“She’s still in training,” he says defensively.
It’s a Sunday morning. My usual morning show preference is modified on the weekend. The unfamiliar faces greet me and I lean forward, my gaze never leaving the screen as I listen to what they have to say.
Some political dustup went down; what else is new. A celebrity wedding everyone’s been waiting for. Horrible storm on the East Coast, blah, blah, blah. Will stretches out his arm and starts to scratch my back, his fingers light as they skim up and down, slipping beneath my threadbare T-shirt to graze my bare skin. I shiver at his touch, wishing for the distraction, telling myself I don’t need it. That I need to pay attention to the news and trying to figure out what’s going on.
But he’s a welcome distraction—I can admit it. He’s spent the entire weekend with me and it’s been amazing. No arguing, no worrying, just the two of us spending time together. Learning more about each other. After our conversation Friday night, it felt good to let my walls down and just . . . feel. Be normal. We’re good together, but that doesn’t surprise me. I’ve never felt at ease with someone the way I do with Ethan. Will. He even let me call him Will a few times over the weekend, never really flinching once, and I thought that was progress.
Real progress would be me not calling him Will any longer, but I’m not sure that’s ever going to happen . . .
“Ah, shit,” Will mutters, his hand dropping away from my back.
I turn to see he’s staring at his phone, his brows drawn low, his mouth curved into a frown. My heart trips over itself when he doesn’t look up at me.
“What is it?” I whisper.
He shakes his head, his eyes still on the screen. “They know about us. That we’re together.”
Now it feels like my heart just stalled. “Who knows about us?”
“The public. I went on a crime forum that’s always talking about my father.” He makes a face. “One of the members shared a link to Lisa Swanson’s site. I guess she has a blog with hundreds of thousands of subscribers that’s associated with her network, and she wrote a post about us. That she has confirmation we’re involved in a romantic relationship. Plus there was a small mention on a morning news show.”
“Confirmation? As in what?” Oh God. This was my biggest fear. This is why I should never have done the first interview, let alone the second. I’m bringing unwanted attention on myself, on the both of us. People aren’t going to be happy that we’re together. Not that it’s any of their business, but they don’t care about that. They’ll pass judgment.
And what about my mother and my sister? They’ll be so upset. My relationship with Will—Ethan, whatever—they’re against it. Why would I want to throw it in their face? Not that I am, that’s thanks to Lisa, but still. They never wanted me to be with him in the first place.
Mom had also been against the first interview. Brenna was the one who convinced her I should do it. And now the two of them are angry with me.
But if I hadn’t done that interview, Will would never have seen it and we wouldn’t be together today. So it’s a good thing that I did it.
Right?
“There’s a photo of the two of us together.”
I move so I’m sitting right next to him and lean in close, squinting at the grainy photo. It was taken here, at my house. We’re in the backyard with Molly. She’s running around while Will and I stand together, Will’s arm around my waist.
Blissfully unaware, all while someone was lurking in the woods behind my house snapping photos of us.
“That was yesterday, I think,” I murmur, staring at the photo, my stomach bottoming out. We look happy. Content. Will is smiling down at me like I’m the best thing to ever happen to him, while I’m watching Molly run around in circles like a crazy dog. It hurts my heart to know someone was spying on us, violating our privacy, taking photos of us while they hid in the forest. A forest I never really feared until . . .
“I had a weird feeling a while ago. That someone was back there,” I say, glancing up at him.
“I know. Mrs. Anderson told me.”
My eyes go wide. “What? When?”
“On Friday, when I was waiting for you to come home, she mentioned it. We talked for a while. About you—how we’re both watching out for you.” He kisses my forehead, his warm lips lingering. I love it when he does that. I feel so loved. So cherished. And I need that right now. I’m on shaky ground, any little thing rattling me, and I don’t like it. “I want you to keep Molly here with you.”
“I can’t do that. She’s your dog,” I start to say but he shakes his head, the serious look on his face silencing me.
