26. Boob Tape #2
She squeezes my arm once, which is more reassurance than I deserve from a woman I haven’t been truthful to in six years.
Shaking my head, I force that thought to the back of my mind because if I let myself feel the accumulation of my fuckups, I’ll stop functioning, and functioning is the only thing I have to offer this evening.
“This way,” I say, and Junie easily falls into step beside me.
Feeling a presence at my back, I glance over my shoulder to find a scowling Hudson ushering Nana Mae right behind us.
Regardless of how much he hates me right now, he’s still here, at my back, supporting me. He’s probably still carrying the shovel, but now it’ll be my body he buries.
He quirks an angry brow, and I move forward as though my limbs are in quicksand.
We’ve always supported you, you dumb fuck. You’re just too stubborn to let us in. His voice in my head is so real, I would’ve thought he’d uttered the words if I hadn’t been staring at him.
At the receiving line, I greet the managing partner, the senior VP of design, and two junior associates. I accept their handshakes and offer a smile I hope doesn’t resemble a grimace.
Junie is pleasant and reserved beside me. One guy holds on to her hand long enough to make it uncomfortable, but before I can rip his arm off, Hudson interjects, forcing the asshole to release her.
That’s when I spot Natalie.
Fuck. Fuck no. She’s not supposed to be here. What the hell is she doing here?
“Stay calm,” Hudson whispers so low and dangerous his tone could be a weapon. “Let me do my job, Cole.”
Which means do nothing. It’s the thing I suck at most.
Natalie’s at the end of the line, wearing a black dress and a smile that’s been calibrated for the room.
This close, I can see what the last six years have cost her. She looks tired—like a person gets when they’ve been running too long on borrowed fuel.
I can’t believe I was ever attracted to her.
The line moves too fast for my liking, and Junie’s fingers dig into my forearm.
“Cole.” Natalie’s voice peels away layers of my skin, and I clench my jaw to hide my reaction.
“Natalie.” I didn’t know my voice could throw darts with each syllable.
“I’m glad you came.”
I say nothing. I can’t. My mind is too busy recalculating all the ways this can go wrong.
A flicker across her face—not anger—something closer to curiosity. Then her gaze slides over Junie, and every fight I’ve ever suppressed roars to the surface.
“Juniper.” Her confused gaze slides to mine for half a second. “This is an…unexpected surprise. It’s…good to see you.”
“Sorry I can’t say the same. All I have are bad-tasting memories,” Junie says flatly.
Natalie’s smile doesn’t move, but her eyes darken ominously.
“Enjoy your evening, Nat.” Hudson says, stepping so close that Junie and I are forced to move.
Natalie frowns when she spots Hudson, but neither he nor Nana Mae stop to give her airtime.
“Actually,” Natalie’s voice coils like a whip as she steps in front of me. “Let me show you to your table.”
“Not necessary,” I grind out.
“But I insist,” she hisses, holding her arms out wide enough that it’s clear what she’s doing, and if I walk away, I’ll be snubbing a senior designer at the firm sponsoring this event.
Holding Junie close, we follow her through tables to the other side of the room, far away from where our table should be. I studied the fucking layout six times.
Then Junie stops.
Dead.
She’s staring at the east wall, and now I know why. It’s like Natalie’s knives are twisting in my gut but I can’t remove them.
Natalie’s smile turns into a snarl. This path was intentional. She knew that even if Junie didn’t recognize the design, she wouldn’t forget the name. She heard Junie and I talking about it enough times for it to become a point of contention in our relationship.
Now it makes sense why it was also the first design that she stole.
“Junie.”
She doesn’t move. Even Hudson has closed in.
Along the east wall is a display. A long, illuminated panel that runs the length of the room, featuring a selection of the firm’s work. I knew they would—this is as much about showing off Meridian’s miracles as it is honoring new designs—but I had no idea they’d showcase…older work.
Now, I’m forced to look at it because the centerpiece is a design that started this all.
The veterans’ memorial stands as the firm’s shining glory.
It’s enlarged, bigger than the rest. Rendered in a high-quality print, mounted under gallery lighting, The Whisper of Souls Memorial. It’s attributed to Natalie Moore, Lead Designer, Meridian Group.
Junie’s eyes never leave it.
My stomach drops through the floor into the parking garage below.
“Cole.”
I press my palm to her naked back because I can’t speak.
“That’s the veterans’ memorial.”
“Junie—”
“The one that sings in different tones depending on the season. The one you designed for your internship application. The one I saw you create at my kitchen table. The one we talked about six weeks ago.”
