Chapter 13 #2
“Um.” She hesitates, scanning our surroundings while her cheeks redden. “Like karaoke in a dive bar. Or stopping at every murder motel we pass. Or—” She looks away.
“Or?”
“Dancing in the rain,” she whispers. “Like in the movies where it just…happens. Spontaneous and reckless and—”
“Romantic?” My pulse kicks up as if it approves of this idea.
“Yeah.” She stares at anything and everything. Except me. “See? Stupid.”
“It’s not stupid.” And I mean it. “We’re doing all of it.” Staring down at her, I frown. “Except maybe the murder motels. What the hell is a murder motel?”
She gasps, clutching her snow globe to her chest. “A murder motel is a place where you know a murder has or could take place and no one would question it. But what do you mean, we’re doing all of it?”
“No to the murder motel. That’s never going to happen. Everything else on your list, though? We’ve got two days of driving, then two days back. We’re checking shit off that list of yours.”
“Valen.” She’s panicking, but not out of fear for her safety. This is a what have I gotten myself into? kind of panic. “We have a plan. We don’t have time for—”
“We have nothing but time. Roman’s securing the property, and we’re not expected until the day after tomorrow.
And you—” I touch her chin. I shouldn’t, but I do, tilting her face up until her gaze is locked on mine.
“I may not remember who you were, but I like who you are, and you deserve to actually live for once.”
When she blinks, her lashes come away wet. “Valen, I—I don’t know if I can do this. My lists, they’re like little girl daydreams. Going on this road trip is anxiety-inducing enough.”
Wrecks, sensing distress, drops the boulder he’s attempting to swallow and presses his big body into her side.
“What if we simply try?”
Movement over her shoulder catches my attention, but it’s not a threat—it’s Chief with his hands full of junk food.
But when I look at Clover again, she’s gone pale. “Clover? What is it?”
“Th-that guy.” She’s gasping for breath. “He’s staring at me. What if he’s my stalker?”
I tug her into my chest while I scan for the threat. I make eye contact with Chief, who’s read the situation correctly and is also on alert, but the only person I can see is a twenty-year-old with too much confidence and not enough self-preservation.
“Sweetheart, the only threat is to his junk if he doesn’t stop staring at you like you’re his next conquest. He isn’t looking to hurt you, Honeybee. He’s looking to fuck you.”
She gasps and buries her face deeper into my chest.
“That punk?” Chief chuckles. “Yeah, the only threat he carries is having crabs.”
Chief’s inappropriate observation makes Clover laugh, so I let it go.
“You’re sure?” she whispers.
“Positive, Honeybee. You’re safe with me, always. Not everyone is out to hurt you. Mostly, people are good.”
“Sorry, I’m…paranoid.”
“It’s understandable.” I glare at the prick at pump number five.
“I’m good,” she says while detangling her fingers from my shirt.
I miss the pressure of her palms on me.
“Good,” I say. “Now, get in the RV. We have a karaoke bar to find.”
Happiness bursts from her like rays of pure sunshine, and as she climbs the steps into the RV, I get another message from Chase.
Chase: Dude! Sterling hasn’t slept in days. He’s been running facial recognition software since he arrived in Happiness on anyone who has come within 100 feet of Clover’s house in the last thirty days.
Chase: Grant had to physically remove his laptop at three a.m., and he lost his shit because he hasn’t found anything.
Chase: We’re all worried, V. Not just about her. About you too. Remember that.
These men—my family—have spent their adult lives trying to protect me from a past I can’t remember. And now, they’re extending that same fierce love to a woman they barely know, simply because she’s someone who matters to me.
By evening, we’ve seen the world’s largest rocking chair, a giant peach shaped like butt cheeks, and more sombreros than I know what to do with due to a souvenir run at South of the Border just before we crossed into North Carolina.
But it’s the small independent bookstore in the town we stop in for dinner that lights her up from the inside out.
Before we go in, I do a sweep of the street.
A man sits in a parked car across the road, his face buried in his phone.
I track him until he gets out and walks into the barbershop next door.
Since Sterling has promised he’s seen no evidence of anyone following us on the CTV cameras, I turn back to Clover.
I should be concerned that Sterling knows how to do this, but that’s a future me problem.
