Page 74 of Fierce Love
“We just think about things differently.”
“Doesn’t everyone? We’re all a product of our environment, and even two kids raised in the same house don’t take the same lessons from their experiences.”
“You and Julia?” I ask.
“Yeah,” she says with a little laugh. “Or, you know, we become traumatized by our older sister’s romantic trauma and take years to extend our own heart.” She slides a couch into a different position from where I’ve put mine and changes the color on the walls on her screen to bright pink in the living room. “Now thatI’m older, I can see that Jules and Nick’s biggest problem was getting out of their own way. Communication is vital.”
“What if the thing you need to communicate would fundamentally change the way someone looks at you?”
Posey clicks on a few other things, switching between screens before hitting save. Later, we’ll export our designs to the iPad, which is what we use to show them on-screen to our clients. The designs are also turned into a video file by someone else, and that gets slotted into the episode. All these logistics, most people never consider when they watch a show.
She turns toward me. “You’re afraid to tell Nate something about why you left the island as a kid? Do you want to tell me first? Maybe it’ll help to talk it through.”
There are three people who know the complete truth, and one of those people is no longer here to tell it. The idea of unleashing all of it on Posey is strangely appealing, but I know I can’t. Part of the deal I made, the one that both saved me and damned me, required me to keep my mouth shut. Forever.
“I can’t tell anyone,” I say.
She gives me a pensive look. “Then it must have something to do with Celia Tucker. She’d be the only one who’d demand absolute silence.”
That’s a speculation I’m not going to bother confirming or denying, instead I turn back to my computer and try to focus on the design for the next episode. Posey’s design can be outlandish, but mine needs to be on the money.
“You don’t think Nathaniel deserves to know his mother ran you off the island?” Posey’s voice is gentle.
“She didn’t run me off the island. I went willingly.” Then I pin my lips together, determined not to let anything more spill out. Celia is just as dangerous as my mother when crossed.
“That could mean all sorts of things where she’s concerned,” Posey says, her tone ominous, and it’s clear she’s familiar with Celia Tucker’s modes of operation.
But I don’t blame his mom for what happened; I only blame myself. She didn’t put a gun to my head or hold me over a barrel or any of the other metaphors I could dig up to make her at fault for my choices. I’d love to lay it all at Celia’s feet, but I can’t. Things got fucked up, and I tried to fix it, and in fixing it, I fucked things up in a different way. Nate was the price I paid, and I don’t think he’ll ever be able to forgive me for that.
“If the past is actually what’s holding you back from being with Nathaniel more permanently, from signing on for a second season if we get one, from saying yes to my wedding, then maybe you need to reconsider what’s most importantto you.”
The thing is, I already weighed those scales fourteen years ago, and there’s no way to go back and rebalance them. And despite how much the truth hurts, I’m not even sure if I would.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Nathaniel
Owen, Cal’s brother who owns the security company, has every piece of damning evidence he and his crew have gathered on Mickie over the last four weeks laid out on the kitchen island of my apartment. It’s substantial—drugs, money laundering, illegal gambling, physical abuse, and torture—but I don’t know what’s admissible, what we can use to take her down. Hollyn got the restraining order but decided that formal charges would only enrage and embolden her mother. Maybe she was right, but it hasn’t stopped me from doing everything I can to get Mickie Davis out of Hollyn and Kinsley’s life.
Hollyn hasn’t said it, but I feel like any chance I have of convincing Hollyn to stay on the island when production ends is at least somewhat tied to her safety. She can’t go around with a security detail for the rest of her life. I hate that she has to have one now.
“Can we feed this to Stephen Foster or someone else in the police force?” I ask.
“I can get it into the right hands,” Owen says, brushing back his dark-blond hair from his forehead before planting his hands back on the island to survey all the printouts, “but you have to be sure this is the path you want to take. With her prior convictions, this will be a life sentence for her.”
“You didn’t get anything on Niall?”
“You asked for the focus to be on Mickie, so that’s where I planted my people.”
Niall would be a bonus, but he’s been Mickie’s sidekick in everything, rather than the instigator. The scars still lightly visible on Hollyn’s arms come from her mother, not her father. He was the cheerleader, and while I’d love to take him down, too, Owen is right that Mickie is the priority.
“And none of what you’ve gathered could be considered entrapment?”
“Idon’t think so,” Owen says, “but that’s not my part of this process. We give it all to the cops, and we see where the chips fall.”
“I wish a company like yours had been around when I needed a private investigator.”
“We don’t normally do surveillance like this,” Owen says. “Not unless it’s tied to a specific client—stalking or some other crime that requires it. This is the cousin’s special.” He gestures to the pages. “Satisfied?”
