Page 96 of Forsaking Midnight
He said all the right things. So why does something still feel wrong?
And we never even talked about theRagpiece. I meant to bring it up, but the second I said her name, it vanished like the gossip didn’t matter at all. Andhedidn’t bring it up, either. Which either means he still trusts me completely, or the article isn’t the thing he’s worried about.
I push off the wall and head back through the square, keeping to the edges. Franklin’s up on the steps giving a speech about progress and community and the bright future of Rosebrook Falls. I spot Paxton near the coffee table, talking to a council member. He catches my eye and gives me a slight nod.
Near the fountain, I pass Tyler again. He’s standing alone, watching the crowd with an expression I can’t read. He doesn’t look at me as I pass, but he speaks.
“You never came to visit me in the hospital.”
I stop. The knot in my chest re-forms until it presses against my lungs.
“I didn’t know what to say.”
He’s still not looking at me, his eyes fixed on something in the distance. “Rosie didn’t come, either.”
I swallow.
“How is she?”
“She’s Rosalie,” I say.
The truth is I haven’t checked, and that makes me feel like shit. She’s friendly enough with Genevieve and I see her at the tavern, but to her, I’m a family member who’s guilty by association. She jumped ship from all of us years ago, and barely meets my eyes, unless she’s spitting an insult my way. And she’s fucking the guy who’s always had one hand on my collar.
“Do me a favor,” he whispers. “Don’t let her become collateral damage in whatever shit this town is in.”
Her.He means Rosalie. But my brain lands on someone else entirely.
He walks away before I can respond, disappearing into the crowd, and I’m left standing by the fountain with the jazz band playing and the bunting swaying and the whole goddamn town pretending everything is the same as it’s always been.
Chapter 22
Genevieve
Every muscle in my body hates Lance Calloway.
My thighs scream when I bend for a glass. My calves seize when I reach for a bottle. Even my ribs ache, and I didn’t know ribscouldache from running.
But the tavern’s busy tonight, so I pour drinks and make small talk and pretend my entire life isn’t unraveling behind a smile.
It’s been forty-eight hours since everything changed. I’m living in a cabin in the woods with a man I’m supposed to hate. My boyfriend hasn’t called me once. My father used our emergency code word and now I can’t get him back on the phone. And yet, when I think about going back to my empty apartment, my chest tightens. At least at the cabin, there’s Cavall. The thought of that dog with his pink duck makes me smile despite everything.
“You’re in a weirdly good mood for someone who looks like she got hit by a truck.”
Rosalie’s leaning against the service bar, strawberry blond hair piled in a messy bun.
“Thanks. You really know how to make a girl feel special.”
“I’m just saying.” She tilts her head. “Does the fact Lance drove you in tonight have anything to do with it?”
“I’m staying at his place for a few days.”
“Uh huh.”
Heat creeps up my neck, and I lean over the bar. “You remember that guy who was watching me a few weeks ago? Tall, blond? Art got nervous, so Lance offered his place to keep an eye on me until they sort it out.”
“Why can’t you stay with Art?”
“He’s busy with the campaign.”