“Ready?” I ask.
Clover nods, biting her lip as though she’s containing years full of joy.
Her hand slips into mine, and the rightness of the action washes over me. It settles the buzzing in my ears as I lead her to the door.
Clover’s fingers trail the spine of every book she passes until she eventually disappears into the thriller section. I take a moment to check the windows and ensure Wrecks isn’t dragging Chief into the next state.
When I spot him sitting on a bench while Wrecks chews at an iron trash can at his side, I figure they’re as safe as can be for now, and skirt around a stack of books until I find Clover.
“Are you looking for anything specific?” I ask, mostly curious about what she reads in her downtime.
She gasps and bumps into the bookcase, knocking over several books that I quickly help her retrieve from the floor. “Nope. Just browsing.”
She’s acting suspicious, almost as if she’s searching for security cameras. Is my little Honeybee a shoplifter? Needles prickle the base of my neck. Am I going to have to carry her out of here and get her some help?
“Clover, what are you—”
She pulls a Sharpie out of her pocket, wearing a grin I’ve never seen on her before.
“Oh no,” I say.
“Oh, yes.” She grabs a book off the shelf. Clover Danes…it’s her book. She really went wild with that pen name. This one has a bloody wedding dress on the cover. “There are six copies here, can you believe it? I’m signing all of them.”
“That’s— Is that allowed?” Even as I ask, I’m blocking her body with my own while scanning the store for employees.
“Surprise signed copies. Readers love it. I’ve never ventured far enough to really see my books on the shelves before.” She’s…giddy.
That, more than anything else, gives me insight into her life.
“This feels like vandalism.”
“It’s free marketing. Lots of authors sneak into bookstores and do it. It’s a thing. I’ve seen it all over TikTok.”
“Fine.” My palms sweat. This feels so illegal. “I’ll keep watch.”
“You’re the best.” The smile she flashes just for me nearly makes my knees buckle.
If I go to jail, it just might be worth it.
She signs each copy with messages like For the brave readers and May you find your courage. She’s almost finished when the clerk calls out, “Excuse me?”
Clover freezes.
“Are you Clover Danes?” the woman asks.
“I—um—” Her wide eyes search for the employee.
“Oh, my God. You are!” The clerk starts fanning her face. “I love your books. The twist ending in The Deadly Vow wrecked me. I didn’t sleep for two nights.”
“How did you know who she was?” I ask, considering that Clover doesn’t do public appearances.
The woman holds up a hardback book and turns it around. There, on the back, is a small photo of Clover.
“I hate that they put that on there,” Clover grumbles.
“Can I get a picture?” the clerk asks, thrusting her phone into my hands. “Oh, can you sign our stock? You’re our October author of the month.”
For the next ten minutes, I watch as Clover slides into her element, answering questions about craft and her writing process. About what’s next and if there will be more movies. The store employee grabs more stacks of books for Clover to sign, and the entire time, Clover’s grin is pure delight.
This is what our past has robbed her of—the opportunity to be surrounded by love and admiration for all her hard work.
Before I know it, four bookstore shoppers are clustered around Clover.
I watch for the signs—the breath holding, the fidgeting, the retreat into herself.
But she’s holding steady. Her foot taps a rhythm against the floor, her own private metronome, but her smile never wavers.
She’s found a coping mechanism that isn’t about hiding—it’s about anchoring.
Clover’s never glowed more brightly.
Out of the corner of my eye, glitter, of all fucking things, catches my attention in the form of a snow globe. Drifting closer, I pick it up and shake it. Inside is a stack of books, and the glitter is tiny letters floating around them.
It’s something Clover would love. It’s the only explanation I have for purchasing the damn thing.
“She’s good at this,” Chief murmurs, stepping into the store beside me as I tuck the tiny snow globe under my arm for safekeeping.
“Yeah,” I say through a throat thick with emotion I don’t know how to process.
“Makes me wonder what she’ll be like when she finally allows herself to live a little, ya know?”
I don’t answer because I know why she hides, why she dulls her glow. Shining makes you visible. Visible means vulnerable, and vulnerable means—
But she’s shining now.
And I think I’ll do anything to make sure she never dims her light again.