“I’ll take her to training this week and keep her with me, but once she’s done, she’s all yours. At least, she’s staying here with you, even when I’m not here.” His expression is grave. “I know she’s not much, but I’d feel better if she were here. At least you’d have a warning if someone is ever outside, right?”
I nod, reluctantly. I don’t like thinking of someone lurking outside, but I have to be realistic. “I don’t want to take your dog from you,” I whisper as I slip my arms around his neck, clinging to him. “You needed something to love, to take care of.”
“I have you. And Molly.” He smiles, and the sight of it both breaks my heart and fills me with hope.
“But you got her for yourself . . .” He places his fingers against my lips, silencing me.
“Stop arguing with me. Besides, I think we have bigger problems right now than who gets Molly. There are reporters outside who want to talk to you.” He drops his fingers from my mouth.
“They’ll want to talk to the both of us, especially if they know you’re here.” Panic grabs hold of me and I withdraw from the bed, glancing around for something decent to wear. I can’t go out there in my pajamas. “What do you think they want to know?”
“You’re not going to talk to them. I refuse to let that happen.” His voice is firm, but I ignore him. I’m too busy pulling on a sweatshirt, then looking for a pair of jeans.
“Do you think ‘no comment’ will suffice?” I ask hopefully, turning to look at him.
“I doubt it.” Sighing, he drops his phone on his lap and runs both hands through his hair, his frustration a living, palpable thing. “This isn’t good, Katie.”
“We’ll be fine,” I say feebly.
“You can’t go out there,” he says again, sounding fierce. “I mean it. We need to call my lawyer and have him handle it.”
“You have a lawyer?” Why in the world would he have a lawyer? I hate the suspicion that crawls down my spine. Only the people who do wrong have a lawyer . . . that was always my thought process in the past.
And I don’t like thinking that way at all when it comes to Will.
“It’s not like I keep him on retainer or whatever, but yeah. There’s a lawyer I talk to when I don’t know which way to go. Like with the interview a few nights ago. I thought what Lisa said was slanderous, so I met with him. But he said that because I consented to the interview, and I actually spoke to her, I wouldn’t have a legal leg to stand on.” He runs his hands through his hair again, making a complete mess of it. “I don’t have his cell number, but I can at least call his service and they can get my message to him.”
I settle heavily on the edge of the mattress, chewing on my thumbnail and watching as he climbs out of bed, his phone held up to his ear as he makes the call. He leaves a message with the weekend answering service and looks at me when he’s done, trying to smile.
“It’ll be okay.”
“What are we going to do in the meanwhile with all those people out there?” I wave a hand toward the front of the house.
He leaves the bedroom and I trail after him, as does Molly. He’s at the window by the time I’m in the living room, peeking once again through the closed blinds. I can’t believe the dog doesn’t bark, the little brat. She’ll bark at us but not complete strangers? “There are three reporters out there and three dudes lugging the ca
meras. Probably the local networks.”
“Should I go outside and try to get rid of them?”
“How many times do I have to say no, Katie? You should absolutely not go out there.” Shaking his head, he steps away from the window. “I don’t know what to do.”
“I don’t, either.” I feel totally out of control yet again and I don’t like it. I can tell Will doesn’t like it, either.
We’re victims of our own circumstances. We brought this on ourselves. Now we have to figure out a way to fix it.
“How’d you call off the reporters? I heard they were hanging out in your yard,” Brenna says by way of greeting when I open the front door. “Broke up with what’s-his-name?”
Ignoring her comment, I open the door wider, indicating I want her to come in. She tries to get her digs in where she can but I refuse to acknowledge them. I’m just thankful we’re talking once more and she’s here. Remaining patient is the name of the game. It’s going to take a long time getting her to warm up to the idea of Will being a permanent part of my life.
