Page 96 of Bona Fide

? Somebody Else — The 1975 ?

"There aretwo men in her hotel room right now," my P.I., Mavin, says over the phone. "We've got some good pictures from across the way but nothing scandalous enough to show her infidelities. She closes the curtains when...when things might be getting more hot and heavy, sir."

Tapping my pen on my desk, each word that leaves his mouth makes my frown deepen. Demi is one smart bitch to make sure her surroundings are literally well covered.

But it’s not going to halt a damn thing.

I'm going to lasso this woman by the neck and hang her myself for the shit she's done. The dumb bitch almost killed Reagan's mom, and then what? How in the fuck would I be able to live with that, knowing that my sinwas the culprit behind murdering my girl’s mother?

Being president doesn't matter anymore, not when it comes at a price. Not when it strings along Demi and all her diabolical plans of destroying everything around me while keeping me safe from harm. She can't off me if she wants to become the next First Lady, so she'll leave me miserable and down on my knees in agony while she gets to reap the benefits. I should've gotten rid of her a long time ago.

A long ass time ago.

I let my career step in the way like it always does, sacrificed myself to appease my dream, pettiness, and stubborn nature to prove a point, and for what?

And now Reagan is paying for it.

That stubbornness I just mentioned, it’ll be the death of one of the best things that has ever happened to me.

I tell Mavin to keep on his task and report back to me tomorrow, earlier if something more interesting comes up when my phone buzzes in my hand.

Reagan: Please tell me you’re around. I’m about to lose my mind.

I can't help it when my brows fall because she hasn't texted me yet. But then again, Reagan started off as my safe haven, maybe Chase is hers. Not that I fucking want him to be, but I'm in no position to deny her anything she needs or wants right now.

Me: I’m here, Sox, what’s up?

Reagan: Have you ever dealt with death before?

My eyes bulge out my fucking head. DID HER FUCKING MOM DIE?! I exit out of my texting app to call her but stop myself.

I have to stop myself because I'm not supposed to know shit, she’s saying this to my alter ego. The one I should've never made up, the lie I've been holding on to, the shit I can't come clean about because she'll never forgive me—ever.

How would I ever explain it, I don’t even have the words. Not ones that would be good enough anyway.

Pushing myself out of my own head, I go back to her text with shaky hands.

Me: Who died? Are you okay? What happened?

Reagan: I did. Today.

Me: Talk to me, I’m here.

Reagan: I don’t think I can even though I need to.

Me: Since when don’t we talk about everything? Even the shitty stuff, Sox, it’s what friends are for.

Reagan: I thought we were so much more than that. I wanted to be so much more.

My heart yields its next beat because I know for a solid fact how I’m reading into this.

She had her heart open for another man, but she had me forcing myself on her instead. I've been trying so hard to be what she needs, what I can promise her. I'd give her the world and the moon and every single fucking star if she wanted it.

Me: I’ll be whatever you want, Sox. Just talk to me.

Reagan: Have you ever felt your heart slowly crack open? When everything happens all at one time, and you can feel the sick infection of spoiled words and things you believed were true?

Me: Really bad things?

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