Page 22 of The Shot You Missed
They’ve been making a push to get me to go public, but I have no desire to taint my pen name and the work I’ve done with my parents’ mess.
“Are they still pressuring you to reveal your identity?” Lola rests her elbows on the table and props her chin in her hands.
“A bit.”
She stares at me thoughtfully, her lips twisting to the side as she ponders. “You’ve released four books under this pen name, and all of them have done really well. If you wanted to claim your work publicly, I don’t think people would write you off.”
“Maybe not.” But that’s always been my worry. Nepotism is accepted and common in Hollywood. And I get it. If you’re born with a leg up, why do things the hard way?
But I’ve always hated the attention that comes from being my parents’ daughter. It’s been invasive, cruel, and unflattering. I never wanted my work or the opportunities I’ve fought so hard for to be attributed to my family connections. Or worse, for people to discount my stories because of them.
I know what the world thinks of Indigo Rose Bloom. She’s too fat, talentless, too much of a disappointment. The daughter of extraordinary people who is all too often the butt of cruel jokes because she’s so painfully, exceptionallyordinary.
But Violet Quinn? Violet Quinn doesn’t exist under the thousand-foot shadow of famous parents. She doesn’t need to be tall and modelesque. She’ll never have people questioning whether she’s qualified to write about love because she’s always the one being dumped, if men show her attention at all. No one can claim that Violet Quinn was handed fame because her parents bought it for her.
She’s everything I wish I could be in real life, and I won’t let anyone or anything steal that from me.
“Inds, I’m serious. Your books speak to people. I know you’re afraid your readers will see you differently if they find out who you are, but you need to have faith in them. And yourself.”
Lola and I have this conversation at least once a year. She means well. She’s my biggest cheerleader, and she wants me to get my flowers. But I’m not as confident as she is.
Lola doesn’t care what anyone else thinks of her. If someone doesn’t like her, that’s their loss. But she’s never had millions of strangers judge her for every pimple, every awkward photo, every pound she’s gained or relationship that’s ended in disappointment.
Maybe I could have been as confident if I’d had the freedom to go through my most awkward moments in blissful anonymity. But I didn’t. Which is why I value the anonymity of my pen name so highly.
“I’m just not ready,” I tell her.
“Okay. I get it.” Her expression betrays her disappointment, but she’s quick to shake it off. “Now, let’s talk about your goalie.”
“He’s not my goalie.”
“He ate ice the other week because he was so distracted after seeing you. Pretty sure he’s your goalie.”
“He wasn’t my goalie ten years ago, and he’s not mine now. He was surprised to see me, is all.” And that’s what I’m going to keep telling myself because I need that to be true.
“Babe, are you sure he wasn’t yours ten years ago? Because when I ran into him at the grocery store, he was pretty desperate to get your number. You never actually talked to him about what happened at the bonfire that night, right?”
A familiar tightness grips my chest. “What was there to talk about? I saw him with some girl’s tongue down his throat.”
“I’m simply saying that things aren’t always as they seem.”
“What does it matter? We’re almost thirty. We live in different states in different worlds. He’s successful and sought-after, and I’m just me. He probably has a million-dollar house, and I live in a cottage on my parents’ estate. He dates models, Lols. He didn’t choose me then. Why would he choose me now?”
“You know what? That’s fucking bullshit, Indigo Bloom. I’m sick and tired of listening to you talk about yourself like you’re not a talented, beautiful woman who deserves love. Fuck your parents for not protecting you better, and fuck every single person who wrote mean stuff about you on the internet when you were a literal child.
“But did you ever stop to think that maybe those experiences colored how you saw things that night? Girl, you ran and blockedhis number without a word. But from everything you told me and everything I’ve seen from my interactions with him, none of it makes sense.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” At one point, I’d thought Sebastian had feelings for me too. But people show you who they are and how they feel in the moments they don’t think you’re paying attention. And when they do? Believe them.
Sebastian Navarro didn’t love me then, and he won’t love me now. I can’t even let myself consider it.
My phone buzzes on the table.
Sebastian
I’ve been thinking about where to take you tomorrow. There are some great Somali places in the Twin Cities. Want to give one a try?
Lola’s eyebrows kiss her hairline when she sees the text. “Right. I don’t know what I’m talking about.”
