Page 115 of Happily Never After

“Okay,” Charlie said, taking Claire by the shoulders. “I want you to take a moment and think about how unfair everything is.”

“That implies that I ever took a break from thinking about how unfair everything is. It’s a twenty-four-seven pity party right now.” Claire drove the head of the golf club into the plywood floor.

“Just humor me. Conjure up all those feelings you’ve been failing miserably at hiding.”

“This is why I love you, Charlie. You’re so warm and nurturing.”

“Shut up.” Charlie squeezed her arm and left the room.

Claire stood in the center of the room. Plywood covered the side walls. Concrete blocks made up the back wall. Gleaming breakables were waiting to be destroyed. Eyes closed, she took a deep breath. Feelings, right. God, they were the worst. The last thing she wanted was to dredge up all her feelings. She didn’t have time for the weary baggage of emotions.

Luke’s face surfaced in her mind, sporting a cheeky half-smile the way he did when she talked about a proposal and he was about to point out something wrong with her logic.

No—she couldn’t think about him. It was too painful. Think of something else.

Brad’s punchable face swam up next. Her fingers tightened around the golf club. She had given him everything—all her free time, her very best ideas. Countless dates postponed or missed because he had a last-minute change. She had fought with the city of Los Angeles, called in every favor she was owed. And where did it get her? Fired. Disgraced.

As unwelcome as a cockroach in a deli, her abductor’s face appeared next. Her breath stilled. Who the hell was he? Would he ever be brought to justice? Why was it that ESA had a million chapters and were probably responsible for hundreds of disappearances, and the FBI couldn’t manage to find a single one of their members? Was she supposed to do everything? Why was she planning proposals, confronting murderers, kidnapping her nemesis to prevent her from being killed, and tracking down the members of this terror group all by herself? Why couldn’t everyone just leave her the fuck alone?

“AHHHHH!” Claire swung the golf club back and brought it down smoothly, the way her stepdad Roy had taught her. She opened her eyes in time to see one of the creepy little girl figures shatter into a thousand pieces against the concrete wall.

Oh, that felt good. She tossed the golf club to the side and picked up another figurine.

“Burn inhell,” she shouted. The figurine flew across the room. Shards pinged off the wall.

Her hands shook at her sides. Something was happening inside her. Everything she had been shoving down since Barney’s abduction was rumbling to the surface. Fragments of memories went zinging past—the day her father left, waking up in the parking garage, Luke pulling that damn tandem bike into a proposal, Wendy winning Planner of the Year.

An unintelligible roar escaped her throat. She picked up the metal baseball bat and attacked the first thing she saw—an industrial copier. Expletive after expletive poured out as she beat the hell out of the stupid equipment. Pieces of plastic went flying. The screen cracked like an egg. Dents littered the sides. Still, she couldn’t stop.

Her arms burned with the effort. She dropped the bat and picked up the stack of plates. That knot and whirl on the plywood side wall sure looked like Luke’s face. She aimedthe first plate. One by one they exploded against the wooden imitation of Luke.

How dare he? After everything she had been through? And everything they had been through together? How could he leave her now, when she needed him more than ever? She loved him, and he had left her. She should never have abandoned her sex embargo and let him into her heart. Men only led to trouble.

Claire whirled, searching the floor. She was ankle-deep in debris, but there was nothing left to break. Her chest heaved. Sweat streamed into her eyes. She marched over to the door and ripped it open.

“You,” she boomed, startling a man in the hallway. “Get me more stuff to break. Please,” she added as an afterthought. There was no need to be rude just because she was having a breakthrough.

“Yes, ma’am.”

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

To Do:

- Take the stupid meds

- Drink more water

The house wasempty and silent except for the tip-tap of dog toenails. Charlie had left to pick up Ryan for lacrosse practice. Claire went through the first floor, systematically snapping all the curtains shut. The skin on her wrist still burned where zip ties had held her captive barely twenty-four hours ago. If Luke were here, he would undoubtedly have some top secret Navy salve for treating it.

But she was alone. Exhausted and raw, like a freshly peeled potato.

In the living room, she dragged her laptop close and flicked on the TV, then perused the list of recorded shows. Why did Luke insist on recording every episode ofThe Sopranos? She mashed the delete button until they were all gone. Finally,Alice’s TV show appeared. Maybe a little bit of psychic nonsense was just what she needed.

Her mother droned about a departed parakeet reaching out from the great beyond as Claire opened her web browser. She resisted the urge to check Luke’s Instagram and instead opened a new document. Short of begging on her hands and knees, there wasn’t anything she could do about Luke or her career at the moment. She was done being victimized, threatened, harassed, abducted. Screw them all. She was going to that convention. Luke wasn’t going to be around to stop her.

A knock at the door peeled her eyes away from the computer. A prickle of fear tingled her spine. But surely the security staff wouldn’t have allowed a stranger to approach the front door. Easing herself off the couch, she opened the doorbell app on her phone. Brianna. She breathed a sigh of relief and trudged to the front door.

“Did Charlie send you to check on me?” Claire said as a way of greeting.

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