Page 25 of Muddy Messy Love

I shake my head. “I won’t. I promise.” Slade won’t set foot inside this house. An ache hits my chest. With each passing day, Slade’s feeling further and further away—like he’s slipping through my fingers and there’s nothing I can do.

“I figure at worst I’ll come home to sculptures everywhere. Promise me you’ll leave the house and talk torealpeople.”

Mirroring her crooked grin, I hand Beth the business card from my back pocket. “I don’t think you’ll need to worry about that.”

She takes it and scans the card. “What’s this?”

“My new job. I start Monday.”

Her mouth falls open. “Why didn’t you tell me last night?”

“I wanted to enjoy my birthday dinner, and… I hadn’t thought about it yet.”

Lie. It’s all I could think about.

“What’s there to think about?”

Nothing. Everything.I nibble my bottom lip. “He just…he makes me uncomfortable. That’s all.”

Beth huffs out a laugh. “From what I hear, Cole Benedict makes everyone uncomfortable, but don’t let pretty wrapping intimidate you.”

Or intelligence, the voice of a god, and all-seeing eyes.

I swallow. “I guess.”

Beth returns the card. “Besides, you’ll probably never see him. I imagine he’s busier than me.”

“Is that even possible?” I tease, sliding the card back into my pocket. Beth’s a work machine, but it can’t be healthy. I’ve never even known her to date.

“Afraid so,” she says. “I’m guessing eighty-hour weeks.”

I shake my head. “That’s crazy.”

“That’s passion.” Beth tilts her head with a smile. “You’ve spent that in the studio the past two weeks. I know you have.”

“That’s different.” It’s not work if you can wear pyjamas and curl up on the floor when your arms grow heavy and tears start.

“Is it?” she asks.

I shake away her question, and my gaze drifts over her shoulder towards my bed, where a small box sits tied with string. “What’s that?”

Beth turns. “Oh, it was on the doorstep when I got home.”

“For me?”

“That’s what it says.”

My breath bottles in my chest. “Mum?”

Beth sighs. “I don’t think so, hon.” Her words are gentle, like a soft caress, and she nudges me with her shoulder. “Open it.”

In the glow of the bedside lamp, the quaint silver box shimmers gold. It’s light in my hands, and the zigzag-trimmed tag says only my name and address. It can’t be from Jen or Liam—they gave me gifts last night—but if not them, then who?

I look up at Beth. “Can parcels be sent from jail?” Hope squeezes my heart, but I’m not sure Slade even knows my birthday, let alone where I live.

Beth mashes her lips together and folds her arms. “I don’t know.”

The brown string loosens with a sharp tug, and I whip off the lid. A beautiful black phone shines like a grand piano nestled on a bed of scrunched-up tissue paper. I pick it up and study all sides, admiring the sleek lines and pretty purple. It looks brand-new, minus the box. The tissue paper rustles as I rummagethrough in search of a note—a card—any clue who it’s from. But only a charge cable and tiny SIM pin appear.

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