Not Bri. Bri was genuine. That’s what hurt the most. She’d been the realest part of all this. And he’d been the one to screw that up with his secrets. Sandra hadn’t been right to say what she did, but Gerard hadn’t been totally blame-free either. Hadn’t he entertained the idea initially of keeping the feature interesting by playing both sides?
But that changed when he got closer to Bri, and it became a matter of wanting what was best for her. And blast it, if he still didn’t think the Puff wasn’t best for her.
His stomach balled into a knot. It didn’t matter—she hadn’t given him a chance to explain. Just accused him of lying and using her, then stormed off before he could even offer reassurance. Now his pride throbbed. But the anger was a good thing—it’d make the goodbye a heck of a lot easier. He had been getting way too close. Way too vulnerable again.
It was safer this way.
“I never lied to you about any of this.” Peter cleared his throat. “I just—nudged. Hard. I’m a nudger, Gerard.”
“You’re a something, alright.” Gerard pinched the bridge of his nose. “So, you sent me on a blind mission to fall in love in Kansas?”
Peter paused. “It worked, didn’t it?”
His heart thundered with indignation. “This is my life, man. Not a game.” But if it were a game, it would be found on the back of the clearance shelf at the discount store. Hardly worth hiking it to the checkout counter. He groaned.
“Right. Your life, that you’re wasting away. Wasting valuable talent—”
“Then why didn’t you give me lead sooner?” He threw one arm out in frustration.
“To everything there is a season.” Peter clicked his tongue. “A time to rend, a time to sow . . .”
“A time to kill,” Gerard growled.
Peter carried on, unfazed. “A time to keep silent and a time to speak.”
“What are you getting at?”
“It’s your time to speak. I want you to have more of a voice—I always have. But you weren’t ready. You were too . . . chiseled.”
He had a feeling Peter wasn’t referring to his gym regimen. “Quit waxing poetic and get to the point.”
Peter sighed. “You were stony, man. You were hard as rock, and that’s not the voice we need at Traipse Horizon. We need someone passionate but clear-minded. Genuine but open to new ideas and concepts. Someone who knew what it meant to truly live.”
“I said to stop waxing poetic.”
“You don’t even know what you’re living for anymore, do you? Not since Kelsey.” Peter’s tone gentled, and Gerard despised the pity lingering around the edges. “I was hoping you’d get to Story and put that Remy guy’s lousy love advice aside, and maybe find out.”
“Well, Remy is back, so that notion is shot.”
“What do you mean?”
He filled his boss in on the connection between his inspirational hero and Bri’s mother.
Peter whistled. “Wow. Small world.” He hesitated. “You know, that would make an amazing tie-in to—”
“Don’t even go there. I’m not writing about it.”
“I know. Too soon.” A long pause hovered over the line. “I’m a man of my word, Gerard. Lead is yours—if you think you’re ready for it.”
Gerard opened his mouth, then snapped it shut as he realized Peter had already hung up. He shoved his cell in the back pocket of his jeans and began packing up the remains of the abandoned picnic.
Blast it—Peter nailed two things.
He was falling for Bri.
And he didn’t know if he was ready at all.
Bri had always been able to count on Mabel and Agnes. They had consistently been there for her—teaching Sunday school, sneaking her snacks on the way home from school, babysitting when her parents went out of town. Ever since her parents died, they’d also been there, as close as family, filling in as many gaps as they could—sitting in the front row of her college graduation, being a shoulder to cry on after breakups, taste-testing new recipes.
Bri needed them now. Except, she didn’t want to cry this time. She felt too numb to generate tears. Gerard’s words circled in her mind as she knocked lightly on the door of the sisters’ shared townhome, hoping they were still up. It was only eight o’clock, but the way they’d seemed so worn out lately . . .
She knocked a second time, more timidly than the first. Emotions balled in her throat as she fought to process all the if-onlys crowding her thoughts. If only her parents hadn’t died, she wouldn’t be here right now, so needy. If only her mom hadn’t kept those letters, she wouldn’t have suffered the loss of her favorite memories. If only Gerard hadn’t betrayed her, she wouldn’t be trying to figure out how to mend the fissure in her heart.
If only she could still cling to the security of her parents’ relationship, then maybe this fight with Gerard wouldn’t have stolen all her hope . . .
She knocked a third time, her anxiety and frustration pounding into the wood.
The door opened to reveal Mabel, sporting a robe and bright yellow curlers in her hair. Agnes was right behind her with a baseball bat, a green facial mask smeared across her cheeks and forehead.
Mabel rolled her eyes at her sister. “I told you it wasn’t a burglar. What kind of burglar knocks first?”
“The smart kind, to see if you’re home before breaking your window.” Agnes tapped the bat in her palm. “Don’t you watch crime TV?”
“No. I watch I Love Lucy and Saved by the Bell reruns like a normal person.”
Agnes huffed. “You couldn’t be normal if your—”
Bri cleared her throat.
Mabel’s eyes widened. “So sorry honey, are you okay? Come on in.” She ushered Bri inside, shutting the door behind her. Their townhome, as always, smelled like cinnamon rolls and cookie dough, but it was just from the scented candles Mabel insisted on burning year-round. “Is everything alright? Did something
