralegal named Sarah, who seemed remarkably awake and focused, given that it was getting late on a Sunday night. She told me that someone named C.J. would need just a smidge of my time when we got to the compound. Then she’d hung up and I’d handed Russell his phone back.

“C.J.,” I said, folding my arms over my chest, “apparently needs to circle up with us when we get to the compound.”

“Uh—yeah,” Russell said. He ran his hands through his hair. It was drying funny, sticking up in places, and only twenty minutes ago I would have found it beyond endearing. “They want to talk to us, make sure everyone is clear on details in case the Silver Standard decides to press charges.”

I nodded, even though just hearing press charges was enough to make me feel wobbly. Instead, I focused on the other part of my conversation with Sarah. “What’s the compound?”

Russell sighed and looked at the ground. We were standing outside the front doors of the Silver Standard, the same place where, not that long ago, he’d kissed me as easily as anything. And now, everything was broken into pieces all around us.

“It’s my dad’s place in Vegas. He got it when he started his residency there. It’s outside of town—half an hour from the Strip.”

“And they expect me to go there?”

“My dad—” Russell started, then shook his head. “He’s sending a helicopter for us.” His voice was small.

The automatic doors opened, and stayed that way for a hopeful beat, before sliding closed again. When this happened a second time, I realized we must be in front of the sensor and walked to the side.

“I’m not going anywhere with you.”

Russell took a step back, looking like I’d slapped him. “Darcy—”

“You lied to me!” I didn’t know I was going to yell this until I was already doing it. “You told me your phone was dead—that your name was Russell Henrion—” I stopped suddenly, realizing what I’d just heard. “Did you say helicopter?”

So even though I hadn’t wanted to be there, I also didn’t want to have charges pressed against me for trespassing. I figured I would go talk to C.J., charge my phone, and then head to the bus station in Las Vegas. I still had my ticket and might even be able to get back to LA sooner now. And if not, I’d just wait there until I could get the first bus home. I had been planning on waiting all night at the bus station in Jesse, after all. So it’s not like it made much difference. I knew it wasn’t a great plan, but it was all I had, and I was clinging to it tight.

When the helicopter arrived, it touched down near the abandoned gas station—perhaps not surprisingly, the Jesse, Nevada, bus station was not outfitted with a helipad. I’d gone back in to get my things—they were still right where I’d left them under the bench. As I’d looked around, it felt like years, not just hours, had passed since I’d been there. Too much had changed for everything in it to look exactly the same, for the vending machine light to still be flickering on and off.

The couple who’d been watching the movie were asleep, curled up together under an unzipped sleeping bag. Sunburned Bald Man was still sleeping, and as I looked at him, I realized that he’d had the right idea all along. I should have followed his lead, just conked out on one of the benches and waited out my time until morning. I shouldn’t have ventured beyond my comfort zone. I should have just stayed put.

But you had fun, Katy whispered.

I hadn’t wanted to think about that, so I just grabbed the tent and my duffel and went outside to wait for the helicopter.

The pilot—Scott—had been cheerful and unfazed, like he was just always picking up teenagers in the middle of nowhere, late at night. And who knows, maybe he was. If anything had become clear to me in the last half hour, it was that I didn’t know Russell at all. Scott had told us how to duck our heads to avoid the propellers, and once we were on board, had made sure we were buckled in. He explained about the headphones, and that we should be landing in twenty minutes.

Quite an upgrade for someone who couldn’t afford an Uber, Didi had pointed out.

And in regular circumstances, I would have been really excited to ride in a helicopter for the first time. Especially this helicopter—the seats were soft dark-blue leather with a WS monogram stitched into all of them. But I just sat up straight with my legs twined around each other, trying to take up as little space as I could, staring out the window and willing us to land as soon as possible.

I felt someone tap my knee, and looked over to see Russell trying to get my attention, saying something I couldn’t hear.

All at once, I flashed back to the pool, to his hands on my bare skin—my fingers, running over the ridges of his abs—the feel of him pressing against me as we kissed. I felt my face flood with heat, remembering what we’d done, what I’d said.

I’d told him that I was a virgin. I told him I’d been waiting for him. I told him about not getting into anywhere except two schools—I’d even told him about my brisket food poisoning. I’d opened myself up to him, had shown him my whole heart, assuming all the while he was doing the same. Never dreaming that he was hiding things from me, that he had his own agenda.

