Chapter 22 #2
She comes running into the foyer from the kitchen. She changed into black jeans and a vintage band T-shirt earlier, but her hair is in a messy knot and her face is pale and make-up free.
As she slams into him for a hug, I’m struck again by how young she looks. How small and vulnerable, the kind of target only a complete shithead would use as a punching bag.
“I’m so sorry,” she says, her face pressed to Baylor’s chest. “I can’t believe you got suspended. This is all so insane and awful, but I’m going to fix it, I promise. I won’t be the one who ruins your life. I fucking refuse to let that happen.”
Nix pulls back, capturing her shoulders gently as he leans down, bringing his face closer to hers. “Stop it. You didn’t ruin anything. This isn’t on you, Bea. This is all Kai. He’s the only one I blame for anything.”
“But if I’d never—”
“Nope. No litigating the past. Not on my watch. We need to keep our focus fixed on the future.” Looping an arm around Bea’s shoulders, he starts toward the kitchen.
“But first, recon. You guys obviously know about the suspension, but the good news is that management is looking into that recording. Keely, at least, doesn’t think it’s real.
She’s going to fight for me, no doubt in my mind. ”
We gather around the island, where I’ve already set out a pitcher of tea, glasses, fruit salad, and sandwiches, wanting to make it easy for Bea to keep her strength up in between strategy sessions.
“But I want to hire my own investigator, too,” Nix continues. “I found a couple firms that specialize in verifying if something is authentic or AI generated while I was on the plane. I figured I’d reach out to them and—”
“Already done,” I cut in. “I sent the links to VeriSynth Analytics this morning. I paid the rush fee and they moved it to the top of their list.”
Nix looks at me like I just pulled a rabbit out of a hat…while wearing sexy lingerie.
“Damn, woman,” he mutters. “How do you keep just getting hotter?”
I grin and shrug. “I think you just have a thing for competence. And teamwork.”
“And you,” he says, his gaze tracking down my frame and back up again, making me tingle despite the shitshow of a day we’re all having. “How did I not notice this outfit before, either? Fuck… You look like a million bucks. Which reminds me, I’m paying you back for that rush fee. Obviously.”
“It wasn’t that much actually.” I wrinkle my nose as I add, “But there is some bad news. Apparently, the deepfake quality on this thing is crazy good. They got back to me a little while ago saying they’ll need to run a spectral analysis.
That takes extra time, so we’ll be waiting three to five business days for that preliminary report. ”
“Three to five days?” Beatrice groans. “That means we might not have proof that it’s a lie until next week. The news cycle will—”
“Sorry, I wasn’t done with the bad part yet,” I cut in, hating that I have to pile more suck onto the already overflowing Pile of Suck, but… “If the initial results are inconclusive, they’ll transfer the case to a senior analyst in London. Which could take another seven to ten days.”
“Well, shit,” Beatrice whispers.
The silence that falls afterward is heavy.
Three days of hiding out while false, potentially life-ruining stories spread like a bad case of cooties is one thing.
Nearly two weeks is quite another…
Finally, Nix nods at Beatrice, then me, and takes a deep breath. “We’ll just hunker down and hang in there, then, I guess. We should wait until dark to head back to my place, though, I don’t want to—”
“Nonsense,” I say, shaking my head. “You’re staying here. There’s more room, more privacy, and plenty of outdoor space for when we need to touch grass.”
“You’re sure?” Nix holds my gaze across the counter, an unspoken question in his eyes.
Am I sure that I want this burden? That I still want him after all this?
“I’m positive,” I insist, my voice rougher than it was before. “No doubt in my mind.”
“I love you, Charlotte,” Bea says, breaking the tension and making me laugh.
“Thanks, I love you, too,” I say, the certainty that it’s past time to tell her brother the way I feel about him swelling in my chest. But not now.
Not yet. Not until there’s nothing ugly hanging over our heads to taint the moment.
“And heck, it might even be fun to have some lazy time indoors. I’ll work from home in the mornings, and the rest of the day, we can watch movies, relax, and make elaborate meals. ”
“I’ll plan the menu and order the groceries for delivery,” Nix says.
“And I can plan activities, I guess?” Bea glances between us. “Like trivia maybe? Or one of those crime-solving kits?”
“Speaking of crime solving,” Nix says, “Blue is on the case, too. He’s looking for something we can use to discredit Kai aside from the juvenile record. We’re not alone. There are plenty of people out there rooting for us.”
Bea pulls in a breath, letting it out slowly as she nods. “Yeah. There are. We’ll figure this out. Together.”
“Together,” we agree.
“And Makena and Elly will be here tonight,” I tell Nix. “They’re bringing dinner and games to boost morale.”
And boost it they do, in ways none of us expected…
It’s just after six when an air-horn blast rattles the entire house, sending us leaping from our spots on the couch and dashing to the dining room window.
As I pull back the curtain, my jaw drops and Nix instantly begins to laugh.
“Holy hell, she’s going to wreck your grass.” He laughs harder as Mack’s bigger, even food-babe-bossier new truck—the one she got to expand her business while the old one is being deep-cleaned—hops the curb and charges into the middle of my lawn.
With a hiss of air brakes, she parks the massive vehicle parallel to the house, creating a twenty-foot-long, ten-foot-high wall of steel between my living room windows and the street.
