Chapter Ten
Collateral Damage
Lincoln
Monday morning, I’m dragging. Manny, the crew, and I stayed at Madison all through the weekend, and I slept like shit.
So on the way in today, I dip into Bean & Gone for a nitro cold brew, hoping a highly concentrated caffeine boost will give me the energy to get through another day knowing Ebony’s on the other side of the wall, thinking about men making her toes curl.
Jesus.
“Which reminds me…” I move up in the line, tapping out a quick text to Josiah and Dom.
Lincoln
What time are we meeting up this Saturday?
Siah’s response appears almost immediately.
Josiah
That depends. Bones, Spades, or gym?
I chuckle, ready to opt for the last when Dom, who isn’t great at either game, replies.
Dom
I’m open for anything after noon. Got a brunch date.
Neither Josiah nor I respond. He’ll probably send me a separate text. It’s well established that whoever answers Dom first will end up being his Spades partner.
“That’s all you, Siah,” I mutter, laughing to myself and already figuring how I’m going to convince them to hit up the gym.
I lift my head at the two girls standing side by side in front of me, watching a phone on full volume.
Yesterday’s date scrolls across the bottom of the image next to the KTEG News at Noon logo.
The screen is split. On the right side, none other than Ellswood’s golden prince, Julian, is tuned in live—on the station that fired him—from his house as a guest. On the left, his red-haired former co-anchor.
They’re both smiling and chatting, and he’s wearing—
I lean in, straining to make out the… Is that a giant blue gift bow on his head?
What in the world? Why would he subject himself to this torture? They’re not going to rehire him.
Jesus.
“…Well, we want to say a big congratulations to our old friend, Julian Livingston—”
“The third,” a male voice off-camera adds, chuckling. “Julian Livingston III. Can’t forget that third, Parker.”
She straightens, her smile gleaming as she taps the edge of her paper stack on the desk.
“Yes, let’s say a huge congratulations to Julian Livingston III , on becoming a father-to-be!
” The entire news station erupts in congratulatory applause and whistles.
“This is a day I don’t think any of us ever saw coming, including you,” Parker roasts him.
The girls in front of me about fall out laughing, and I have to bite my tongue to keep from joining them.
“Honey, the way Julian Livingston becomes a daddy was not on my bingo card…” the one on the left says, her textured dark curls and blazer-clad shoulders trembling as she’s gasping for breath.
Her friend throws her head back, nearly whipping me with a massive ponytail of purple and black braids swinging wildly. “ Phew , Lord! The shade Parker be throwing is wild !”
They lean on each other to keep themselves upright, and her finger must hit the volume by mistake because the entire coffee shop is plugged in full surround sound when Parker asks Julian, “What do you think, Daddy? Any comment on the divorcétante casting her dating net for the plenty of fish in the sea? Your mother sure had a lot to say about…”
A collective gasp echoes around the shop, and by the grace of God, through the tiny gap between the girls, I get a glimpse of the phone.
Never in my life have I been so excited to see Julian Livingston III’s pretty-boy face. His emotions flash across the phone in 3D Technicolor—resentment, anger, embarrassment, guilt, regret, shock, and powerlessness all wrapped up under that dumbass royal-blue bow on his head.
Now I’m the one holding my heart and gasping for air, barely able to stand upright.
It’s a gift to my soul, and I can’t contain my laughter as an Ellswood Times headline scrolls across the bottom of the screen.
Esteemed Matriarch Cornelia Livingston on The Divorcétante: “From Debutante to Divorcée: A Masterclass in Rebranding Desperation”
Oh, shit.
Except when my attention drifts up from the phone, my eyes lock on a fuming Hillary Winston ahead of the girls.
Her long, dark hair is swept behind her slender shoulders, and she’s draped in all black from her sleek dress to her oversized designer shades, like she’s in mourning.
My, my, my… Karma’s in motion.
“Chile, pure, unfiltered comedy, this early in this glorious a.m. Am I right?” The girl with the braids twists around, steadying her appraising gaze on me.
“No truer words.” I flash her a small smile, breaking the starting contest with Hillary to up the ante with my new friend. “Think he’s going to congratulate the divorcétante?”
She sucks her teeth, tucking a loose braid behind her ear. “Sir, be serious. That man still wants Ebony, but now he done messed around and got Nora knocked up. We all know Mama Livingston will make him marry Nora, and that’s the end of it. Can’t have him sullying the family name.”
At this, I finally turn away from Hillary. “Nah, definitely can’t have that.”