How could I have been so stupid?

Well…,Didi started.

You weren’t stupid!Katy interrupted. You were just taking a chance.

Russell tapped his headphones again, and I finally turned them on.

“What.”

“Darcy, listen,” he said in a rush. It was disconcerting, to hear him like that, right in my ear. “I’m really sorry. I shouldn’t have lied to you. I know that. I just…”

“Was it all just a game to you?” I wanted to sound tough and cool, but this failed spectacularly, and my voice started to shake three words in. “Were you trying to trick me?”

“No.”Russell closed his eyes for just a moment. “I just wanted to be me for once. Not Wylie Sanders’s kid. Not someone with all that baggage. I’ve never just gotten to be anonymous before tonight.”

“But you weren’t anonymous.” I hugged my arms, because I was cold and because it felt like I was slowly coming apart. “You told me your name was Russell Henrion and that your dad was a structural engineer.”

“It’s a family name,” he said quietly. “And I know I didn’t tell you about my dad, but—”

“But what? That’s not a little detail you forget to mention. It’s not like my dad’s in advertising, and instead, I told you he’s in marketing. What your dad does is a big fucking deal.”

“Yes,” Russell said, pointing at me. “Exactly. That’s just what I’m talking about! The second anyone knows, it changes everything and I hate it. It’s been my whole life, everyone having ideas about who I am before they’ve even met me. I never know how they actually feel about me.” He took a shaky breath. “I mean you had my dad’s face on your sweatshirt. You were telling me what a big fan you are. He’s inescapable. It’s like this shadow I’ve never been able to get out of. And tonight I thought… I guess I just wanted to see if you actually liked me.”

“Well, at some point I think that was clear,” I said. “I was going to sleep with you!”

“Guys, just jumping in here,” Scott the pilot said, sounding uncomfortable. “Wanted to let you know I’m also on this channel and can hear this whole conversation. I’m switching to channel two; we should be landing in ten minutes.”

“Thanks, Scott,” Russell said faintly.

“Thank you,” I echoed, wondering if maybe tonight was some kind of simulation just to see how much mortification one human being could take before they literally exploded or went mad.

“I was going to tell you,” Russell said after a moment.

“When?”

“In the pool, right before the security guard showed up.”

“Oh, that’s very convenient.”

“It’s true!”

“But I can’t believe anything you’re telling me!” I yelled, and I felt tears prick my eyes.

Something in his face crumpled, and he looked out the window. I hated that he still looked so cute, that the sight of his inside-out T-shirt was making my heart hurt. I hated that I’d opened myself up to him, only to be slapped back down again.

“I don’t understand about the phone,” I said after a few moments of silence. “Why did you tell me that your phone was also dead when it was working?”

Russell looked over at me, then down at his sneakers, one of which, I saw now, was untied. “I just…” he said, mostly to his shoes. “I thought that maybe if we were in the same situation, we could just… hang out. I never expected anything like what we had, Darcy. And then you were so great, and we were having so much fun, and I… I shouldn’t have done it,” he said quietly. “And I’m sorry.”

We banked slightly to the right, and suddenly there they were—the lights of Las Vegas. I’d been once before, when my dad had a conference when I was eight. Mostly what I remembered was riding the roller coaster at New York-New York, and the circus-themed hotel we’d stayed at.

But I’d never seen it like this—from the air, the sudden, dazzling brightness of it. We flew past the city, the lights dimming behind us.

“Um—Darcy?” I looked over at Russell, who was twisting his hands together. “Couldn’t it be like the Ship of Theseus? Just like we talked about—the essence stays the same, right? You know something new about me, but the me you met is still the same. Could you maybe think of it like that?”

For half a second, I hesitated. Maybe—if I squinted—I could somehow return to the movie I’d been pretending we were in. But a moment later, I came back to reality. The bubble we were in had burst. I was awake now, and finally seeing things clearly.

“No,” I said, and his face fell. “I was totally open with you—completely honest, and—”

“Really,” he said. He didn’t phrase it like a question. “You don’t seem to want to talk about Stanwich, or why you’re going there. You keep changing the subject. Why?”