Every word is calm. Every one a nail going into a coffin she’s building in real time.
“Not here.”
Natalie saunters off toward an associate, happy with the bomb she dropped in my lap.
“It has her name on it.”
“Please, not here, Junie.”
She looks at me, while Hudson scans the room, keeping track of Natalie. I don’t even know where Nana Mae is.
Junie doesn’t look angry. It’s worse than angry. This is the look of a woman who’s just been handed a key that unlocks a door to everything I haven’t told her.
“Why is your work on her wall?”
Every honest answer I have would unspool the last six years in the middle of a ballroom full of people.
The foreclosure. Her mother. The loan. Marcus.
The letters. The video. The locked drawer.
Every protection I’ve constructed around Junie’s safety is dependent on this not being said out loud in a room full of architects and industry press until I’ve managed the fallout in every direction.
And I’m trying. I fucking asked Hudson for help. But none of that matters when I see the pain on Junie’s face.
So I say the stupidest thing I’ve ever said in my life. “It’s complicated.”
“You fucking idiot,” Hudson growls.
But I don’t look at him because Junie’s slipping away from me like rain on a windshield.
I’ve spent a lifetime memorizing her reactions, so I know what it looks like when Juniper Mercer locks down.
The expression that raced across her irises when she was fifteen and found that her mother had been lying about the bills—my first inclination that something was wrong.
The one she wore a month after Nolan’s graduation party, when he told her I was gone and she didn’t know I was hiding upstairs to make sure she was okay.
The one she’s spent weeks telling me, without words, that I’ll understand when I finally cross the line she can’t forgive.
I’ve crossed that line now. I glance at Hudson, but he understands a sinking ship as well as I do.
“Let’s go outside,” he offers.
Junie doesn’t remove her hand from my arm, dragging me along with her. Her destination is clear before we reach it.
Natalie.
Hudson tries to step in front of her.
“Don’t.” That’s all she says to Hudson, and we both see the crash before the accident’s even happened.
We cross the room. I’m in a haze of panic because I can’t find a solution fast enough. Nana Mae’s head turns toward us from her table of allies, and Hudson never leaves my side.
“Whatever you do, don’t say a word,” he seethes.
Natalie looks up from a group of three men as we approach. Her smile is already prepared. She’s a woman who fights dirty and has years of experience anticipating underhanded tactics.
“I have a question about the memorial,” Junie says without waiting for pleasantries.
“Fuck. This is going sideways fast.” Hudson’s hissed words are drowned out when Natalie’s smile shifts a fraction.
“The—”
“The veterans’ memorial. On the wall.” Junie gestures without looking. “I was admiring it just now.”
“Oh. Yes.” One of Natalie’s associates smiles at her. “It’s one of our most celebrated pieces. Natalie outdid herself with the design.”
That’s when Natalie registers Junie’s spite, and she attempts to excuse herself from her colleagues.
“Ms. Moore, I’m curious about the acoustic design.” Junie’s battle-ready tone doesn’t match the serene smile on her face.
My world is about to implode, and there’s nothing I can do to stop it without causing a bigger scene.
Beside me, Hudson’s thumbs move across his phone with frightening speed.
Meanwhile, Natalie’s smile holds. She obviously thinks I’ve either warned Junie or assumed Junie knows what’s at stake. Both are my fault.
Sweat gathers on my forehead, and I scan our surroundings, hoping to find a distraction big enough to pull Junie’s focus from her latest discovery.
“The building is designed to produce tones as the wind moves through the central corridor,” Junie says. “Different tones depending on the time of year. I was hoping you could tell me how you achieved that.”
Silence.
A very pointed, lethal silence.
The men Natalie had been speaking to turn, interested in an answer they didn’t know existed because she built the damn thing facing the wrong direction.
“It was ah—a collaborative process,” Natalie says after a beat.
“I’m sure it was,” Junie placates. “I’d love to hear about the specifics. Are the tonal intervals a function of the spacing, the corridor width, or both? I’ve been reading about acoustic architecture, and I just find it so dang fascinating.”
Natalie blinks. Her eyes flick past Junie to find mine.
Natalie finally understands that the woman on my arm is no longer the teenager she knew, but a woman with a built-in arsenal locked on one single target.
The three men wait while Hudson’s irritated energy pulses between us.
“Cole,” Natalie says lightly. “You were consulting on the acoustic calculations. Since you’re here to showcase your own inspired work, perhaps you can fill us in? I’d hate to misremember the details.”
There it is.
The gentlest possible handoff. A request for a rescue framed as a compliment.