Page 9 of Never Yours

Once she’s inside, Pop comes back to the truck and places a small tool kit in the front seat. “I gave her your number, but I’m not giving you hers. I told you to keep it in your pants, son.” There isn’t a hint of teasing in his voice. Cass and Pop warned me Ingrid is going through something, and here I am making things worse by rehashing the past with her.

“Nothing happened,” I insist, though I wish something had.

“Keep it that way,” he snaps back, and I honestly don’t remember the last time he spoke to me like this. “You’re leaving soon.”

He’s right. I raise my hands in surrender, though I’m sure his worry comes more from my departure than her arrival. “Ok, message received.”

His tone softens as he asks, “See you Sunday for brunch?”

“Always.”

He claps the truck twice and walks to his parked in the driveway. I drive to the store to pick up a few things, then head home, my mind reeling from today. When I pull up to the house, my phone’s home screen shows missed texts and I click on them.

Unknown

I’m sorry about tonight. A lot happened this week that I’m not ready to talk about.

This is Ingrid, by the way.

I chuckle at the qualifier and don’t reply back, Instead, I call and she picks up on the first ring. “Cay?”

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

There’s silence for a few moments, until I finally say, “There’s nothing to apologize for.”

“I feel like we should talk about things, but I’m not in the right headspace for it.”

“It’s ok, we can talk about whatever you want, unless you need more tequila for the ‘talking thing.’”

She laughs, making me feel lighter than I have since she got back. “What are you doing right now?”

“I’m sitting outside my house in the truck.”

“When you get inside, would you… I’m sorry, this is stupid, but would you mind staying on the phone with me for a bit? Like we used to?”

I huff a small laugh. “Sure. And it’s not stupid. Is everything ok?”

“No,” she sighs. “It’s not.”

Hope blooms in my chest that I haven’t screwed things up completely if she still wants me to be her person. “I’m here for as long as you need me to be.”

ingrid

. . .

Iwake up to the sound of light snoring through the phone; Caleb and I must have fallen asleep last night and never hung up. I don’t want to lead him on, but Cass was only here for her lunch break before working the rest of her overnight shift. Being in this empty house, I needed to feel less alone after this shitty week.

I carefully hang up, slide out of bed, and pad off to the bathroom, only managing to brush my teeth and pee before my phone begins chiming with news alerts. It must be six thirty—when my phone shifts from sleep to work mode. I sigh and return to the bedroom to check my phone, finding seventy news articles with my name highlighted. My stomach drops. Nearly every one of them is about me leaving the show and the network.

Ingrid Lawrence, Head Writer, Leaves Left Field.

Left Field Writer, Ingrid Lawrence, Pregnant with Martin Harris’ Love Child.

Ingrid Lawrence Leaves Left Field for Mystery Man in Sapphire Lake.

I feel like I’m scrolling endlessly through lie after lie. There’s several with speculation that I was fired, and even a few suggest that I’m in rehab. The one that sticks out the most is a candid shot of Caleb sitting next to me at the bar. The way he’s looking at me… No. I can’t entertain the idea that he’d want to be with me after the truth comes out. It’s best to keep my distance.

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