I drew back against the seat. “That’s my business,” I said hotly. “Maybe I don’t want to talk about everything—”

“And there it is,” Russell said, pointing at me. “You can be mad at me if you want—I deserve it. But don’t pretend that you were some open book tonight.”

I knew that what he was saying was true, which just made me even more irritated. “Fine,” I said, shaking my head. “Whatever. But we can just drop this, okay? There’s no point.”

“What—what do you mean?”

“I mean I’ll talk to this lawyer because I don’t want to get arrested. But then I’m leaving.”

“Where are you going?”

“I’ll go to the bus station in Vegas and get back home.”

“You can’t just leave. We have to—”

“What?” I snapped. I wished we weren’t still talking about this. It was hard for me to hold on to just how hurt and betrayed I felt when he was looking across at me earnestly, his eyebrows drawn together. But he had lied to me and manipulated me. I’d been vulnerable with him, and had gotten practically naked with him, and had been a heartbeat away from sleeping with him. And the whole time, he had been keeping things from me. I couldn’t let those facts slip away, no matter how regretful he suddenly seemed now. “Why are we even doing this? What’s the point?”

“The point? The point is—we like each other. Right?”

I felt something in my resolve start to crack, and I tried to ignore it. The who cares Darcy of an hour ago was gone. If Russell still thought we were in a story where everything was fated, meant to be, and all worked out in the end, well, that was a him problem.

“This,” I said, gesturing between us, “is done. We don’t need to keep…” I shook my head. “I’ll talk to this lawyer and then I’ll be out of your hair, and we can just pretend this never happened.”

“But I don’t want to do that.”

“Well, I do.”

Russell took a breath, like he was going to say something, but then just sat back against his seat, his dad’s initials emblazoned above his head. He was looking at me like he’d never seen me before, like he didn’t know me—which wasn’t inaccurate. I’d only known him for a handful of hours, after all.

So you were presenting a selective version of yourself,Katy pointed out. Isn’t that what you’re getting mad at him for?

“Wow.”

“What?”

“It’s just—really that black and white with you? All or nothing?”

I wrapped my arms around myself, not loving that he’d pinpointed what Didi and Katy—and my dad—were always saying. I took a breath to respond just as the helicopter seemed to stop. We hovered in the air for a moment, then started to descend.

We touched down, the noise in the cabin lessened, and when Russell took his headphones off, I took mine off too. I ran my hand through my still pool-damp hair, but I knew it was probably a lost cause.

I leaned out the window to try to see where we were just as Scott the pilot opened the door and motioned us out. Russell gestured for me to leave first. This would have charmed me an hour ago, but now it just made me roll my eyes. I ducked my head as I stepped off and walked out, even though it seemed like the propeller blades were slowing way down.

When I cleared the helicopter, I straightened up and looked around.

We had landed on the top of a building, even though it only seemed like it was one or two stories. I could see that there was a WS painted in the center of a circle on the helipad, in the same font as had been stitched into the seats.

WSfor Wylie Sanders. I had just arrived at a rock star’s house. And my determination to be unfazed by any of this went out the window as I looked around and was immediately fazed.

As I tried to take it all in—not easy—I understood why Sarah the paralegal had called this a compound. Because house really wouldn’t have been enough to fit all that was in front of me. There was a second building a ways away from the building I was currently standing on top of, and this seemed to be the main structure. It was an enormous, sprawling mansion, two stories, all glass and weathered wood. There was a huge pool, and the entire property was ringed with palm trees. It looked like most of the lights in the main building were on, the light spilling out onto the massive lawn that I just hoped was artificial grass—because Vegas. Behind the main house were a series of smaller structures that looked like they had been constructed to resemble mini versions of the bigger house. I had no idea what they were, but there were five of them. Guesthouses? I was just gobsmacked by the scale of it all—our whole house in Raven Rock probably could have fit into this helipad, with room to spare.

“Hello!” I turned around and saw two people standing just off the helipad—one guy, one girl, both in their twenties. They were both wearing khakis and half-zip black pullovers that had WS stitched on them in the same font from the helicopter and helipad. “Hey, Rusty,” the guy said to Russell, as the girl gave me a nod and walked around to the back of the helicopter. “Welcome home.”

