20. Exit Wounds #2
I glance down at the invitation before dropping it into my desk drawer, out of sight. As much as I want Junie at my side, the thought of what might happen keeps me from jumping at the offer.
“I don’t think you know what you’re offering.” The locked drawer to my left feels like a living, breathing heartbeat—guilt, that’s what it is. A drawer full of guilt signed by Natalie Moore herself.
“People always underestimate what I can handle.” She’s standing at the edge of my drafting table, looking at my revised garden layout with the precise attention she brings to everything numerical.
Her cheek twitches when her eyes track the adjusted pathway that now accounts for the correct wheelchair radius. The path I fixed because she told me to, three seconds into seeing the design.
Her finger drags over the edge of my desk, as though she’s tracing the design before her with a loving touch, but she doesn’t comment on the new configuration.
She doesn’t have to. The gleam in her eyes says it all.
There’s something in the space between us that’s new—or not new, but named differently than it was a week ago. It’s not the charged silence of two people maintaining careful distance. It’s something…easier.
“The awards dinner,” I say.
“What about it?”
“I do want you there.” It’s as simple and as complicated as that. I want her there. With me. “Not as a cover story or as Nana Mae’s chess piece.” I hold her gaze. “With me. As…mine.” My gaze drops to her ring finger, and my chest puffs out with pride or happiness, probably both.
It feels like a symbol of where we would be if Natalie hadn’t chosen destruction. And since I caught Junie playing with it the other day and know that she’s wearing it because she chooses to, not because it’s stuck, it means even more.
I don’t pry this secret out of her though. She’ll tell me when she’s ready.
Junie nibbles on her bottom lip. It does unfortunate things to my cock, and I’m thankful to have the drafting table between us.
“It’s hosted by Meridian,” she says carefully. “And there’s a $50,000 prize attached to first place.”
My cock instantly deflates, but I nod.
“Fifty thousand is very close to the number that’s been staring at me for two months, Cole. It could be a way to cover—”
“Yes.”
“Are you going because Nana Mae is in a feud with Paula Van Holten, or because if you win, The Haven gets out of this mess?” Junie’s assessing me the same way she attacks her spreadsheets…like something isn’t quite adding up.
“I do what I have to,” I say. “I always do.”
Sadness changes her expression, and I wish I could take back my words. “Whatever Meridian is to you, whatever happened with them—”
“They’re nothing to me now,” I say honestly.
She studies me. The intelligence in her eyes is doing its work—assembling what she has, flagging what’s missing, calculating what the gaps might mean.
“Is this part of the conversation we need to have? The context from our past that I’m missing?”
Juniper Mercer isn’t just smart. She’s fucking brilliant.
I’ve been watching her get closer to the truth for two months now, and the thing I can’t explain is that it no longer feels like dread.
It feels like something I’m moving toward on purpose because Junie isn’t a broken teenager anymore, and I’m finally allowed to see the difference.
“It is.” I clamp my mouth shut so I don’t say more. I’ll do everything in my power to keep Junie from more harm—even if that means asking the guys for help.
“Okay,” she says. “We’ll go together.”
Just like that.
Then she heads back to the conference room, her bare feet slapping against the stairs, and I turn back to the problem at hand. There’s a solution here, and I’m finally ready to find it.
“Mail.” Nana Mae drops a pile onto my desk. The sun is setting, and I heard Junie head home an hour ago to get ready for the S&S meeting. “You should probably let Junie read these or start returning them to sender.” She points a bony finger at the letter on top.
The handwriting is a dead giveaway of what’s inside.
I nod while Nana Mae sighs, then exits, mumbling about idiots under her breath.
Even knowing what the letter will say, I open it—a reminder of what’s at stake if I don’t find a way to end them all together.
And as my eyes skim the page, it’s what I expected, except she’s added a new warning to the bottom.
There have been some developments we need to discuss. I haven’t found my footing as quickly as I’d like. There are actions we need to take to ensure this symbiotic relationship continues. I’m sure you can spare a design or two to make that happen.
She’s never going to stop. Her footing, as she calls it, will never come because she’s never done the work. In college, I helped with her projects. Coached her on exams. Tutored her in class.
She’s not finding her footing because she’s always been tap dancing on mine.
I ball up the letter and slam it into the drawer with all the others, then focus on the immediate steps I can take.
The prize money will save The Haven from Devin’s attack. It’s the one fact that holds. The one that keeps me from losing my goddamn mind.
I have to go.
I have to win.
It’s the only way to ensure Devin’s scheme doesn’t snowball into the rest of my lies because if I go down for Devin’s scheme, I’ll be forced to default on the loan.
The one that paid off Junie’s liens against her home and put them squarely onto my five acres of waterfront property—Nana Mae’s favorite part of my grandfather’s land.
I can get through this fucking dinner—for Junie, for Nana Mae, for The Haven.
Anger curls my fists.
It’s one night.
After weeks of indecision, the plan begins to crystallize in my mind.
This is the collision I’ve been barreling toward. The only way to face it is head-on. The key will be to ensure that I take the hit and Junie never learns about the emotional and financial sabotage her parents committed against her.
As soon as I win that money, I’ll tell Natalie I’m done. She can walk away, and I’ll keep her secret, or she can release hell on Junie, and I’ll do the same to her by showing Meridian proof of her plagiarism.
One blackmail to erase the other. And if it doesn’t work, I’ll rally our family around Junie to help her absorb the kind of pain no child should ever face and pray with everything I have that she is, in fact, strong enough to handle it now.
Like it or not, my future is at a fork in the road, and it’s up to me to ensure Junie and I stay on the same path.
In a little less than two weeks, I’ll know if the story of us was meant to be a romance or a tragedy.
And for the first time, it feels less like a countdown and more like a decision I’ve fully committed to.