Chapter 27
Chapter Twenty-Seven
It’s a quiet afternoon at The Lair a week after Travis’s sick day, and I’m distracted.
My forehead still tingles from Travis’s lingering kiss, and my mind is still filled with questions about his behavior on New Year’s. Why did the fireworks make him flinch? And why did Uncle Neil send him that warning look?
Travis is so imposing, so dominating, such a protector, it’s strange to find out he’s not invincible. That there’s something out there that gets to him.
It’s unfair for me to think this way. No matter how strong or brave, we all have weaknesses, and Travis is no different. I wish I’d had the courage to pry further that night, but the moment is gone, and I won’t get it back.
I’m brought back to the present by the front door opening and Tom, Charlie’s friend from the New Year’s Eve party, walking in.
The bar is pretty deserted aside from two occupied tables at the back. Despite him being a bit of a flirt at the lake, I give him a welcoming smile as he approaches the bar, where I’m polishing some glasses.
“Hey, Tom. What can I get you?”
I don’t notice his stoic expression right away. He was nothing but playful—and maybe a bit drunk—at the fireworks show, but there seems to be no trace of that carefree guy as our eyes meet now.
He looks at me with intent, as if he were analyzing my every breath, and leans over the bar in a way that feels too practiced. Like he’s trying to appear nonchalant, but his body is too stiff to make it work. He licks his lips. “I came to talk to you, actually. If you have a minute.”
I glance around the bar, knowing I can’t use the Sorry, we’re too busy right now excuse because there’s almost nobody in here. Jude and Travis are taking inventory in the kitchen, so it’s just me at the front—I could tell him that.
But then he insists, “It’s kind of urgent.”
“Sure.” I force a relaxed smile. “How can I help you?”
“You’re Allison Buccieri, aren’t you?”
My ears start ringing, my hands get clammy, and suddenly I don’t think there’s enough oxygen for me in this bar.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” Tom continues, his eyes never leaving my face.
My fingers find the beads on my bracelet and start toying with them, willing the panic to die down in vain.
I need air.
I need to get out of here.
Quit. Flee. Start again.
“What do you want?” I blurt out, my voice quivering but quiet so Travis doesn’t hear me. If he comes to the front and sees how tense Tom is making me, he’ll have questions. Questions I can’t answer.
Tom raps his knuckles on the bar, a casual gesture that poses such a vast contrast to my frantic heartbeat. “We don’t want to bother you. We just want to know if you’d be willing to speak out on?—”
“Who’s we ?” I cut him off. “How did you find me? Who are you?”
Blood drains from my face then, remembering that Charlie mentioned Tom worked in the entertainment industry. He never explained what his job was, and I’d been careless to not think anything of it.
“I work for George Eden,” he says, confirming my suspicions. “We got a lead a while ago from someone on our team. Someone who came to The Lair and thought she recognized you.”
“Mindy?” It comes out as a whisper.
The woman I almost killed because I gave her a burger with onions. The woman I knew had recognized me but hadn’t said anything. How foolishly wrong I’d been.
“Yeah.” Tom’s eyebrows lift in surprise. “She was here on vacation and had an issue with her food, and… Anyway, not the point. Since my family lives here, I offered to talk to you during the holidays. George is fascinated by your case, and he’d like to interview you for his talk show. You flew under the radar for six years, Allie. That’s no small feat.”
And now it’s ruined.
All my efforts to start anew, gone.
“Our audience would love to know why you left in the first place. Why you changed your name and your appearance. What happened with… you know, the kidnapping.”
Before he finishes that sentence, I’m already shaking my head.
It was too good to be true. All of this—my job, my friendships, my new life.
Amid the chaos in my head, I realize starting over has never been a true possibility. Not when I could never, no matter how hard I try, escape a past that was broadcasted for millions of people to see.
“No.”
One word. That’s all I can manage as my throat closes and unshed tears collect in my eyes.