“Hi, Kendrick,” Russell said, giving him a smile. But I could see that Rusty had annoyed him. But then a second later, this annoyed me. I barely knew this guy—how was I intuiting what his unspoken feelings were? He gestured to me. “This is Darcy—”

“Darcy Milligan,” the guy—Kendrick—said, giving me a crisp nod. “We got the full download from Bronwyn. Nice to meet you.”

“Bronwyn?”

“My dad’s publicist.” It sounded like it pained Russell to say each of those words. “This is Kendrick, that’s Bella—” He gestured to the girl who was now emerging from the other side of the helicopter, carrying my tent and duffel bag. She gave me a wave with her free hand.

“No,” I said, taking a step closer to her. “I can get that—”

“No worries,” she said cheerfully, not stopping. “I’ll just bring them into the main residence for you while you guys meet with C.J. in SNF.”

“Yes,” Kendrick said, lifting up an iPad and scrolling through it. “C.J.’s en route now. Shall we?”

“I…” I looked for Bella, who had already disappeared. I didn’t like that my stuff was suddenly gone, but what was I supposed to do about it?

“Great,” Kendrick said, as though I’d just agreed with him. He typed something on his iPad, then nodded at us and walked toward a door at the far end of the helipad.

I followed him—it turned out the door wasn’t a door, but an elevator, and we all stepped inside to go down one floor. I looked at Russell as we descended. He was staring resolutely at the floor, like he was trying to pretend none of this was happening.

My head was spinning as I tried to take it all in—the fact that Russell had grown up with this. Staff with iPads escorting you around, helicopters and main residences and publicists. I couldn’t even fathom it.

The doors opened and we stepped out. It seemed like we had walked into an office building—there was a lobby-type area with couches and a coffee table, and then offices behind glass doors running down the hallway.

I blinked, feeling a little bit like Alice down the rabbit hole. I had thought we were going to Wylie Sanders’s house—why did it suddenly look like we were in my dad’s accountant’s office? Even though his accountant didn’t have a collection of bass guitars lined up in the waiting room.

“Sorry,” I said to Kendrick. “But—where are we? I mean…” I gestured to the hallway, the couches, the offices, all of it.

“This is the Wylie Sanders management office,” Kendrick said easily. “Where all Mr. Sanders’s business operations are handled. Legal, publicity, accounting, touring, development…”

“Right,” I faintly.

“This way,” Kendrick said cheerfully as he headed down the hallway, swiping on his iPad as he went.

I followed Russell and Kendrick, trying to take in as much as I could, but it was all a little overwhelming. Most of the offices were dark, but even so, through the glass doors, I could see Wylie Sanders and Nighthawks merchandise and posters and pictures in all of them. Framed gold and platinum records lined the walls, along with blown-up album covers showing the sales figures in different countries, and pictures of Wylie and the band—in all its incarnations—everywhere I turned. What I’d thought were just black stripes on the beige carpet were, I could see now, music notes. I couldn’t read music enough to tell, but they seemed specific enough that I was sure I was probably walking on one of the Nighthawks songs. I slowed my feet as I passed a glass-front cabinet that was filled with awards. I felt my mouth drop open as I looked at them—Grammys and Golden Globes and VMA Moon Men.

I knew even as I stared that there was a lot I was missing. And in that moment, as I made myself walk away from the trophy case, I felt sharply just how much my dad would have loved to see it. What he wouldn’t have given to have been there—he would have been in heaven. If my phone had been charged, I wouldn’t have cared if it seemed gauche or if Kendrick got mad at me. I would have taken every picture that I could to show him.

But of course, if my phone had been charged, I wouldn’t have been here. None of this would have happened.

“Here we are,” Kendrick said, stopping in front of a darkened conference room. SATURDAY NIGHT FALLS was written on the sign just outside it—the name of one of the Nighthawks’ biggest hits. He opened the door, switched on the light, and I blinked.

It looked like a normal conference room—ergonomic chairs, large screen at one corner of the room. But unlike a regular conference room, there wasn’t a table in the center of all the chairs. Instead, there was a large slab of rusty metal on legs that seemed to be standing in for a table. Starline was written on it in looping script. I just stared at it, but neither Russell or Kendrick seemed startled by this—but then, of course, they probably wouldn’t be. Maybe they were used to pieces of rusted steel serving as their conference room tables, but I certainly was not.

