Page 195 of Heart So Hollow

Each one of them was complicit—is complicit.

And if they think they’ve gotten away with it, if they want to run with the big wolves, I’ll introduce them to the real ones…

CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

Brett

One Year Ago

I’m starting to wonder if I’m going to wake up every day just to remember something horrible that happened the day before. It’s what happened yesterday, when I opened my puffy, red eyes and remembered that my book is gone—my entire book is gone.

I should’ve been pleasantly surprised when Bowen sat down on the edge of the bed and started brushing my hair out of my face like we didn’t just have the weirdest argument ever the night before.

“Dad needs my trailer, then I’m running over to Jay’s,” he murmurs as I blink sleep out of my eyes, “I’m taking your laptop. One of his coworkers is in IT and said he can take a look at it.”

But it didn’t matter.

Even Jay’s friend couldn’t salvage my files, inexplicably lost in the ether.

Some people lose receipts or calendar invites or confirmation emails. I lose a 150,000-word labor of love.

Sunday isn’t much better, because today I woke up and remembered that Jay’s friend couldn’t salvage my book and it’s still gone. And, on top of that, I don’t know how to process any of this. Because the one person—my best friend—who would know how to help me, is no longer my best friend.

A small shred of me wonders if I should just text Barrett. Can I overlook her tits being on Bowen’s phone for just a little bit while I try to navigate the utter pain and devastation of this loss?

What the hell am I saying?

She also told Bowen about Colson, that I’m trauma-bonded to him and I always will be. Then she walked downstairs in nothing but her underwear and asked my fiancé to go upstairs to her room with her. The more I think about it, the more I remember tiny details spread out over our entire friendship, and I get angry all over again.

Were there signs? There are always signs.

No, I can’t just text Barrett. Even about this.

Bowen’s gone for most of the day again with Jay, because it’s always with Jay. But I don’t think he’s avoiding me; I think he’s just trying to give me some space because he’s otherwise acting relatively normal. But I can’t concentrate on reading and there are only so many times I can walk around the house aimlessly before I feel like I’m going insane.

But I’m already going insane…

When Hildy texts me and asks if I want to go to dinner with her and Leona, I immediately welcome the distraction. I don’t even change, just grab my purse and head out the door in flops, running shorts, and baggy off-shoulder t-shirt.

It’s hot, but sitting creek side with a breeze coming off the water while drinking margaritas and eating tacos and ceviche isn’t a bad start to the evening.

“So, what did you think about Bo’s plan for the wedding?” Hildy grins at me over the edge of her margarita glass, teasing the straw between her teeth.

“Oh, so you were in on it, I take it?” I chuckle, “I think it’s a really good choice. The views are amazing, obviously, but the food and the drinks were stellar, too. Was it his idea or yours?”

“It was actually his,” Hildy reluctantly admits.

“Shocking, I know,” Leona breaks a tortilla chip in half with her pastel pink acrylic nails and shoots me a side-eye, “but he’s gotten good at these kinds of things.”

“Did he not used to be?” I lick some flaky salt off my fingertip and take a swig of my own margarita, thankful they seem to give decent pours here, too.

Leona gazes up in thought, “Bo’s always been good at reading people. He can tell when things get to be too overwhelming and he knows when to take charge of situations. I guess he got used to it after last time.”

I give pause at her response and the unsettling way she says, last time. Looking down at my drink, I inconspicuously lift my eyes in time to see Hildy shoot Leona a sharp look across the table. Leona brushes her off with a shrug and Hildy turns back to her tacos with a roll of her eyes.

“What do you mean, last time?” I ask nonchalantly as I take another sip of my drink.

“Oh, well,” Leona stammers, “you know…”

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