Tom sighs. “I understand this is hard to take in, but please hear me out. We only want your statement—that’s it. We suspect something went down with your family that made you leave despite their claims that everything was fine. One doesn’t change their name and physical appearance for no reason.”
I shake my head again as the nervous tears falls. My head spins, and I brace myself against the bar so I don’t pass out. This can’t be happening.
“Leave. Please.”
It’s not a question or an invitation, but Tom persists. “Influencer families overexposing their children online is becoming a very dangerous issue. We’re trying to bring awareness so that Congress considers new laws to protect children?—”
I’m barely listening. I’m barely breathing as this stranger ruins my life and I’m helpless to stop him.
“Leave me alone. Please,” I beg him, not caring anymore who sees me break down. “I left for a reason. I don’t want to remember. I don’t want to relive my kidnapping. You can interview someone else.”
His eyes soften just a tad. “I understand. I do, Allie, but think about it. Your experience could help us move forward with Congress. You were kidnapped, and many people are convinced it had to do with your family sharing personal information online. The police never issued an official statement, and the rumors have gone in all directions. Any proof you have of parental abuse or neglect would really help our case. We’re only trying to protect other children from going through the same thing.”
I’m hearing the words, but my head and heart don’t respond. They’re stuck in the nightmare unfolding right before my eyes.
They found me.
The past six years, all the measured steps I took and sacrifices I made, have been for nothing.
“Leave,” I say one last time, my voice shaking as badly as my hands. “I-I don’t want to be part of this.”
This time, Tom doesn’t insist. His defeated sigh makes something uncomfortable roll in my stomach.
“All right.” He reaches into his pocket and takes out a business card, placing it in front of me. “Call this number or email me if you change your mind.”
I don’t take it. I barely move, still shaking, as he leaves the way he came.
The sound of the door shutting behind him echoes in my head and buries the footsteps closing in.
“Allie?”
As if physically shaken by Travis’s voice, I sober up at once.
I grab a nearby cleaning cloth to busy my hands so he can’t see them shaking. “Hi, boss man.”
When his eyes follow the movement, I know there’s no way he’s buying my nonchalant facade.
And when he asks, “What’s wrong?” I confirm it.
“Nothing’s wrong.”
The lie feels bitter on my tongue, but I can’t risk Travis asking questions. I said no to Tom enough times for him to get the memo. I don’t think he’ll come back to bother me again, so there’s no reason for Travis to know why I’m so shaken up. What would I even tell him?
The truth, once and for all.
“Allie. Talk to me, please.”
I shake my head and lower my gaze. “I’m fine.”
He spots Tom’s card at the same time I do, but he’s quicker to grab it. He reads it once, twice, before his eyes land on me again. “A production company?” he asks slowly. “What is this doing here?”
“Just some guy.”
“Did he bother you?”
I hate that my heart jumps at his protectiveness. I don’t deserve him, this selfless man who always looks out for me when all I do is lie to his face.
“I’m okay, Travis,” I insist.
He stays quiet for a moment, and I think he’s going to leave until his gentle hand takes the cleaning cloth from my fingers.
“Your hands are shaking.”
It’s not a question, so I don’t give him an answer.
Jude calls his name from the kitchen, but he doesn’t move. Not for a moment, and not before he says, “We’ll talk at home.”
I don’t nod or say anything.
On autopilot, I power through the rest of my shift, managing to remember everyone’s orders despite my head circling back to Tom every two seconds. His business card ended up in the back pocket of my jeans, and even though I’ve thought of throwing it in the trash and forgetting about this nightmare, I can’t bring myself to do it.
This changes nothing.
George Eden and his team can do whatever they want, but I, too, deserve to move on. I deserve to make my own choices—choices that don’t involve revisiting a past that is ruining my present.
Any proof you have of parental abuse or neglect would really help our case.
Tom’s words slice through my chest and refuse to let me breathe.
Because I do.
I have more than enough proof of the hell my parents put me through, but I will never be brave enough to show it to the world.