Kendrick pushed open a stainless-steel cabinet in the corner of the room—which was apparently a fridge—and pulled out three cans of sparkling water. He set them down in the center of the table, then straightened up. “C.J. will be here shortly,” he said, swiping on his tablet. “Security said they just had a car pull up to the gatehouse, so probably no more than five.”

“Okay,” Russell said with a nod. “Thanks, Kendrick. Um…” He hesitated, then took a deep breath before speaking. “Is my dad…”

Kendrick nodded. “He knows you’ve landed. And as soon as you’re done with C.J., he wants a word at the house.”

I looked over at Russell, trying to figure out if this was all just a normal occurrence for him. After all, he was a rock star’s son. Maybe he spent every weekend nearly getting arrested and having to be bailed out. Maybe his dad was even proud of it. I had no idea—because I had no clue who this person actually was.

“Thanks,” Russell said, his voice a little hollow.

Kendrick nodded and lowered his iPad. “I’ll see you back at the house. Either of you need anything?”

I needed a lot of things at the moment—a hair dryer, a sweatshirt that didn’t have Russell’s dad’s face on it, possibly a time machine. But even though Kendrick seemed very competent, I knew there was a limit to what he could pull off. So I just shook my head, and Russell shook his as well.

“Great,” Kendrick said, then headed out, leaving the conference room door propped open.

Of course, the second after he’d left, I thought of something I could have asked him for—a phone charger.

“What?” Russell asked, looking over at me. And I realized that just like I’d been able to read him, he could now read me.

“Oh,” I said, a little unnerved by this. “I was going to ask him for a phone charger.” I narrowed my eyes, suddenly thinking of something. “Unless you had one with you this whole time?”

“No,” he said, and I nodded, secretly relieved. “But hold on, I’ll grab you one.”

He hurried out of the conference room, and I took a cautious step over toward the “table.” I knew my tetanus shot was up to date—I’d had to get everything verified to send my medical forms to school—but even so, I had no real desire to get much closer to it.

“Here,” Russell said, returning a moment later with a phone charger and a plug. He slid them across the table to me, and I picked them up. There had been a line in one of the books my dad had read me when I was little that had always stayed with me, though I wasn’t sure I’d understood the significance until now. For want of a hammer, the kingdom was lost. As I picked up the charger and turned it over in my hands, that was all I could think of. For want of a phone charger… well, all this had happened.

I located the closest wall socket I could find and plugged my phone in.

“You can sit if you want,” Russell said. He was on one side of the table, and he’d already cracked open his can of sparkling water.

I took a step closer to the table. “What is this?”

Russell gave me a ghost of a smile—a pale imitation of the ones I’d seen earlier tonight. “It’s the siding off the Nighthawks’ first tour bus. Dad tracked it down in a scrapyard in Wichita.”

“Ah,” I said, feeling that my instinct to keep away from it had been correct.

“It’s been sanded and sealed,” Russell said, once again somehow intuiting what I’d been thinking. He ran his hand along the side of it. “See?”

“Okay.” I took a seat opposite Russell, and picked up the can of sparkling water. I looked across the table at him—this suddenly seemed so formal after our night of parking lots and football fields. It was almost like we’d been dropped into a different movie, like we were getting divorced in a divorce drama.

No more movies,Didi said sharply. That’s what got you into trouble in the first place.

She’s not in trouble,Katy protested. She’s just having an adventure. And sometimes those get messy.

I tentatively touched the table—sure enough, it was smooth, like it had been coated in plastic.

“Darcy,” Russell said, sounding more serious now. He took a breath, his eyes not leaving mine. “I really am truly sorry.”

I shrugged. “Okay.”

“Okay… what?”

“Okay, I believe that you’re sorry,” I said slowly. “But… it doesn’t change the fact that you lied to me.”

“Not about anything that really mattered,” he said. “Not about what I want to do, or my friends, or… how I feel about you. I was probably more honest with you than I’ve ever been with anyone.”

I looked across the table at him and felt a crack start to spread in my resolve to be mad at him forever. “Well—except for the lying.”

Russell nodded. “Except for that.”

The side of my mouth was threatening to rise in a smile, and the more I tried to fight it, the harder it seemed.

Russell was smiling too. “So maybe we could—”

Just then, a woman strode through the door. She was tall, in a black suit and what had to be four-inch heels. “Hi,” she said, looking at both of us and raising an eyebrow. “I’m C.J.”