Page 123 of Close Match

“You’re not calling her now, are you?” Simon asks, appalled.

“No. I’m calling Eric Shea. I need to find out if he handled anything for Veronica,” I say wearily.

Simon lets out an enormous sigh. “Right.” Snagging my cell from where it’s sitting on my dressing table, he hands it to me. Unlocking it, I quickly pull up my lawyer’s direct line.

One ring. Two. Then he answers with a quiet “Ms. Brogan, I was expecting your call. I’m so sorry for your loss.”

And I burst into tears all over again.

* * *

Seven days later,I’m sitting on Bristol and Simon’s couch holding an envelope in my hand like it might explode if I open it. I’m not entirely sure it won’t.

It was handed to me by Eric Shea after the memorial service for Veronica earlier today. “Come see me when you’re up to it, Ms. Brogan. We have quite a lot to discuss.” He pressed warm fingers on top of my icy ones.

My name is scrawled on the outside of the envelope in Veronica’s distinctive scrawl, handwriting I’ve seen on birthday and graduation cards. Each card from every bouquet from every show I’d been in since I was a little girl.

All exceptQueen of the Stars. A fiery burn pricks at the back of eyes when I remember the feeling of loss when there was no bouquet from Veronica and how I’d just squared my shoulders and performed.

“How could I have been so cold? How could I have just shut you out?” I murmur, my fingers tracing over my name.

“Because you needed to, Linnie. You’re allowed to feel pain—then and now.” Simon’s voice startles me. I jump before turning slightly in his direction. “Bristol is trying to get Alex down,” he explains. I merely nod.

Sighing, he drops down next to me on the couch. “I won’t ask how you’re holding up.”

Tilting my head back, I stare unseeing up at the ceiling. “I’m breathing. That’s more than I can say for Veronica.” The bitter sob escapes before I can hold it in.

Simon tugs me against him. I let all my grief pour out. “I’m sorry,” I gasp as rivers of tears pour out.

“How are you supposed to heal if this poison is still inside you?”

“I don’t know that I’m supposed to anymore.” Pushing away, I walk over to the window, leaving Veronica’s letter lying on the couch.

“Why?”

“Because maybe it’s love that’s toxic. Maybe it’s the booze,” I fling out as I swipe my fingers under my eyes. “Or maybe it’s me.”

“And maybe you’re simply saying something ridiculous because you’ve hit the point where you’re ready to admit you’re devastated by what happened to you, Evangeline.” Simon shoves to his feet. “You are not wrong for wanting to be more important than that,” Simon flings his arm out to the side to indicate the tea cart of liquor that he and Bristol occasionally indulge in.

“Yeah, I see how well that’s worked out.” I turn my back on him. Three seconds later, I hear a loud crash. Frightened, I jump backward as I turn.

Simon’s chest is heaving. He’s hurled the bottle of whatever the amber-colored liquid was against the wall. “You are!” he roars. “Whatever is in that piece of drivel that drunken madwoman wrote, whatever your mother wrote, whatever that man made you feel, you are worth more to us exactly as you are!”

“As much as I hate the fact Simon just woke up the baby—again—I agree with him.” I jerk around to face Bristol who’s holding an active Alex in her arms. My head bobs between the two of them. “You could have done what all of them did.”

“What’s that?” I manage to get out.

“Temporarily drown your life. Instead, you rose above it. So, no matter what that”—she nods at the letter—“says, you are still what you made yourself.”

“Alone?” I question bitterly.

“Remarkable.” Bristol hands Alex to Simon. Walking over, she picks up the letter. “Brave. And damnit, you’ve always been my damn idol.” The last she says as she puts Veronica’s message in my hands.

“And you and Mom were always mine,” I whisper.

“I know.”

“I don’t know if I can do this. I don’t know how much more pain I can take.” That’s an understatement.