Page 71 of The Unfinished Line

The taller of the two tilted his head to look through the crack. “Kameryn Kingsbury?”

I should have said no, but I wasn’t thinking fast enough. “Yes?”

“Right on!” He slapped the other man on his back and pulled a branch out of his pocket. Mistletoe, it finally registered to me as he held it above his head. “How about a kiss for the New Year?” He stuffed his dress shoe through the gap, forcing the door open another foot, reeking of alcohol.

“What?” I braced my shoulder against the door, beginning to panic.

The second man had pulled out his phone, recording a video. “Smile for the camera, baby,” he laughed as his buddy tried to lean in to kiss me.

“Get the fuck out of here!” It took two slams of the door—the first on his foot, and the second against his fingers in the doorjamb—before I could successfully close it. I wasn’t certain what was loudest: his shout of agony, his friend’s laughter, or the trapeze work of my heart. My hands were shaking too badly to fit the security chain in the tarnished slot, so I settled for the top bolt, and then leaned back against the peeling paint to try and catch my breath.

I needed to call my agent, Aaron. Or the cops. Someone.

But then what? Those guys were long gone. It wasn’t like there were any charges I could press.

I stood frozen for I wasn’t sure how long. Long enough for my heartbeat to slow down, but not so long that my fingers quit shaking. I thought about what Grady said the night before—about waking on another planet and finding it hard to breathe. And I knew this was just a teaser trailer. I hadn’t even caught a glimpse of the feature presentation.

Across the room the clock on my mantel chimed once, informing me it was nine-thirty. I’d been there for more than half an hour. Wiggling my toes, I tried to return some feeling to my bare feet. I realized I was going to be featured in some jackass’s TikTok wearing my high school gym shorts and a white tank top without a bra. Running my thumb across my lips, I confirmed my fear that I still had dried toothpaste at the corners of my mouth.

I would have been better off making headlines by puking in the Uber.

Outside, steps sounded on my walkway again. Outrage tore through me at the invasion of privacy. Abandoning all sensibility, I spun to unbolt the lock and hurled open the door,losing my grip on the handle and smashing it into the wall. I didn’t care. My landlord could send me the bill for damage in prison. I was going to murder these bastards.

“I swear to God, if you take one more step, I’m going to—!”

I stopped dead, my hands planted firmly on the doorjamb, and stared into Dillon’s stunned face.

“I—oh my God, I’m sorry,” I stammered. I couldn’t think straight. “There were some boys—I thought…” I looked down, spotting the dropped mistletoe, and gave aseegesture, trying to prove I wasn’t crazy.

“Boys, huh?” She bent and picked up the sprig.

My mouth slowly rediscovered English was my first—and only—language.

“What are you doing here?”

“Well, it appears I’m a little too late on the idea of stopping by with mistletoe.” She smiled, but I could tell she was nervous. “I am still holding out hope, however, that you might be up for a chat in person?”

Scene 26

Dillon flinched as a vacuum toppled onto the living room floor from the overstuffed entryway closet. She watched Kam shove the Dyson back onto the shelf, cursing under her breath. It was clear she was embarrassed by the casual disorder of her apartment. She’d made a brisk sweep of her couch and dining room table, gathering discarded articles of clothing and a half-eaten bowl of cereal, dropping the latter on the kitchen counter and the clothes onto the closet floor.

“I wasn’t—I mean, I don’t usually—I’m not an untidy person. I just hadn’t...” She forced the closet door shut with her shoulder. “I wasn’t expecting company.”

“I’m sorry, Kam,” Dillon kept to the safety of the threshold, “I should have asked you if it was all right if I came over.”

Kam had already moved on to her coffee table, where she was stacking what looked to be a scattered screenplay. Her entire body was radiating with tension. “Will you close the door?” She busied herself slipping the pages into a manilla envelope, not looking at Dillon. “I’ve had… there’s been… just close it, please.”

Dillon pulled it shut and flipped the oxidized lock. Based on Kam’s outburst on the doorstep, she imagined she wasn’t the first to show up uninvited. She knew that look. She’d watched Kelsey suffer the same anxiety.

Turning to toss the envelope onto her table, Kam bumpeda classical guitar resting against the wall, tipping it over, where it emitted an angry chord. “God damn it!” For a second Dillon thought she was going to boot the offending instrument, but with a groan of exasperation, she changed her mind and sank onto the arm of her couch instead.

“Why are you here, Dillon?”

She had spent the past twelve hours going over the question, ever since stepping onto the last-minute flight from Heathrow.

Just be honest, Seren advised her.Just tell her the truth.

“May I?” she motioned at a dining room chair. It felt too presumptuous to sit beside Kam on the two-seater couch.

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