Chapter 41
HARPER
My heart pounds against my chest, endless tears choking me. Everything hurts, both inside and out. It’s like I’ve run a marathon without warming up or staying hydrated.
Despite the early hour, Mitch and Dan are amazing, taking my statement and listening as I tell them everything I can remember about that night.
Now that I’ve allowed my brain access, it’s like a movie playing at double speed, only it isn’t a movie. They’re memories, memories I’ve suppressed. Not even my bereavement counsellor could get me to recall the events of that night, but now, it’s like I can’t switch them off.
“Do you think you’d be able to identify the guys who gave you and your friend the drinks?” Mitch asks.
It’s four a.m.
I nod. One useful aspect of having an almost photographic memory.
“If you can find me a photograph, I’ll be able to identify them,” I say confidently, my eyes burning, my throat gritty. “Do you think they’re somehow involved?”
“We can’t afford to discount anything or anyone at this stage. It may have just been two guys chatting up two girls at a party, but…” Dan says.
Mitch steps forward and pats my arm. “Harper, try to get some sleep. We’ll let you know as soon as we find anything.”
“My accounts… if you can recover them, I took a lot of photos. It was before my influencer days, but…”
They both nod. “We’ll get the team on it. Nothing is ever permanently gone. It’s why so many celebrities are coming unstuck these days.”
I leave them to do their job after they promise they’ll be just across the hall should I need them.
* * *
My alarm trills next to me, the sound like a jackhammer against my skull.
Shit, work.
Pulling a pillow over my head, I yell into it. I’d call in sick, but today Alex has a room full of VICs ahead of New York Fashion Week, and I can’t let him down.
Won’t.
I stagger into the bathroom and grip the edge of the sink, staring in horror at the mirror. I bite my lip, my vision blurring.
“Harper Frazer, you need to get your act together. Brooke Feldmann needs to go to work,” I tell myself.
I splash ice-cold water on my face before showering and completing my cleansing routine. My skin is tight from all my tears.
With my makeup on and contact lenses in, I stare at myself in the mirror.
“You’re Brooke Feldmann, Brooke, Brooke, Brooke,” I repeat.
Who am I kidding?
One look, and even strangers are going to know I’ve spent half the night crying.
Pull yourself together!
I drop my chin to my chest, inhaling deeply before gripping the sink once again, grounding myself. This time, when I look up, I straighten my shoulders and lift my chin.
“Don’t you dare do this. You’ve been Little Miss Independent since you could crawl. Time to meet the day head-on.”
To my family, I’ve always been the baby.
To my dad, I was his big girl, brave and strong.
I’d scrape my knee and bite my lip.
When I broke my arm, I asked everyone to sign my cast. Today there’s no physical wound, but the principle is no different. Life must go on.
* * *
The office is quiet when I arrive. Still no call from Kat, but maybe that’s a good thing.
My sister doesn’t need to hear me like this.
None of them does. Maybe fate had me talking to Pen last night instead of one of the others.
Despite loving my father as if he were her own, she’s one step removed, and whatever she or any of the others say, I’ll never stop blaming myself for his death.
“Brooke?” I look up to find Alex standing in front of me, his brows drawn together.