Page 86 of Mistletoe & Magic
“Bennett?”
I turn slowly.
Derek stands there clutching his messenger bag like it’s a life raft.
If I thought he was smug before, he isn’t now. His suit is too tight across the stomach, his skin is pale and shiny, and what’s left of his hair is trying and failing to form some kind of comb over. He looks older than the last time I saw him over six weeks ago. Smaller.
What the hell happened to this guy?
“Derek,” I say. My voice is flat, but I can feel my blood heating.
He swallows so hard I see his Adam’s apple bob. “Uh. Hey. Good to see you.”
I raise a brow. “Is it?”
He takes a step back, clutching the briefcase tighter. “I have a big meeting.”
I say nothing, just stare at him blankly.
His face goes even paler. “Yeah, so, I better…”
He spins on his heel and takes the stairs two at a time like the devil is chasing him.
I watch him go, jaw tight, and almost laugh. Guess I made my point the last time I warned him to stay the hell away from Ivy. Good. He deserves to sweat a little. But whatever else happened to him…holy shit.
The elevator dings, and I step inside, bracing my forearms against the railing. My reflection watches me in the metal walls as we climb, and for a second, I think about turning around. Walking away.
But then I picture Junie again.
Her face when she asked if her mom was coming to see her, again and again. Always left disappointed and upset.
No. I am not walking away.
When the elevator opens, I make my way down the hallway until I am standing outside Sloane’s door. My hands are sweating. I rub them against my jeans and knock.
She calls, “Come in.”
Her office smells of coffee and paper. Sunlight streams in through the floor to ceiling windows behind her desk, catching in her dark hair. She looks up, surprise flashing across her face before she smoothes it into a neutral expression.
“Remy,” she says calmly. “I wasn’t expecting you.”
I sit down across her desk, leaning forward, elbows braced on my knees. It’s not lost on me she didn’t ask if Junie was okay, which is what my first reaction would be. But she never asks if Junie is okay. She doesn’t think like that. And no matter how many times I’ve tried to get her to care and think like that, she just doesn’t. My heart feels like it’s trying to punch its way out of my chest, but I force my voice steady. “We need to talk.”
Her shoulders tense, her hands curling together in her lap. “Is this about Junie?”
“Yes.” I drag a hand down my face. “About Junie.”
She waits and folds her hands in front of her on her desk, not meeting my eyes, as if she’s unsure of where this conversation is going to go.
I take a breath so deep it feels like it scrapes my ribs and just put it out there. “What if you didn’t have to worry about Junie anymore?”
Her head snaps up, her eyes wide.
“Not because you don’t love her,” I say quickly. “But because you love her enough to let her have the mom who shows up every time. Someone who wants to be there for her school plays and birthdays. Someone who doesn’t make her sit by the window wondering if she’s coming.”
Her face crumples. She looks down at the papers on her desk, blinking hard. “What would people think of me?”
And again, it’s not lost on me that she isn’t worrying about what Junie will think. Only what other people will think.
