1. Garrett #2
I want to run and scream and jump up and down and hug Kellan, like I’ve just shot the winning goal during the final game of the Stanley Cup playoffs. In overtime. And the whole crowd is cheering for me, chanting my name.
“Bethany has also included in the contract that you’ll be involved with writing the script.”
Wait, what? My excitement screeches to a standstill. “I know nothing about script writing.”
Kellan pauses in his calf stretch and glances at me, one eyebrow cocked.
I mouth the word later and turn the other way. I don’t want to be distracted right now.
“You learned how to write novels; you can learn how to write scripts. You won’t be the only writer working on it. Plus, it’s a bigger deal when an author is involved in writing a movie script. More money. Bigger name recognition.”
I can do this. I know I can. Right? “Okay. I’m in. First, I’ll finish the book, then worry about my script-writing skills. Exactly when is it due? ”
“August fifteenth.”
Shit. “What? Like…in four months?”
“Three months and three weeks, to be exact. That won’t be a problem, will it?” He isn’t really asking if it’s possible. Not when he’s using the tone that says, Sorry, not sorry, but this is the way it is .
I don’t have a fucking choice. Not unless I want to turn down this career-changing opportunity. And I’d be an idiot to do that. A mountain-sized idiot.
“What about my contract? Can the publisher legally move up the date?”
“Do you really want to quibble over the due date when your book is being made into a big-ass movie? A movie that will be shown in theaters all over the world?” He releases a long breath, his patience with me clearly teetering on a super-sharp edge.
“Or do you want Bethany to tell them you’re not interested?
” Now his tone implies he’ll hop on the next flight from New York to Oregon and strangle me if I say yes.
“No, I’ll do it, but it’ll be tight, what with Wilderness Warriors starting for the summer again soon. As long as nothing else unexpected pops up, I should be able to finish it before August fifteenth.”
“Should?” His voice has an eyebrow-lifted tone. A challenge.
“Will. I will finish it by then.” Who needs sleep anyway?
“That’s what I needed to hear. It’s a good thing you’re a free agent. Because your partner and kids wouldn’t get to see you for the next four or so months.”
“Yep, no worries about that here.”
“I’ll let you go now, Garrett. And I’ll send you the contracts this afternoon.” Maxwell ends the call.
“What’s going on?” Cautious curiosity hangs on Kellan’s question. He’s not one for prying, but even he can’t ignore my reaction to Maxwell’s news.
“My subagent sold the movie rights to the book I’m currently writing.
” I give him the short version of what Maxwell just told me.
Of my three brothers, Kellan is the reserved one.
The brother who usually keeps his emotions locked away.
But even he can’t keep his excitement at the news off his face—in the subtle rise of his eyebrows .
Or at least it’s there until I tell him the catch…that my deadline has been moved forward.
“How long do you have to write it?” Kellan continues stretching.
“Three months and three weeks.”
“You think you can finish it?”
“I can do it. I think. It’s not ideal, what with the release of Unfallen . I’ll be ramping up my presence on social media over the next four and a half months as I build up buzz for the book.”
“You’re gonna be busy.”
“It will be tough to get the book done in time but not impossible. Most of my interviews and public appearances have been scheduled for late August and early September, after Untold Mercy is now due to my editor.”
I yank off my hoodie, toss it onto the front passenger seat of the Explorer, and nod at Kellan to indicate I’m ready. I’ll have to stretch later due to lack of time now.
We run along the dirt trail that meanders through the meadow and disappears into the trees. The temperature is perfect for running, the sun peeking from behind the clouds and the cool spring breeze. I barely notice it with the shock of Maxwell’s news sinking in.
This soon changes as the rugged terrain becomes tougher, requiring my full attention if I don’t want to trip on a stone or exposed root. The route is one of Kellan’s favorites, because it deters us from talking while we run.
And talking is something he prefers to avoid if possible.
By the time we have finished, Kellan and I are breathing hard and our T-shirts are sticking to our sweat-drenched bodies. We each disappear into separate cabins and have a quick shower. I emerge soon after, wearing clean sweatpants and a dark-green Henley, my hair damp.
The clouds grew steadily heavier with rain during our run. The first drops begin to fall as we drive to my house. We have Wilderness Warriors business regarding the upcoming season the two of us want to discuss before Kellan is due back at his office.
Now that I’m not navigating the challenging trail, the excitement and shock at Maxwell’s news return, as well as a heavy dose of anxiety at having to finish the manuscript in such a short time.
Holy shit . I still can’t believe it.
I pull into my driveway, the rain coming down harder now. A garden of trees, bushes, and flower beds creates a private oasis between my sprawling single-story house and my neighbors’. And that’s even before the spring leaves are fully out.
I reach up to press the garage door opener on my visor, but movement on the front stoop catches my attention. A woman who looks to be in her late twenties is sitting on the top step with a toddler on her lap.
What the heck? Who are they?
There’s no other vehicle in the driveway, nor is there any parked near my house on the street. I don’t recognize them, and I’m not expecting anyone.
They’re lucky where they’re sitting is sheltered from the rain. Otherwise, they might have been drenched, depending on how long they’ve been there. Neither of them has on a jacket—and…are they reading a book?
Damn, they must be cold. The temperature has dropped over the past few minutes. It’s about fifty degrees.
I park near the garage door, kill the engine, and slide out of the driver’s seat. Kellan stops behind me. I have no idea if he’s seen the two individuals, who are no longer visible from where I’m standing.
I walk around the corner to the path leading to my front door.
Neither the woman nor the toddler looks up.
Their attention is still on the book. The woman’s skin is pale, and her long strawberry-blond hair is tied back in a ponytail.
The toddler’s dark hair is pulled up in some sort of bun on top of her head, and her skin is a shade lighter than Zara’s golden-copper coloring.
Wearing only jeans and T-shirts, they aren’t dressed for being out in the rain.
“Hi? Is there something I can help you with?” I ask, raindrops soaking through my Henley.
The woman’s and the girl’s heads snap up, surprise rounding their eyes. The toddler whimpers. Probably because she’s damn cold.
Kellan’s Trailblazer door slams shut. At the noise, the toddler releases a shriek and presses herself farther into the woman’s side, as if trying to hide or stay warm. She’s clutching a stuffed animal to her body, its black-and-white shape pinned under her arm.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” I tell them. “I thought you heard me pull up to the house. Is there something I can help you with?”
The woman closes the book and pushes to her feet, the toddler cradled against her body. The little girl buries her face into the woman’s chest and keeps it there.
“Is she okay?” I take inventory of the woman’s features, but nothing about her is familiar.
She’s not a neighbor. Door-to-door canvassers don’t usually bring small children with them when they knock on doors, especially not when it’s raining heavily.
And they don’t usually wait for people to come home, nor do they read on the homeowner’s porch.
The woman’s gaze darts to something over my shoulder, possibly Kellan. She shifts on her feet, as if she’d rather be anywhere but here, her attention returning to me.
“She’s your…” She adjusts the girl a little higher on her waist, her eyes never leaving me, her skin a little paler than before. “She’s your daughter.”
I stare at the pair for a fraction of a second, positive I’ve misheard her, the heavy rain drowning out her words.
Like I thought I’d misheard Maxwell when he’d told me about the movie deal?
Anger flares in me. Why would someone think it’s okay to accuse me of being a father—and think I won’t call bullshit on their lie? This is my house. Is she some hyper fan who found out where I live and is trying to infiltrate my life? “She’s absolutely, definitely, not mine.”