Rogue #2
"Security made them leave the premises. Henry wasn't happy about it, but he dealt with it."
Henry. Her boss. The library director who'd always been supportive, who'd approved her time off for a weekend trip to Sedona a few months ago, who'd praised her work on the literacy programs. Now he was dealing with reporters because of me.
"I'm coming to get you," I said, already grabbing my keys. "You shouldn't be alone.”
"I'm not alone. I'm at work, surrounded by coworkers. Although some of them are being weird about it."
My hand clenched around the keys hard enough to hurt. "Weird how?"
"Just... asking questions. Acting like they didn't know I was dating someone. Like they're surprised." She sighed. "Helen told them all to mind their own business and get back to work, which helped. But it's still awkward."
Of course it was awkward. Because I'd brought this to her doorstep, to her safe, quiet workplace where she should have been cataloging books and helping patrons and planning children's reading hours.
Instead, she was fielding questions from coworkers and dealing with reporters and having her personal life dissected by strangers who thought our relationship was somehow newsworthy.
"I'm so sorry," I said again, because what else was there to say? "This is all my fault."
"No, it's not." Her voice was firm. "It's their fault for being vultures. For turning a tragedy into entertainment. For deciding that our relationship is somehow relevant to what happened on that ridge."
She was right. But it didn't make me feel any less guilty.
"I'll be there at five to pick you up," I said. “Don’t carpool with Becca like you usually do. Stay inside until I’m there. Don't talk to anyone else."
"Petra...”
"Please. Just let me do this."
She must have heard something in my voice—the desperation, the need to do something, anything, to protect her—because she agreed without further argument.
"Okay. Five o'clock."
After we hung up, I made the mistake of Googling our names together.
The results were exactly as horrific as I'd expected.
The video of Vera being ambushed outside the library was everywhere, with cell phone footage captured by someone in the parking lot, uploaded to Twitter and YouTube and every social media platform imaginable.
I forced myself to watch it.
Vera was walking through the parking lot from Becca’s car, her messenger bag over her shoulder, looking tired but professional in a vintage-style dress and cardigan. She had maybe three steps of peace before the reporters descended—two of them with cameras, microphones thrust forward like weapons.
"Ms. Montgomery! Are you Perpetua Alves's partner?"
Vera stopped, her expression shifting from confused to guarded in the space of a heartbeat. "Excuse me?"
"We'd just like to ask a few questions about your relationship with the firefighter who—"
"I'm not answering questions." She tried to move past them, but they followed, cameras still rolling.
"Do you think she made the right call? Are you concerned about her judgment?"
That's when Vera turned, and even through the shaky cell phone footage, I could see the moment she decided she was done being polite. Her chin lifted, her shoulders squared, and when she spoke, her voice carried across the parking lot with absolute clarity.
"Petra saved lives that day. If you can't see that, you're not paying attention."
Then she walked away, refusing to engage further even as they called after her with more questions, more demands for her time and attention and explanations.
The clip was only forty-five seconds long. But it had been viewed over thirteen thousand times already. The comments were a warzone:
Good for her standing by her woman!
She's just as reckless as her girlfriend, defending property destruction
Lesbian firefighter drama lol
Why is this news? Who cares who she's dating?
She's cute. Shame she's wasting herself on a criminal.
Love seeing women support each other even when they're wrong
This is what happens when we let emotions override common sense
I read them until my vision blurred, until the words stopped making sense and just became a wall of noise and judgment and hatred.
They were talking about Vera—my Vera, who'd never hurt anyone, who spent her days helping children learn to love to read and connecting people with stories that changed their lives—like she was a character in some drama, a supporting player in the tragedy of my life.
The guilt was suffocating. I'd done this.
My decision on that ridge, my suspension, my face on the news.
All of it had led to this moment where strangers felt entitled to comment on Vera's appearance, her choices, her worth.
Where her quiet life had been invaded by cameras and questions and people who thought our love was somehow up for public debate.
I wanted to protect her. Wanted to shield her from this nightmare I'd created. But I didn't know how.
I arrived at the library forty minutes early, paranoid that reporters might come back, that Vera might need an escape route. I parked where I could see the front entrance and waited, my hands drumming anxiously on the steering wheel.
