Chapter 20 The Groveling
the groveling [trope]
the sacred rite of passage in which one character—usually after a spectacular display of idiocy—embarks on a dramatic, heartfelt apology tour to win back the other; characterized by impassioned declarations and grand gestures
“How are you feeling?”
I shove another book into the cart, pretending Paige’s question doesn’t sting.
I spent most of last night awake, replaying every single moment of the last two weeks between Rafael and me, so I’m tired.
And heartbroken, though I’ll never admit it.
Then today I woke up to Celeste shouting at me, telling me how disappointed she was that I’d gone behind her back and rerecorded the episode.
I tried to explain that if the police wouldn’t do anything, then we had to, but…
well, let’s just say it’s a miracle Theo and I still have our jobs.
And even with this shitstorm raining on me, I had to keep up appearances for Ethan, who hasn’t changed his mind about moving in since last night. Had to make breakfast and make conversation like half of my world hadn’t imploded.
“I’m seeing Celeste’s husband today. He squeezed me in, and hopefully he’ll help me understand the next step to get custody of my brother.”
“That’s good. Great. And how do you feel about… him?”
Him. I know it’s not Ethan or Steve. “I’m fine.”
Her long fingers tap her chin. “Really?”
Of course I’m not fine. Rafael lied about everything. And the worst part? I knew something was off, but I ignored every single sign. Theo told me to trust my gut. Why didn’t I? And why, out of all the people in the world, did I give that lying sack of shit a chance?
“At least now I know. And it’s only been a couple of weeks, so…” I trail off. I’ll be okay. I have to be, because there are more important things for me to think about, like Ethan.
“Sorry I didn’t answer last night,” she says. “I didn’t see your call until this morning.”
I lazily look over the books in front of me. “Where were you?”
I couldn’t stand being alone last night, and when I got back home, Ethan was sleeping. So I walked to her place, which was empty, then to Vanessa’s. Paige wasn’t there, either, and when Vanessa invited me in anyway, I realized my best friend was the only person I wanted to talk to.
Paige turns around, looking through the shelves. “Uh, just at Vanessa’s.”
Wait, what? Why is she lying?
My brows knit together, but I don’t think she notices as she picks up a book and begins reading the back, green eyes skillfully avoiding mine. “You know, this kind of thing happens all the time in romance.”
“What does?”
“The big betrayal, where it turns out the love interest was initially pursuing the main character because of some ulterior motive.”
I arch a brow. “Like what?”
She tilts her head thoughtfully. “Like maybe they’ve been sent by their Mafia boss? Or the king.”
I stare at her across the aisle. “The king?”
“Yeah. If the love interest is a prince or something.”
When I make no movement, she plucks a book off the shelf.
“Look,” she says, turning it in her hands and reading aloud.
“ ‘When Tristan Montgomery was asked by his father to uncover every secret of Saddlehorn Ranch, he knew Patty was the key to everything. What he didn’t plan for was falling in love with his sunshiny neighbor.’ ” Paige holds the book up, her brows raised as if she just proved a point. “See? Happens all the time.”
And? What is she trying to say?
I walk over, pick up another book, and skim the back cover.
“ ‘Can serial killers fall in love? Finding out the love of my life is my stalker wasn’t on my bingo card. But I forgot about the bodies in his backyard the second his hands were on me.’ ” I hold it up triumphantly.
“This is also romance. Should I date a stalker next?”
Paige sighs as I stride back to my aisle, though I notice her slipping the serial killer book into her own stack. “No, of course not. But you chose one of the black covers on purpose.”
“Romance is not a credible resource for actual relationship issues, is my point.”
“Ha! So you are in a relationship with Rafael?” she asks, her curls bouncing with the bob of her head.
God, she’s starting to sound like him.
“I was in a… situationship,” I correct. “It’s definitely over now.”
The bell above the door jingles, and, registering my admonishing look, Paige falls into silence. The last thing I need is the whole town talking about my non-breakup.
But then I sense someone stepping beside me, and when Paige gasps, dread coils in my stomach. I look up from my book, meeting the gray eyes I’ve come to adore in the past few weeks. They’re not playful like before but soft. Apologetic.
“Hey,” he says, his voice hesitant.
He’s so handsome, some voice echoes in my mind. Truthfully, he looks disheveled, like he hasn’t gotten any sleep. He’s wearing the same clothes as last night too.
“Goddamn it.” I glare at Paige, but her wide eyes tell me she had no part in this.
“She didn’t tell me anything.” His voice softens further. “I know you. I know where you go when you’re upset.”
“I’m not upset,” I counter sharply.
His gaze flickers to the pile of books I’m clutching like a lifeline. “Uh-huh.”
“And I have nothing to say to you.” I grab a random book and pretend to read the back.
“Let me say my piece, Scarlett, please. And if you want nothing to do with me after, I’ll respect that,” he insists. “I know you needed a great deal of trust to let me in, and I’ve betrayed it. I just want you to understand—”
“What?” I snap, rounding on him. “That though it all started as a ploy to steal my ranch’s secrets, you couldn’t help but fall for my sunshiny demeanor?”
His brow furrows. “What? N-no—”
“Let it go, Rafael. You have a killer to catch, and sorry to disappoint, but I’m not them.”
I turn back to the shelf, silently praying that he’ll let go. That he’ll leave the bookstore, leave me. Maybe leave Willowbrook altogether.
