Page 2 of Delicate Escape

Nikki held on, not letting go. “You’re an amazing person. Don’t let his bullshit make you think anything else.”

My eyes burned, tears struggling to break free. I did everything I could to beat them back. Because there were times that I’d started to wonder if I was, in fact, the person Brendan said I was. That I was manipulative, cruel, sick, and a slut.

Two years ago, I would’ve laughed if someone had said I’d think those things about myself. It was shocking how fast thingscould change. How quickly a mind could be twisted. And how long it took to undo that kind of damage.

“Love you, Niks,” I whispered.

“Love you, too,” she said, finally releasing me. “Text me when you get home, or call if you want someone to talk to while you’re getting inside.”

The burn was back, tears fighting to fall. She’d been the recipient of more than one phone call when I freaked myself out thinking I was being followed, only to realize it was an innocent bystander going about their business. She never complained.

“Thanks,” I said, quickly kissing her cheek and grabbing my purse.

I headed out of her small apartment on the outskirts of Silverlake and down the sidewalk toward my car. It was still plenty bright out, but my head was on a swivel, taking stock of everyone around me. There was the typical hipster fare, a couple making out near a café, a family with two young kids running circles around the parents... Nothing out of the ordinary.

I still felt twitchy. I walked faster, moving toward my Subaru hatchback that had seen better days. She’d seen plenty of action before I bought her in college and had officially passed her prime now. But since I was out of a job, an upgrade wouldn’t be happening anytime soon.

Beeping the locks, I slipped into the vehicle and winced at the tote bag full of produce on the floorboard. I hadn’t planned to stay at Nikki’s for as long as I had. Hopefully, the bag of farmers market finds would be all right.

Shutting the door behind me, I locked it and let out a breath. My eyes caught on my reflection in the rearview mirror. My blond hair was in disarray, and my pale green eyes had dark circles under them. But I didn’t look away, not even when my eyes filled.

“You’re a good person,” I whispered. “You’re not who he says you are.”

My phone dinged, and I fished around in my purse for thedevice. As I pulled it out, it chimed again, the screen lighting up. My stomach hollowed out as a text flashed on the display.

Unknown Number

Seen this? ;-)

The text had a screenshot of an article.Actor Brendan Boseman Donates One Million to The Literacy Project. My hands trembled as I scanned the short piece.

Mr. Boseman, best known for his roles in box-office-gold romcoms and superhero megahits, was captured touring the nonprofit’s West Adams location here in Los Angeles. “Reading is something I’ve always been passionate about. And being a part of The Literacy Project’s mission to give people the tools they need to succeed is an honor.”

More unshed tears burned the backs of my eyes, a mixture of anger, fear, and frustration at the blatant bullshit that streamed out of his mouth. Brendan’s idea ofreadingwas scanningThe Hollywood Reporterand cursing anyone who got a jobhewanted. I couldn’t read any more. It was too much.

I’d given everything to The Literacy Project: ridiculously long hours at low pay, courting countless benefactors to keep us in the black, and jumping in on tasks that had never been in my job description. And all because I believed in their mission.Andbecause I loved being a part of something that changed lives. Now, it was all done. Gone.

A tear slipped down my cheek and fell onto my jeans, making the indigo strands darken as it sank in. Maybe this was what I needed—the final straw to make me leave LA and start fresh. A chance to truly be free.

It wasn’t like I had anything left here other than Nikki. Everything had been slowly and deliberately stripped away. I swallowed the anger that surged, grabbing my key from the seat and sliding it into the ignition. Twisting it, I had to try three times before the engine caught.

Just one more thing I couldn’t afford to fix. But I ignored it and headed for home. Even at four in the afternoon, rush hour had already begun, turning my ten-minute drive into twenty. As I pulledup in front of the rundown fourplex, the hairs on the back of my neck rose.

I glanced around the residential street, doing my now standard scan. Nothing out of the ordinary: a couple walking their fluff ball of a mutt, a young woman pushing a stroller, a couple of teens shouting as they raced their souped-up bikes down the street.

But I felt eyes on me. Familiar anxiety took root, and quick on its heels, frustration. Because I didn’t know if the feeling was warranted or if I was losing it. I grabbed my phone and quickly typed out a text.

Me

Home. Going to feed Moose and make dinner. Make sure you eat something so you don’t wake up with a hangover from hell.

Nikki

Already ordered pad thai and pad see ew. Going to sop up all that alcohol.

My mouth tried to curve as I shut off the engine, but it couldn’t quite get there. I grabbed my purse and the tote bag with my farmers market goodies, then climbed out of my hatchback. As I slid my phone into my pocket, I did another quick scan before heading up the walk.

My gaze jumped at every flicker of movement around me as I moved, bracing. But I just kept going. It was the only answer. If I let myself fall, I knew I’d never get up.

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