“Cold brew for Parker!” the barista calls out, stirring the coffee shop into another bout of laughter at the sheer comedic timing.
Thankfully, the line moves, and Hillary turns back toward the front, inching forward.
Soon, she orders her coffee, then the girls in front of me move to the register.
I’m next to pay for my nitro cold brew, the hum of undecipherable chatter returns to Bean & Gone, and I figure, that’s it.
We’ve never shared a friendship, and we’re not about to conjure one up out of the thick, French-roasted air. We’ve got nothing to discuss.
At least, I’ve got nothing to say to her.
But a few moments later, she’s still here.
Why hasn’t she left? What’s she waiting for?
“Hey there, what can I make for you this morning?” the perky barista asks.
I make quick work placing my order and stepping out of line to wait for my drink. I’m careful to avoid Hillary, who’s standing near the side window, away from the pickup line. Even after my name is called, we still don’t exchange words.
It’s not until a few moments later, when I weave past the line to the condiment station in the corner for sugar packets, that she moves too, settling at my side.
I glance at her, restless and breathing heavy like she wants me to speak first. And so I do.
“What do you think, Hillary?” I clamp the sugar packets between my thumb and forefinger, shaking vigorously before I rip the corners and pour the contents into my cup. “Mama Livingston’s going to make Julian lock it down with Nora for good, or nah?”
“Why are you asking me?”
After a quick stir, I cap my cup and take a long sip. Then I meet Hillary’s gaze.
“I suspect for the same reason you came over here to talk to me.” I shrug, purposely blasé. “Thought you, of all people, would know.”
She gasps, mouth agape as she stares at me, horrified. “What?”
Oh.
Back there in the line, her glare wasn’t just a dominance play, like I thought. No, that direct eye contact was a warning—protective behavior. She was on defense.
She didn’t think I knew about her and Julian. Three years ago, they didn’t see me, but I saw them kissing in a darkened parking lot.
They thought they’d been careful, discreet.
“Are you ever planning to tell your ‘friend’?” I toss up the best air quotes I can manage with my coffee in hand, then I turn toward the exit.
Naturally, she’s on my heels, stalking after me.
As I reach the door, I grab the handle and step back to hold it open for her, but she stops me cold in my tracks.
“I’m not sure what you think you know—”
“No, I’m certain.” I chuckle.
Fire blazes in her eyes, but after a beat, realization snuffs it out, leaving only devastation in its wake.
“More than anyone else, I thought you would understand.” She watches me, her lips quivering. “Everyone knows you’ve wanted Ebony Livingston forever, and if she’d given you the chance to be with her, I know you would’ve—”
“No.” I shake my head. “I wouldn’t have. We’re not the same, Hillary. I would never take part in ruining her marriage. I’d never betray my best friend.”
She swallows, blinking back tears. “Yeah, keep telling yourself that.”
I shrug, releasing the door and stepping out onto the pavement as she turns and walks away. Hillary makes it maybe ten feet away before she comes back, hopping mad.
“It’s funny. Ebony told us that after college, before she came back to Ellswood, you asked her to choose you.” She smiles, smugly. “She didn’t want you then, and guess what? She’s divorced, single, with no husband in the way, and still not rushing into your arms. Nothing’s changed.”
I nod, speechless, giving her the space to take her frustration out on me.
But then she shifts her weight. “So, you can stand there on your little soapbox, judging me, if you want. But if you think I’m the only one who’ll be burned by the Livingstons…” She snickers. “Well, you’ve got another thing coming, Lincoln Bridges. Watch your back.”
With that, she stalks off, leaving nothing but curses in the air and a thousand unanswered questions.
By the time I get to Madison Manor, the nitro cold brew is buzzing on my tongue, the caffeine jolt enough to jump-start the work in the grand ballroom.
I dive into the restoration, my hands moving over the plans and tools with a frantic energy that I can’t quite shake.
Brushstrokes, sanding, and the hum of power tools blur the hours and lines.
I can’t tell if it’s the coffee firing through my veins, the realization we’ve got just three months to finish the manor, Ebony’s quiet presence in the library, or Hillary’s words echoing in my head that keep me focused.
“What are you running from, Linc?”
For a split second, I freeze, my heart racing as I stare at the freshly smoothed plasterwork, wondering if the old legends are true and that these walls can magically talk.
Maybe next time, I’ll skip the nitro.
But then I hear the tapping of a pair of patent leather loafers and groan. “Vincent.”