Page 93 of Almost Beautiful (Beautiful 3)

“Like I said, he doesn’t know anything, and it’s better this way. Please trust me.”

Her lips formed a hard line. “Fine. I’ll wait for you at the apartment. But,” she spoke softly and leaned in, lowering her sunglasses, “you were in the basement, Abby. And that terrifies me. Have you even talked to anyone about it? That had to have affected you.”

“You know I can’t.”

“What about patient/doctor privilege?”

“If there’s a crime committed, they have to report. I’ve talked to Travis, but I love you for caring about me,” I said.

America replaced her glasses on the bridge of her nose and turned on her heels, walking toward my building. The farther away she walked, the guiltier I felt.

I followed Finch under a shade tree. Beads of sweat were already forming at his hairline.

“I love how we all act like we don’t know what going on, but we all know what’s going on and we pretend we don’t all know that we all know what’s going on,” he said, nearly giddy.

“You don’t know, Finch. Not really. What did Adam say?”

“It’s all set. When and where you requested. He’s on board.”

“And how did he act about it? Nervous?”

“Very, but he did tell me to tell you something.”

“What?”

“That he’s got Mad Dog’s back.”

I thought about that. “Do you believe him?”

“I do,” he said, standing tall. “He seemed kind of relieved.”

I nodded. “And no one overheard you? No one was around? You left your cellphones out of ear shot?”

“Done, done, and done, baby. I was out there doing the Lord’s work and wasn’t about to fuck up. Now what?”

I kissed his cheek. “Nothing. You did good. Thank you so much.”

“Really? That’s it? But I’m so good at this!” he called to me as I walked away.

America was sitting on the bottom step when I arrived back at the apartment. She was picking her nails, her sunglasses hanging low on her nose.

“Please don’t be mad. I know that was hurtful, I’m sorry. I really …” I looked up to the apartment.

America held her finger to her lips briefly before speaking, “It’s fine. Really. I understand, I promise. We don’t need to talk about it.”

“Thank you,” I said.

We walked upstairs, and I unlocked the door and then closed it behind America. She sat on the couch, already engrossed in her phone while I put down my bag, sunglasses, and keys on the breakfast bar.

I kicked off my sandals and padded into the kitchen, wondering what to thaw for dinner. The house was clean, the laundry caught up. The only thing to do was cook. I looked at the clock hanging in the kitchen. Travis would be home in the next hour, and—

“Pigeon?” Travis called as he opened the door. He tossed his keys next to mine and nodded to America. When he saw me, he beamed. “Hey, Pidge.”

“Hey,” I said, grinning as he strode into the kitchen and wrapped his arms around me. His whiskers scuffed against my shoulder when he hugged me, but I didn’t care. I just didn’t want him to let go.

He stood taller, just enough to steal a few tiny kisses.

America groaned and stood. “That’s my cue. Call me later. I’m driving to Wichita in the morning.”