“This was never about the case, Scarlett.” He almost sounds sad enough to make me pause. Almost. “My feelings for you aren’t a side effect. They’re the illness and the cure. They were here long before any of this, and they’ll be here after.”
Tears blur my vision, hot and uninvited, sliding down my cheeks as I try to hold on to the rage, try to make it make sense. But I can’t. The beauty of his words, the ache in his voice, they get under my skin. They rip through those same walls he always manages to climb over.
“Scarlett, I told you. I fell for you when we were nothing more than kids. I’ve only done something about it now.”
And how am I supposed to believe anything he says? “Bullshit.”
“No, it’s not bullshit. How do you think I even connected the murders to your podcast?” When I glance up at him, he sighs. “Because I connected my father’s murder to your episode about The Lonely Man. Because I’ve been listening to Murders & Manuscripts since the first episode.”
He’s been listening to my podcast? For five years?
“I don’t believe you,” I say, the realization bitter on my tongue. I don’t believe a word he says, and there’s nothing I can do about it. “Please, just leave.”
He looks at me like I’ve slapped him, eyes shining with hurt. “You’re really going to do this?” His voice drops, hoarse. “You’re really going to pretend we don’t mean anything?”
I don’t answer. I can’t.
His chest heaves once, twice. “Jesus, Scarlett,” he breathes, almost pleading.
“Don’t—” But then he cuts himself off, biting down on whatever else he was about to say.
He turns on his heel, and the bell over the door gives an accusing jingle as it slams shut behind him, the sound ringing in my ears long after he’s gone.
There.
It’s done.
I meet Paige’s stare, my mind still in a haze. “What?”
“Will you just toss me aside, too, when I do something wrong? Hurt me before I hurt you more?”
For a second, I stare into her stormy eyes, unsure of what to say. “Seriously, Paige? What he did is hardly just ‘something wrong.’ ”
She crosses her arms, leaning slightly forward. “Yeah, well…”
“He lied about everything,” I add, my tone dropping.
“Oh, Scarlett, come on. He lied about his job. He couldn’t tell you.”
“I can’t believe you’re defending him.” I grab my stack of books and shove them onto the nearest shelf. Is she really so in love with romance that she’d turn a blind eye to something like this? “You know what? I’m done with shopping. Let’s go home.”
“Scarlett…”
But I’m already out the door.
I knock on the door to Steve’s office, and once he invites me in, I enter and close the door behind me. The smell of pastrami and mustard lingers in the air, mixing with the faint scent of coffee and paper. “Thank you so much for seeing me, Steve.”
He waves me off, salt-and-pepper hair and a friendly smile softening the otherwise angular lines of his face. “It sounded urgent, and your mom was one of the good ones. Whatever I can do to help.”
He balls up a napkin and aims for the trash can, but he misses, and the napkin bounces onto the floor, settling in the messy corner of his cluttered office.
“Thank you.” I sit down in the worn chair across from his desk, which squeaks under my weight.
“My brother showed up at my door last night, and…” I trail off.
And a lot of other stuff has happened since—so much, in fact, that I almost forgot the appointment I set with Steve, Willowbrook’s favorite lawyer.
“You’ve read the files, right? Please give me good news. ”
He straightens, wiping his hands before pulling a folder from the top of a precarious stack.
His brow furrows as he flips through it, his reading glasses slipping down his nose.
“Well, let’s see,” he says, pen poised above a notepad.
“It sounds like we’ll have to get creative.
” Noticing my expression, he explains, “You already know that under the terms of the will, your parents gave your grandparents custody of Ethan. Under normal circumstances, I’d bring this to a judge, say that the situation has obviously changed. ”
Right. Everything’s changed.
He pauses. “I would tell you that we should go after them for custody or get Ethan emancipated. Paperwork, hearings, and, depending on how cooperative your grandparents are, possibly mediation or even a full trial.”
God, I feel queasy.
“But you’re not telling me this?”
“No. Because it’d take months, if not years.”
Months, years. We don’t have that. “So… so what’s the solution?”
His eyes narrow slightly. “An emergency hearing. Much quicker but much more difficult to win, because we’ll need to prove beyond a doubt that your brother is in immediate danger.”
“Danger?” I hesitate, my throat tightening. I don’t think Virginia can be considered “dangerous.”
“Danger. So…” He clears his throat and watches me attentively. “Besides his reluctance, do we have anything concrete that proves this move is not the best choice for him?”
I bite my lip, mind reeling. “His mental health,” I say, thinking of his struggles at school. “Taking him away from everything he knows—from me—is only going to make things worse.”
Steve’s pen taps against the desk, a steady rhythm that mirrors the pounding in my chest. “Great. How do we prove that, though?”
I relate most of what Ethan told me, and Steve listens, his expression measured. “I won’t sugarcoat it, it’s not going to be easy, and we want no surprises, so if there’s anything I need to know, this is the moment to bring it up.”
I shake my head, thankful for once that I have the most boring life ever.
“Good. Then we need to build the strongest case we can, and fast.”
“Got it,” I say with a decisive nod. “I’ll do whatever it takes.”
Steve offers me a small, encouraging smile. “We’re going to war, Scarlett,” he says. “Be prepared.”
The room feels heavier, the faint shadows cast by the desk lamp creeping across the walls. I inhale deeply, letting it all settle over me.
“I will be.”