Page 23 of The Americana Playbook

I freeze. “Are you?”

Please say no, please say no.

“Seeing someone? No.”

Relief whooshes through me so intensely I nearly collapse back on the couch.

“No, relationships,” Parker continues, “They aren’t really for me. I kind of come with a lot of baggage.”

Fuck. The way her voice softens with sadness has a chokehold on my heart.

“You?” I ask gently. “OrClara?”

“I don’t really know anymore.”

There’s a gloom surrounding Parker. It makes me feel bad, of course, because I don’t want to see her sad. But I feel worse because I don’t know if she’s been without that cloud since Honey died. And after all these years, in the back of my mind even though I could never imagine where Parker went or where she was, at the very least, I hoped she was happy. Convincing myself of that made it easier to tolerate her absence.

As much as I’melatedto be here beside Parker, a deeper part of me is holding on to the dream version because the reality of Parker’s situation—going by a different name, living in this shit hole—absolutely bites.

“But I won’t,” Parker begins, pulling me from my thoughts. “I won’t let them just do what they want with me. Not again.”

My eyebrows creep together. “What do you meannot again?”

She tucks her chestnut brown hair behind her ear. “I know you say you’re not upset with me. I just want you to know I never wanted to go away. All those years ago, I mean. It wasn’t really my choice.”

I could lie this time and say I’m not upset.

“I guess I can understand it wasn’t your choice to go away to school. But it was your choice to stay away.” I pause, looking around. “It was your choice to?—”

“To what, Fitz? To end up here?”

I tsk. “I mean, you’ve been hiding, but obviously, since your sister showed up here, either not well or just in plain sight by choice. You soughtmeout, not the other way around. If you didn’t slip me that napkin, I never would’ve known you were there. I wouldn’t be here now.”

“What’s your point?” Parker asks.

I look around the apartment, taking in the old floors in need of retiling, the peeling paint on the wall peeking out from behind the curtain. “Maybe you want to go home. Maybe you miss your family.”

“You have no idea what you’re talking about.” Her voice is stern. “That’s absurd.”

“Is it?” I challenge. “How long have you been away from them?”

“Since the last night I sawyou.” Parker nods when she sees the shock on my face. “Yeah. I’ve seen my sister three times since then, and my mother once. My dad? None. So I’d say I’ve been away from them long enough I shouldn’t trust a word they say. She’llnevergive me that house. That’s the Montgomery legacy. She just thinks I’m stupid enough to fall for a trap.”

I’m hit with a sense of nervousness as I stare at Parker—her dark eyes glaze over, her mouth purses and swishes side to side.

Fuck. I know that look. I’ve seen that look dozens of times. Parker is scheming. This can’t be good.

“And you know what?” She hops off the couch and moves into the kitchen area, grabbing a fork and sliding a cookie cake from the stack. Lifting the lid, she begins digging with the utensil. “I’m going to do it.”

I walk over to where she stands, and she offers me a fork while putting a bite in her mouth. But I can’t think about eating right now.

“What do you mean you’re going to do it? If you know the house is off the table, why bother involving yourself with the campaign at all?” I run a hand over my face. “Parker, listen, I know your family isextreme. I know you’re on the outs with them. I get that. But just let me give you the money and?—”

“I get that you have it now, and it might seem to solve all your problems—if you have any at all—but money won’t fix the ones I have,” she fires. “Trust me. If finding a rich guy were the solution, I could’ve handled this years ago.”

The thought of Parker with any guy—douchey Cam or some sleazy stranger—makes me my ears ring.

“So unless you’re planning to marry me,” she says, pausing to swallow her food. “Keep your judgmental thoughts to yourself.”

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