Helen emerged first, her silver hair bright against the adobe of the library building. She spotted my truck immediately; hard to miss, considering I was the only person sitting in a vehicle in the parking lot at 4:20 in the afternoon. She changed direction, heading straight for me.
I rolled down the window as she approached, suddenly feeling like a teenager being confronted by a disapproving parent.
"Can I have a word?" she asked, her tone making it clear it wasn't really a question.
"Sure," I said, because what else was I going to say?
She leaned against the truck, arms crossed, studying me with those sharp eyes that seemed to see straight through every defense I'd ever built. "You love her?"
The directness of it caught me off guard. No preamble, no small talk, just straight to the heart of the matter. "Yes."
"Enough to let her go if it's what's best for her?"
The question hit me square in the chest. "Is that what you think I should do?"
Helen's expression didn't change. "I think she's risking everything for you.
Her reputation, her job, her peace. The board is already making noise about the 'negative attention' the library is receiving.
Henry's under pressure to do something about it.
" She paused, letting that sink in. "And I need to know you're worth it. "
I wanted to argue. Wanted to defend myself, to explain that I'd never asked Vera to risk anything, that I'd have walked away in a heartbeat if I thought it would protect her. But the truth was simpler and more devastating.
"I'm not," I said quietly. "But I'm trying to be."
Helen shook her head. "That's not good enough. She needs someone who knows their worth. Not someone who'll let guilt convince them to walk away."
I stared at her, trying to understand. Was she telling me to leave Vera? To stay? To somehow magically transform into someone who deserved the love Vera was giving me?
"I'm telling you to be the person she believes you are," Helen said, as if reading my mind. "Because that girl in there?" She gestured toward the library. "She thinks you hung the moon. Don't prove her wrong."
The words settled into my gut. This wasn't a warning. This was a challenge. Helen wasn't trying to scare me off—she was trying to make sure I'd fight.
"I won't," I said, meaning it with every fiber of my being. "I won't let her down."
Helen studied me for another long moment, then nodded once. "Good. Because if you do, you'll answer to me. And I promise you, I'm significantly more terrifying than any reporter."
Despite everything, I almost smiled. "I believe you."
She pushed off from the truck, then paused. "Also, she's been stress-eating chocolate all day and pretending she's fine. Make sure she actually eats dinner."
"Yes, ma'am."
Helen walked away, and I sat there processing the conversation. She hadn't told me to leave. She'd told me to stay, to fight, to be worthy of the faith Vera had placed in me. It should have made me feel better. Should have given me strength.
Instead, it just made me more aware of how much I could lose.
Vera emerged from the library at exactly five o'clock, moving quickly toward the truck like she was escaping a burning building. I leaned over and pushed open the passenger door, and she climbed in with visible relief.
"Hi," she said, buckling her seatbelt.
"Hi." I reached over, took her hand, and squeezed. "How was the rest of the day?"
"Long." She leaned her head back against the seat, closing her eyes. "Very long."
I pulled out of the parking lot, heading toward home. We drove in silence for a few minutes, Vera's hand still in mine, her thumb tracing absent patterns on my knuckles.
“Helen had some words for me,” I eventually admitted.
"What did she say?"
"That I better not fuck this up."
A small smile crossed her face. "She likes you. That's her way of showing it."
"By threatening me?"
"By caring enough to threaten you." She opened her eyes, turned to look at me. "She's protective. Always has been."
"She said the board is putting pressure on Henry. About the negative attention."
Vera's expression tightened. "Yeah. That's... that's been mentioned."
"Mentioned how?"
She was quiet for a moment, and I felt dread pooling in my stomach. "He called me into his office after the reporters left. Suggested I might want to 'distance myself' from you until this blows over."
I nearly swerved off the road. "He what?"
"Not break up," she said quickly. "Just... tone it down. Be less public about it. Don't give them anything else to write about."
"Vera—"
"I told him no." Her voice was firm. "I told him my personal life is my personal life, and it doesn't affect my work."
"But it does. It is affecting your work. There were reporters outside your workplace. Your board is concerned. Your boss is asking you to hide our relationship."