My makeup from the day before felt ten inches thick, but you’d never know it from the image in the mirror. I looked like I had when I’d set out from Wilmington yesterday. The makeup was hardly smudged, which just meant I hadn’t moved a hair once I’d fallen asleep.
At least the nightmare hadn’t invaded my sleep.
I twisted to take a look at the mark on my shoulder, relieved to see it had faded almost completely. It was still tender but was much better than it could have been.
I washed my face, brushed my teeth, and then dug through my suitcase for my workout gear. When I left the room with my keycard and phone in hand, I eyed the “emergency exit” sign at the end of the hallway with longing. I had no desire to get back in the elevator.
I put in my earbuds, turned on the meditation app once more, and waited for the elevator to show up. When it did, I placed myself right by the door as I hit the mezzanine button to take me to the fitness center. I listened to the ocean with eyes closed and was grateful when the doors opened with no one else getting on.
Soon, I was on a bike, zooming my way through the mountains, with the coach on the bike’s workout screen. My body was throwing off the tightness it had held since the night before. After a forty-five-minute ride, I moved over to the weights and began a routine I’d been doing for years. One I could do without too much thought but that required enough muscle concentration my brain couldn’t deviate to other topics.
My phone sounding out Mac’s ringtone in the quiet of the room had me jumping, almost dropping the weight in my hand. I set it down, wiped my face and hands with my towel, and then hit the “on” button.
“It’s ridiculously early. Why are you calling me instead of sleeping with your wife?”
“What the hell, Dani?” His voice was full of anger and concern.
There were only two things that could have him sounding that way. Either he found out about Nash and me, or he’d found out about last night’s incident. I wasn’t quite sure how he would have found out about either one because there’d been no witnesses to either debacle.
When I hadn’t responded, his voice turned soft, more concern than anger. “Tell me you’re okay.”
“I’m okay.” Which was mostly true. I was back to my normal self as much as I’d been over the last year.
“When I turned on the news and saw the fire hitting you, I… I kind of freaked out.”
I sat down on the weight bench. “It was on the news?”
“You didn’t know?”
“It was after midnight. How could it possibly have hit the wire already? Hold on while I turn on the TV.”
I looked around at the TVs that were stationed in the room, silent. I found a remote and sifted through the channels until I hit an early morning show. There I was, being hit in the back of the head with a rope of firecrackers, the spark setting fire to my jacket, me dropping it, and jumping into the limousine, Marco and Trevor shoving Brady in.
Then, the anchor came back on. “This arrived in our station’s email box with a note from Brady O’Neil’s supposed attacker. The email said, ‘You can’t replace me and win.’ So, it seems that the happy-go-lucky country musician, famous for his charm and his role on Fighting for the Stars, is not quite the clean-cut American hero everyone wants to believe.”
I shut it off. Shit. I was going to have to be all over this. How could they be blaming Brady for this? As if it was his fault that someone was stupid enough to throw a firecracker at him—and miss, to boot.
“Dani?” Mac’s voice was all concern.
“I’m here,” I said, but I was already typing a text to Lee and Brady.
“The fireworks hit you. Are you hurt?”
“I have a small burn on my shoulder. It isn’t any worse than the million flat-iron burns I’ve had in my lifetime. I’m fine, but I’m going to have to go. I need to get ahead of it.”
“Hey. Stop. Breathe,” he said.
And I did. My anxiety from last night had now just turned into anger. It was just like a year ago, when I’d woken up to my parents at Mac’s and my door and the news showcasing the attack on me in an elevator. I’d gone from anxious to a fire-breathing dragon. It was the same now. No one was going to make Brady out to be the bad guy on my watch.
Nash
FIX YOU
“Tears come streaming down your face
When you lose something you cannot replace.”
Performed by Coldplay
Written by Martin / Berryman / Buckland / Champion
After drinks with Mac in D.C., I sobered up over a meal and then drove out to Church Beach. It was late, and I let myself in because the lights were out. Molly came bounding down the stairs to greet me, jumping off the last step so I had to catch her or let her hit the ground.
“Hey, girl, you miss me?”
I scratched her chin, ran my fingers over her fur, and then set her down.
“Nash?” Tristan’s tired voice called out quietly, coming around the corner at the top of the stairs and looking down.
“Yeah. Sorry I woke you.”
We both knew I probably hadn’t.
“Why are you here again?” she asked.
“Go back to bed. We can talk in the morning,” I said quietly. I didn’t want to have another conversation about being put on leave.
Tristan stared at me for a long time before rubbing her forehead and turning away to head back to her room. Molly didn’t follow her; she followed me down the stairs to the basement and the uncomfortable pullout couch. The couch I couldn’t look at without seeing Dani’s naked body straddling me. Eyes full of passion
