Page 97 of Bona Fide

Reagan: Yes.

Me: What kinds of things?

Reagan: But how do you forgive that and everything else? How can you look at a person you’ve known and overlook their lies?

Me: Time. They say it heals everything.

Reagan: I don’t have time. Not anymore. It’s up, been up, and I’m ready to break free from it all.

Me: Sox, you’re breaking my heart over here.

“And you broke mine.” My head jerks up to see Reagan standing in the doorway of my office with tears streaming down her face. Her skin blotchy red, looking as though she hasn’t slept in a year or two.

She more than likely hasn’t, especially after everything that has transpired in the last few days.

And now this—my truth and lies.

My body is frozen to my chair as she stares at me with conviction and misery glistening in her violet eyes. Even hatred, it’s there because I know what it looks like. I’ve looked at myself in the mirror for years peering at my own reflection and despising who I’ve become—what I am.

My phone suddenly rings, and I steal a glance, seeing Reagan’s name showing up on the screen through my hidden app.

“Hey, Yank.”

Fuck.

Slowly, I haul my gaze back to her. “Reagan.” I croak, forcing the muscles in my legs to push me to stand.

This is the moment I’ve been dreading and haven’t wanted to deal with. I’ve been trying to rid Chase from her life and mine—a real/fake person that should’ve never lay between us.

“What are you…”

I know why she’s here.

She knows.

She knows every fucking thing.

“You don’t get to call me by my name anymore,” she rebuffs, staying grounded in my open office door where my staff bustles behind her.

Some glance over, quickly averting their gaze when they see me upright behind my desk, and aware that I can see them.

That I will fire them because I’m that dickhead that can’t handle being judged and prodded because I’m Governor Wade Lockwood—the cold-hearted, mystery man who no one knows because I don’t want them to. There is nothing that lies underneath my skin that will win the favor of the people. Nothing besides wanting to take down the corrupt and build a new future for other people because I can’t for myself.

Up until Reagan.

My phone buzzes again in my hand, and I quickly peer down at it, Chase's name showing up with the message, "I met the fifty-year-old bagger lady today”.

My nostrils flare, aligning my gaze back to hers to be met with a glare that holds so much hatred that it pierces right through my chest cavity.

“Me and you,” she sneers through her lips. “We’re—”

“I can explain everything,” I tell her, rounding my desk with my hands held up in defense. “I swear, baby, it’s not what you think. It’s not—”

“Motherfucker, you played me,” she seethes, clutching her phone in her hands. “You led me to believe that there was someone else. Someone who cared enough and wanted to be there for me.”

“I do,” I retort. “When it started, I didn’t know you yet. It was an outlet for me, I never thought I’d meet you—ever.”

"So, what, that gave you the audacity to continue? To string me along? To fucking lie to me?!" Her voice is shrill, shaky, and determined.

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