“I have the magic touch,” I tell her, making her snort as she passes by. Mom’s still at the car, pulling something out of the backseat. I said I would make dinner, but I know Mom brought something. She always does. Hopefully it’s something sweet. She excels at any and every dessert she’s ever attempted to make.
“Seriously, Katherine. How did you get rid of them?” Brenna turns to face me, skepticism written all over her face. She crosses her arms in front of her chest in pure defensive mode. For what I can only assume is a multitude of reasons, she’s still mad at me. And I don’t know how to fix it. I’ve already told her I was sorry, but that clearly wasn’t good enough.
I’m starting to wonder if it was the right choice, inviting my mom and sister to dinner tonight . . . and having Will join us. He’s on his way now, and I’m praying he won’t feel like he entered a vipers’ nest when he gets here.
“Will knows a lawyer who helped us with the public statement,” I explain, not missing the way Brenna’s eyes narrow. The statement had been terse and to the point, without revealing too much information. We went out in front of my house and spoke to the few reporters who lingered there, reading the statement. Which merely stated that our friendship was of no one else’s concern, that we share a connection that we cannot deny, born from a horrific experience, and that we would have nothing else to say going forward.
In other words, none of your business, we’re going to do whatever we want, so leave us alone. I thought it was perfect, as did Will. The reporters were disappointed and tried to ask about a thousand questions all at once, but Will told them we wouldn’t talk and we went back into the house. Thankfully, they abandoned their post in front of my house almost as quickly as they established it.
What helped? A new local scandal erupted between an assistant district attorney and a female judge, who were immersed in an intense affair—until the judge’s angry husband waved his gun in the young DA’s face, threatening to kill him. Now the judge’s husband is in jail on attempted murder charges.
I’ve never been so grateful for someone else’s problems in all my life. I know it’s wrong to feel that way, but at least their story took the spotlight off ours.
“He knows a lawyer? So like what, he has one on hand whenever he needs one? Don’t you find that odd?” Brenna asks.
“What does she find odd?” Mom walks into the house at that very moment, breezing past me with a pie dish wrapped in aluminum foil in her hands. I shut and lock the door, peeking out the still-open window for any unfamiliar cars parked on the street. But I see nothing.
“Her friend has a lawyer. That’s how they handled that statement they issued a few days ago,” Brenna says, her arms falling at her sides. “What twenty-three-year-old guy has a lawyer? And who issues public statements?”
“We do,” I say quietly, wanting her to know that Will and I are a team. She’s not going to break us up with her wild speculation. I won’t let her.
“What, have you become a celebrity? You talk to Lisa Swanson a couple of times on national TV and now you need a publicist?”
“Brenna,” Mom says, her voice soft but firm. “Enough.”
She looks totally exasperated, but at least my sister goes quiet.
Leaving Brenna alone to stew in her anger, Mom and I go into the kitchen, where she puts the pie dish in the refrigerator before she proceeds to examine what I’ve prepared for dinner. She looks over the chicken dish I have baking in the oven, the rice cooking on the stovetop, and the salad that I was just finishing putting together.
“Looks good.” The smile on her face is falsely bright, straining at the edges, making my own fall. She doesn’t look happy and I hate that. Is she disappointed in my choosing Will? I’m starting to think it’s impossible to make everyone in my life happy. “When is your friend going to be here?”
I don’t even know exactly how I convinced them to come over for dinner. They were mad enough to tell me they couldn’t offer their support if I continued to see Will and they proved that by not reaching out to me. Not after the Lisa interview, not after the reveal that Will and I were in a relationship. They were eerily quiet. I had to be the one to finally reach out to them.
And Will was the one who encouraged me.
“You need your family,” he’d told me yet again late one night as he was holding me in his arms, in bed and tangled up in each other. “You can’t freeze them out.”
“But they’re freezing me out,” I’d started to protest, and he’d cut me off by kissing me.
A wonderful way to be cut off, but still, when we were finished, I’d been irritated.
