“Rush Wireless,” a perky female says on the other end. “Your number has been matched to existing records. How can I help you, Ms. Reynolds?”
“Yes, hello. I’d like to disconnect my service, please.”
The Denton Uncovered office is still locked when I get there early the following morning to slip the envelope with my resignation and press credentials under the door. It hurts. Despite the place being an utter sensationalist looney bin, it was still a link in my dream. I thought I could do it, could escape my past and pave a new path for myself. But I was wrong. Because maybe it was never the Post or even the Fleet Week fiasco that was the problem, but me. My choices. The people I let myself get close to.
Walking back out to my Corolla, I hunch my shoulders against the drizzling rain, my sneaker-clad feet making slapping sounds in the copious puddles of standing water. It’s not a good day to be cold and wet, but the weather cares little for my preferences. Turning on the ignition, I hold my hands in front of the heater to warm them before pulling the throwaway prepaid card I picked up at Walmart.
“Hi, Mom.”
“Lary!” My mom sounds too perky considering our last conversation, a television in the background announcing business news that her boyfriend must be watching. New York is two hours ahead of us. “Honey, what number are you calling me from?”
“I—” I swallow a sudden sob. “Mom, I think—”
“Greg,” my mom calls out on the other end. “Can you turn the TV down, please? It’s Lary.”
The noise stops, and this time, I can’t contain the sob.
“Lary, what’s wrong?” Mom asks.
“You told Greg to turn the news off. Because I called,” I say through ragged breaths. “And he did.”
Silence reigns on the other end for a moment. “Of course I did. And of course he did. Why is that bad?”
Because you’ve never done that before, Mom. And you’ve never been with a man who would care. “Is that offer to come home for a bit still good?” I whisper into the line. “I wouldn’t need to stay long—”
“You can stay as long as you like,” my mom says firmly. “Oh Lary, we would love to have you. I’m so glad you called. Whatever is happening, we’ll get through it. As a family.”
A lump forms in my throat, and for the first time in a long time, I want to reach through the phone and hug my mom.
“Do you want Greg to make some inquiries at the local paper? It’s not fancy, but—”
“No. No, thank you. Please don’t ask me to explain now, but I’m ready for a career change. It’ll take me some time to drive over to New York, but I’ll try to have some interviews lined up.”
“Hold on one moment,” Mom says, the muffled sound on the other end telling me she’s covering the receiver. A minute later, she returns, clearing her throat. “Listen, honey, Greg is going to send you an email with a contact of his at a physical therapy clinic his friend runs. I remember you used to like medicine before that whole journalism nonsense. Give him a call. Just another name to add to the interviews, okay?”
“Sure, Mom.” I force myself to smile at the phone as I say goodbye, trying to tell myself that returning home is not surrendering, but a strategic retreat.
It’s ten in the morning by the time I collect all the good boxes I can find from recycle bins and drag them down the hallway toward my apartment. With my hair a mess, my clothes still damp from the sprinkling rain, and cardboard slipping from my hands, I’m the kind of sight that scares off the neighbors. Which makes it especially odd to see a woman still lingering as I approach my door. With her long dark hair and bright blue-green eyes, the woman looks strangely familiar, though I’m certain we’ve not met before.
“Excuse me, are you Skylar Reynolds, by any chance?” she asks as I stop in front of my door to pull a key from my back pocket. “I’m sorry to accost you like this. I tried calling, but the number I had wasn’t connecting. I’m Adrianna Peterson. Do you have a moment?”
34
Sky
Adrianna Peterson. For a second, I simply stare at Cullen’s gorgeous sugar baby and wait for the red-hot burst of jealousy-infused scorn to descend on me. But nothing comes. It seems that time has passed. I care about Cullen—there’s no getting around that no matter how much I want to—but I have too much self-respect to remain in his world any longer. Maybe my mother is right. It’s not fair of me to judge other people and their choices. And maybe if I’d been in Adrianna’s shoes, I’d act no differently. But I’m not her. And I’m not Cullen. I’m Skylar Reynolds, and I will always fight to stand on my own, no matter how hard the wind blows.
So, as I consider this drop-dead-gorgeous brunette standing at my door requesting entry, I do the only thing that makes sense.
I let her in.
“Excuse the mess.” Moving an armload of packing tape and Bubble Wrap from a pair of chairs, I create a small, human-appropriate space in the kitchen. Beyond us, boxes are stacked everywhere around the furniture that will stay here. I’m not taking anything with me that I didn’t bring in myself.
“You’re leaving.” Adrianna’s bright blue-green gaze washes over me, and I feel vaguely curious. How much does she know of me? Does she know that we’ve been sharing Cullen’s resources as well as his body?
“Yes,” I say.
“Shit.” Adrianna bites her lip. “I got it all wrong.”
I snort. “I imagine that you got it quite correct, actually. But not to worry. As you see, I’m leaving Colorado altogether. Cullen is all yours.” Bank account and all.
Adrianna frowns at me as if I’ve grown a third head, managing to look beautiful even doing that. “Cullen is all mine?” she says slowly, tasting each word. “Wait. You seemed familiar with my name, but I’m not sure I am who you think I am.”
I rub my eyes with the heels of my hands, too exhausted to play games. “Why don’t you start at the beginning. Since you showed up at my door, I expect there’s something you wanted to say.”
Adrianna nods, gathering herself. “I do. Well, ask, mostly. I’m worried about Cullen. Seriously worried. And from what little I’ve gathered—the Tridents are a tight-lipped bunch of asses—I thought maybe you had something going with him and might be able to help… But it seems you may not want to touch Cullen with a ten-foot pole right now, so the question is moot.” She swallows, wrapping a lock of hair around her finger. “Since I’m really good at jumping to conclusions today, I might as well keep my foot in my mouth. I’m not involved with Cullen. I’m just saying that in case that changes anything for you.”
I hold up my hands. “Adrianna, seriously, you don’t owe me any explanation or justification. I know Cullen came back to Denton Valley for you. And—good, bad, or indifferent—I saw the bank statements. The flowers and the mortgage payments and the gift cards and all. More to the point, I’ve seen how his face lights up when he’s talking to you. If you want to sleep with Cullen—”