I can’t see them, but I can hear the reporters putting up a fuss as Makena hops out of the driver’s seat and circles around the front. She’s wearing bright yellow overalls and combat boots and flips the reporters the double bird with a smile that banishes all concerns about my stupid grass.
New sod will cost a couple hundred bucks.
But a friend like this? Priceless.
Mack opens the passenger’s side door and Elly climbs out, handing her two big grocery bags before taking Mimi’s hand.
For her part, seven-year-old Mimi looks every bit as thrilled as her auntie Makena to be creating chaos.
Her eyes shine and her dark curls bounce with extra sass as she leads the march up the porch steps.
I open the front door before she can knock, beaming down at her. “Welcome, guys! I see you brought the party.”
“And games!” Mimi says, holding up her tote bag. “And coloring, too. We’re going to have so much fun!”
“And so much food,” Makena adds, breezing inside behind Mimi with her giant bags, trailing a truly mouth-watering scent behind her. “I made ten of everything.”
“And I brought dessert,” Elly adds, lifting her foil-covered cake pan. “It’s just sheet cake, but my buttercream icing is nearly as good as Mack’s.”
“Only because I gave you my recipe,” Makena calls from the kitchen before adding to Beatrice, “Come on, Bea. Pop that wine, girl. It’s definitely wine o’clock right here in the Big Easy.”
“We should play Rabbids, Nix,” Mimi says from the living room, where Elly is helping her plug in a battered-looking gaming system. “It’s the funniest game ever. It’s impossible to be sad when you’re playing Rabbids. And you can be the one who screams!”
Nix nods warmly before announcing, “The one who screams is my favorite.”
Just like that, the bunker becomes a party.
We eat gumbo and po’ boys around the coffee table and take turns playing the most ridiculous video game I’ve ever seen. We drink wine and sweet tea and then wine again, because…why not? Makena, Elly, and Mimi brought things to sleep over in my other guest room, so no one has to drive.
Honestly, by the time Mimi starts yawning around nine p.m., I’ve decided adult sleepovers—with bonus Mimi, of course—are too much fun to be reserved for times of trial. We need to get one of these on the books at least once or twice a year.
I’m about to head upstairs with Elly to show her where Mimi can brush her teeth so she’s ready to be carried straight to bed if she falls asleep watching the next movie, when Beatrice comes downstairs, fresh from her shower.
She’s in pajamas, her damp hair coiled atop her head, and her guitar in hand. Her eyes are shining, but not with fear or sadness or even rage.
She looks…inspired, determined. Like a woman with a plan, a fact she proves as she announces to the room at large, “I just booked studio space for Thursday afternoon. Two of Blue’s musician friends are going to meet me there to play drums and lead rhythm guitar, and I’m going to record a song. My first solo song ever!”
Makena breaks into applause first, joined quickly by the rest of us, but Beatrice shushes us with a blushing wave. “Thank you, but I don’t need applause. I was just hoping I could play it for you guys. I want the people I love to be the first to hear it. Because you’re the best.”
Nix nods, setting his wine down on the coffee table. “Yeah, Bea. Please. It would be an honor.”
“A complete honor,” I agree.
Makena and Elly murmur their agreement as Mimi whispers, “I’m so excited. I’ve never been the first person to hear a new song before!”
“Me, either, bean,” Elly says, laughing as she pulls Mimi into her lap, kissing her cheek. “I’m so glad I get to do it with you.”
My throat tightens, and my eyes begin to sting. I’m already emotional—there’s too much sweet, good love in this room not to be—and then Bea perches on the arm of the sofa and begins to play.
First, a low, dissonant chord that hangs in the air.
Then a sweeter one that echoes through secret places in my bones.
Then she begins to pluck the strings, coaxing a bittersweet melody from her guitar that has me fighting a full-fledged sob fest from the start.
Which is strange, I guess. This isn’t a “woe is me” track at all.
It’s a clear-eyed, dignified lament for all the things loved and lost. It’s swampy and dark, like the bayou at midnight, but beautiful.
She doesn’t name him once through the entire song.
She doesn’t have to.
She sings about all the little betrayals from the cradle to the grave, yet he’s somehow there in every line. The one ugly constant, the avatar for the boot we’ve all felt crushing our necks at one point or another.
It’s vicious. Precise. The musical equivalent of burning a house down while standing on the lawn and lighting a cigarette. When she hits the bridge, her voice swells, raw and powerful, filling the living room with a declaration of independence so pure it feels holy.
When she’s done, for a moment, no one speaks.
No one breathes.
Then Nix sniffs and rises from his chair, wrapping her and the guitar in a big hug, while Makena snaps her fingers. Mimi announces it’s “the best song ever,” and Elly softly whispers, “Amen.”
“I love it, Beatrice,” I say, when she emerges from Nix’s arms. “It’s perfect, babe. Completely perfect.”
“Not yet,” she says shyly. “I need harmony. Especially on the bridge. A lower register, I think. Someone who sounds like Stevie Nicks, maybe…”
I blink, so stunned all I can do is shake my head for a moment before I rasp, “What? No way.”
“Yes way,” Beatrice says. “Come sing with me?”
I meet her steady gaze, this warrior artist determined to tell her own story, and nod.
Yes, I’ll sing with her.
I’ll sing with her and be proud as hell to help her burn it all down.