Page 171 of Between the Lines

He shakes his head. “It’s not fair, Charlotte. It’s not fair that you had to suffer questions and embarrassment when you’ve done nothing to feel ashamed of. It’s not fuckingrightthat opportunists made money offyoursoundbite with a song, and you never got a dime. You should have had the choice.”

“I’ve made my choice.” My voice feels choked, and I force my feelings down. Bury them deep and lock them away. “I told you that I don’t want this mentioned again. That Ihatewhen people drag up the past. That I don’t want my name to be associated with that time in my life ever again if I can help it. I changed my last name!”

His eyes are fierce. “I know that. And you shouldn’thaveto feel that way.”

“But I do!”

“You did nothing wrong.” His voice is hoarser than I’ve ever heard it, thick with conviction. He throws out his left hand. “Nothing.You were nineteen, and you were taken advantage of. I’m trying to make it right.”

“Nothing will ever make it right,” I say. “I’ve already come to terms with that.”

“No, you haven’t.”

My breath catches, and he sees just how hard his words hit me. But he keeps going. “You haven’t, Charlotte, not really.I’ve seen how you constantly look around wherever we’re in a crowded room. How deeply those people who recognized you by the restaurant hurt you. You’re still ruled by someone else’s narrative. By Blake’s narrative, and by Jeff’s.”

I take a step back, and then another. There’s too little air in here. “You didn’t just say that to me.”

“Is it not the truth? You’ve told me over and over again to own my narrative, Charlotte. I’ve let you do it.”

“Because you asked me to! Because I’m writing amemoir!”

“Yes, and I’ve learned just how powerful that can be, thanks to you. I’ve read all the preliminary chapters you’ve sent me, Charlotte.”

The ones about him and his good qualities. His tenacity, his drive to overcome things. How broken he felt when the FBI charged his father. How he stepped up to clean up Alfred Hartman’s mess when he didn’t have to.

And how much the accusations and suspicions hurt.

That he was somehow involved. In the know. When he was, perhaps, the one person who had been deceived most of all.

“Don’t believe your own puff piece,” I tell him.

The words land. He pulls back, his eyebrows lowering. “Charlotte, the article isforyou.”

“I didn’t ask for it.”

“Maybe not, but you need it.”

“That’s for me to decide.” I walk to my bedroom.

He follows. “Don’t run from me.”

“I don’t want my name in the media. I don’twantto dredge up the past. Isn’t that my decision?”

“Yes. But if that’s what you decided, you’ll just keep burying it instead, Charlotte. And it will always catch up with you.”

“It works for you,” I call over my shoulder.

“It doesn’t. Ithasn’t.That’s what I’m learning.” He blows out a breath, and I hear the frustration in it. “That’s whatyou’vebeen teaching me!”

His exasperation mirrors my own. “How could you not have asked me first?”

“I didn’t know she was going to reach out to you directly.”

I shake my head. “Not an excuse. How could you not have askedme,Aiden? If she hadn’t called me, would you have admitted you were behind the idea?”

The answer is in his eyes. He knows I wouldn’t have agreed if he’d asked. “I did it for you,” he says.

I shake my head. “You should have spoken to me.”

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