Page 38

THIRTY-EIGHT

Ella

I’M WATCHING LAW & Order reruns and working on my business plan when Poppy texts me an article titled “The Brixtons: Behind Closed Doors.” I immediately click it, eyes widening in shock as I skim through. Blake’s bombshell interview has spiraled into something way bigger than either one of us. I already knew about the three other women who’ve come forward with accusations of their own against Connor, but this is about women supposedly settling out of court for an undisclosed amount. No one’s contacted me, but there’s a rumor that the D.A.’s office may file charges. It’s become more high-profile given his dad and the other women speaking up.

“El?” My mom’s voice interrupts my reading. “Do you feel okay? Honey?”

“Hm?”

I look up to see her standing in front of me. Her eyebrows are drawn together, worry lines creased into her forehead. She puts the back of her hand against my forehead to check for a fever. “Are you okay? You’re white as a ghost.”

I turn my computer so it’s facing her.

“I saw that this morning.” She settles on the couch next to me, and our dog Murphy immediately jumps onto her lap. He’s definitely the favorite child. Putting her arm around my shoulders, she pulls me against her. “I’m proud of you, honey.”

“Why?” I scrunch my nose. “I literally haven’t moved from this couch in, like, seventy-two hours.”

I’m wearing leggings so worn down I’m surprised there aren’t any holes, and a sweatshirt that most definitely has a hole in it somewhere.

She gives my shoulder a squeeze. “Do you know how much strength it takes to walk away from a career you’ve spent so long cultivating? To choose yourself and your mental health? To wake up every morning with a smile even after all you’ve been through? That’s badass. I’m proud of you.”

My head flings back as I laugh. Badass?

“It’s true.” She nods emphatically. “You’re a fighter, Eliana, but you’re not alone. You never have been.”

“I know.” I rest my head on her shoulder. “I was thinking of flying back to London after Thanksgiving.”

Besides the fact that half of my stuff is still there, I have no desire to permanently move back in with my parents. I also don’t want to miss the final Grand Prix. There’s no need for me to be there from a professional standpoint. I’m done interviewing Blake, and we have everything we need for the book. The only reason I would be there is to support him. I wonder if there’s a scientific explanation for how I can miss him so much that it physically hurts.

“What are you ladies talking about?” my dad asks, coming into the room. “Anything fun?”

My mom shoots me a wink. “Oh, just our badass daughter.”

“Badass, huh?” A deep chuckle vibrates through his chest. “Well, do my badass daughter and wife want to go grab some lunch? I’m starving.”

His face falls when I give him an unconvinced shrug. There’s a Law & Order: SVU marathon starting in thirty minutes. Plus, I don’t feel like putting on real people pants.

“I’m happy you’re finally relaxing, but you can’t hide here forever, sweetheart.” My mom sighs, ruffling my hair. “At least go outside and get some fresh air. Play some ball with Murphy.”

“It’s chilly out!” I protest. “I don’t want to catch a cold.”

“Wear a coat,” my dad suggests. “Put on a hat, some gloves. Maybe go crazy and wear fuzzy socks.”

“Hey, Dad … ” I grin, my lips curling up at the edges. “What happens when someone gets angry in cold weather?”

He rubs his chin in thought. “They complain?”

“They have a meltdown.”

My dad’s raspy laugh fills the room. The joke wasn’t that funny, but he’s a sucker for a lame punchline and I feel guilty for shutting down his lunch idea.

“How about you guys go and bring me back something?” I suggest. “I’ll take Murphy on a walk while you’re gone.”

This seems to satisfy them. Murphy instantly jumps up at the recognition of the word walk . He runs around in anticipation, so I have no choice but to bundle up against the crispy November weather. He nips at my heels in excitement as I pull on my boots and coat.

“Be safe, hon!” my mom calls out as she and my dad head to the garage. “See you later.”

I wave goodbye as I put Murphy into his harness. I’m not important enough to have paparazzi camped outside my house, but that doesn’t stop me from holding my breath as I walk out the door. No one’s hiding in the bush, and Murphy is eager for a walk, practically dragging me down the driveway. I should’ve worn fuzzy socks.

Slipping my earbuds in, I put on a playlist Josie made for me called “bad bitches only.” The fresh air may be turning the tip of my nose bright red, but it’s making me feel more awake and clear-headed than I have been for days.

We’re finishing up our walk when a familiar sound interrupts the song I’m listening to. I glance down at my phone and stop dead in my tracks as I see the notification lit up on the screen.

A new episode of Coffee with Champions is now available!

I don’t know whether I should laugh at how fucking horrible this is or cry at how fucking unfair this is. Throwing up is an option too because I’m suddenly extremely nauseous. I stand still as a statue for a full five minutes while looking at my phone, deciding what to do. With Murphy in tow, I sprint up the driveway and back into the house. Settling myself into a comfortable position on the couch, I press play on the episode. Here goes nothing.