Page 73 of The Temptation of Truth

My laugh is awkward, my nerves flipping around in my stomach like a fish out of water, and I press my hand to my chest to feel my rapid heartbeat.

Wildhas never been a word I’d use to describe myself, yet here I am, going dancing with a group of rock stars. They’re all dressed in bodycon and sequins, and I’msoout of my element.

“Can’t wait.”

I flick my eyes toward Sav. She’s wearing a purple balayage wig and a black faux leather minidress. There’s a see-through mesh gap that stretches from her collarbone to her navel, then two more on both of her sides, running from the top hem to the bottom hem. So muchskin. Side boob. Butt cheek. She looks, in Callie’s words,hot as fuck, but I could only dream of having the confidence to wear something like that.

For the hundredth time since climbing into this SUV, I adjust the skirt on the dress I borrowed from Claire. Sav offered me something from her wardrobe, but I almost passed out when I saw the options. Everything was so risqué and edgy. Perfect for her. Not so much for me.

Thankfully Claire’s selection offered more, uh,coverage. The black dress is still tight and short, but the sleeves are capped, there are no cut-outs or see-through details, and the hem reaches past the curve of my butt. And, the best part, I can wear black ballet flats.

Thank God. I don’t think I’d survive if I had to also wear heels.

I cast my attention out the tinted window and cement it there, letting my eyes unfocus until I see nothing but dark, blurry images rolling past. I’ve been a chaotic mess of cyclical thoughts since my outburst in the dressing room—since the negative pregnancy test, truly—and I haven’t had a chance to calm down. So much has happened in such a short period of time, one massive thing after another, like a totem pole of ground-shaking revelations. I haven’t processed. Ineedto process.

I don’t want to have a baby right now. I might not want to have a babyever.

And maybe...

Maybe that doesn’t make me a terrible person.

Sav’s words from earlier keep echoing in my head, loud and soft, fast and slow. Haunting and repetitive. She’sbaby-free by choice. Shewon’t regret it.

Ever.

I’m happy,she’d said.I’m fulfilled,she’d said.

She doesn’tneedto have a baby with Levi. She doesn’twantto have a baby with him.

And then...

Levi wants what I want because we’re a team.

I want to laugh at myself. The idea of Bradyeverwanting what I want, of being a team with him, feels so unrealistic. I’ve spent so long being led, being told, being spoken for, that I’ve all but forgotten how to use my own voice. How to recognize my own wants and needs. But if I told him how I felt...

My chest contracts and my stomach tightens. I grit my teeth and remind myself to breathe. I feel dizzy and unsteady. I feel lost. But also...

I feel like I’m standing on the edge of a thick fog. Just a few more steps, and the air will be clear. The haze lifted. The light bright. It’s as exhilarating as it is terrifying. This fog has been myhome for years now. A tight little cocoon of manufactured safety and security. And while it’s starting to feel constricting, I don’t know if I can survive without it.

I blink out of my daze and settle my attention on the reflection in the glass. It’s clear in the semidarkness. Pink hair and a mischievous smirk.

Mabel.

I’ve worked to keep my eyes off her, but I’ve not had the same control over my other senses. I can feel her energy emanating from the bench seat behind me. I can smell her flirty blend of fruit and flowers with each inhale. I can hear her every move, word, breath.

After she left the dressing room, I went to the internet and found the pictures of Kat Hughes and Kaz Storm. My heart broke for Mabel, and from the bits of conversation I’ve heard, she has ended things with Kat.

I don’t know what I was expecting when I first saw her after the show. A sobbing, distraught mess, maybe? Instead, I found a brave face and a forced smile.

I just need to dance it out,she told me.

Then she emerged from the bathroom in a red sequined bralette, tight black skirt, and six-inch stilettos. The stilettos did me in, and I don’t even know why. I keep picturing those dainty feet with her white polished pedicure inside those sky-high heels, and it makes my heart beat faster.

How is she going to dance in those? Will she have to take them off? Won’t the balls of her feet hurt? Is she still wearing the toe ring?

I dig my fingers into the leather seat and will my heated cheeks to cool. I take out my phone and scroll through pictures of my garden, picturing my own feet and hands in the dirt until my pulse has calmed. I don’t look up from my screen for the rest of the ride.

When we get to the club, we’re lead through a back door and up a roped-off stairway into a private upper level. It has its own dance floor and bar while overlooking the main dance floor on the lower level. When I peer over the railing, I find hundreds of people staring up at me, and I immediately take several steps backward.