Page 68 of Broken on the Mountain
She nods beneath another smile, and I step out of my boots. I change back into my jeans behind the screen, my hands only shaking a little.
When I emerge, Mom's gone.
Her assistant looks uncomfortable. "She said she'll… call you later."
"I'm sure she will."
Monique hands me a card. "We'll have it ready by the gala. And Miss Whitman?" Her eyes crinkle at the corners as she leans in to whisper, "I think the boots are a good choice."
"Thank you," I say.
I slip the card into my tote, right next to Chase's flannel. Outside, the Chicago wind cuts sharp and cold, but I barely feel it.
I reach into my bag's inner pocket and pull out the red gummy bear I saved for if I survived. It sits in my palm for a moment, then I slip it onto my tongue.
I survived.
And standing up to her… it feels like Friday afternoons.
Forever Friday.
Chapter Fourteen
Piper
I shift anxiously in my seat as the small plane banks left. Through my window, Stone River Mountain appears below.
Jagged peaks rise everywhere, dusted with fresh snow and endless evergreen pines stretching toward the plane like it's ready to grab me and pull me back where I belong. My chest loosens for the first time all week.
The weekend is here.
The flight attendant moves down the aisle, checking seatbelts and tray tables with a bright, cheerful smile. I clutch my bag tighter, feeling the weight of Chase's flannel inside, and watch the town come into focus below.
One more week like this last one might actually kill me.
Mom's texts started right after the dress fitting. Polite at first, then progressively sharper as I ignored each one. By Wednesday, she'd moved to thinly veiled threats about 'familyobligations' and 'disappointing your father.' Thursday brought a voice message I deleted without even listening to it.
It's hard to explain, but after a life of bowing down to my parents every wish and command, finally,finally,I felt like I stood my ground on the boots.
Maybe it was disrespectful. Maybe I'd been nasty, pushing her buttons like that in front of Monique and the stylists.
But I can't bring myself to regret it.
The plane dips lower, and my stomach swoops, not from turbulence, but from the thought of next weekend.
Next weekend.
The Whitman Foundation Gala is on Saturday night. Black tie, society photographers, Mom's carefully selected guest list that definitely includes Maxwell Pemberton and his 'desirable' pedigree.
Which means no visit to Stone River. No Chase.
I should tell him as soon as I see him. Get it over with. Rip the plaster off before we settle into the weekend and I lose my nerve.
Shit.
I can already picture his face, the way his hazel eyes will dim, how he'll try to hide his disappointment behind that easy smile and say something like, "No worries, Chicago. I get it."
But he won't get it. Not really.