“Just call them. Start with your mom first. Ask her to talk to Brenna for you. Or just reach out to her yourself. They’ll eventually come around.” He’d paused then, his expression downright fierce. “I refuse to stand in the way of your relationship with them.”
His words, the expression on his face, they touched me. I liked that he cared about my family relationships. He knew they were important to me and therefore, they were important to him, too.
“I’ll call her,” I’d promised.
And now here we are. I practically had to beg Mom to come for dinner and drag Brenna with her, but she finally, reluctantly, agreed. Now I just pray it goes well and no one screws anything up. Especially me.
Especially Will.
“He should be here in a few minutes,” I tell her as she grabs a few leftover cherry tomatoes and throws them into the salad. “Mom. I want to say thank you for coming over tonight.”
“Well, of course I wanted to come over. I missed you.” Her fake smile fades, replaced with an expression full of motherly concern. I’ve seen that look more times than I can count over the years. I’ve given this woman so much to worry about. “I don’t like fighting with you, Katherine. That’s never happened before.”
I wasn’t the one in a fight—she was. But I decide it’s best not to mention that little fact.
“I don’t, either. That’s why I’m glad you’re here, and that you brought Brenna with you, even though I know she’s still mad.” I hesitate, but decide to go for it. “I really need you guys to accept him, Mom. Please.” I go to her then and wrap my arms around her, and she does the same, squeezing me tight. I need this hug. I need the reassurance that my family will accept this man in my life and that we can all do this together. I need Will, but I also need Mom and Brenna.
Despite my sister’s hostility and still very obvious resentment, I know eventually she’ll get over it. She has to. We’re too close to let something like a guy come between us and hurt our relationship.
“Brenna’s in therapy,” Mom admits, her voice low as she speaks close to my ear. “She’s been going through some . . . stuff, and I’m afraid she’s been taking it out on you. And it sounds like she’s been taking it out on your—friend as well.”
“What do you mean she’s been going through some stuff? And why do you keep calli
ng him my friend?” I withdraw from her embrace slightly, though I haven’t let her go. I don’t want to. It feels nice, being in my mother’s arms. I need her comfort right now. These last few weeks have been so incredibly stressful and confusing.
“What else can I call him? I must say, Katherine, that this entire situation is incredibly awkward.” She pulls away from me completely and starts roaming around my kitchen once more. I’m surprised she hasn’t started setting the table, just to keep herself occupied. “Please don’t say anything to your sister, but she and Mike broke up. She’s moved back in with me.”
I gape at her. “Are you serious?”
“Shh! Not so loud—she’ll hear you. But yes, I’m serious. Things haven’t been good between them for a while and they finally split up. She won’t give me too many details, but I do know she started going to a counselor a few weeks ago.” She taps her lips with her index finger, staring at my empty table. “Want me to set the table for dinner?”
Ah, there’s the mom I know and love. I knew that would happen. “That would be great, thanks. Let me get the plates.” I open the cupboard door as Mom goes to my silverware drawer. I grab the plates and set them on the counter before glancing toward the kitchen door. I think I heard Brenna go into the bathroom a few minutes ago, but I can’t be too sure. “Wow. I can’t believe it. I really thought they were going to get married.”
“So did I, but apparently that didn’t work out so well.” Mom shakes her head, looking toward the door as well before she sets the silverware on top of the stack of plates. “We shouldn’t talk about it. She’ll be in here any minute and I don’t want her thinking we’re whispering about her.”
“Why not? You two are always whispering about me.” Ouch. That came out way snottier than I meant it to.
“Katherine. Please. Don’t start that now.”
I keep my lips shut, thankful when Brenna walks into the kitchen and provides the proper distraction. I stow the salad in the fridge and clean up any mess that I left on the counter, while Brenna pours herself a glass of wine from the bottle she brought with her and Mom sets the table. Brenna’s going on about the kids in her class and how they drive her crazy, and all I can think about is that she’s alone. Not with her boyfriend, Michael, and living back at home with Mom.