Page 86 of Songbird
Chip’s nostrils flare, and he glances once at John before he rolls his shoulders back. We have an audience, even if it’s a single person who will never breathe a word of what happens here today, but Chip always puts on a show when there’s somebody around to watch. Nothing matters more to Chip than appearances.
“You’re not thinking straight,” Chip says, his voice smooth and soothing. “You’re in shock and you’ve had a head injury. The best place for you is home, in your own bed, where it’s safe and I can take care of you.”
“Home?” My voice cracks, then rises in pitch. “Home?You mean the house I made for us even though you were hardly ever there? You mean the bed you used to fuck my assistant when I wasn’t in it?”
Chip blanches but his eyes get hotter. “Keep your voice down.”
“Why? Because it suits you to keep your infidelity a secret? Too late, Chippie. The cat’s out of the bag.”
I’m losing my grip, and maybe I’ve left my body, because I canseemyself unraveling in real time. The scary thing is it feels good to let loose.
“Are you going to mention the fact that I practically left you at the altar?” I demand. “Are you going to acknowledge the disgusting lies you fed to the media? Are you going to man up and admit to smearing my brand and my reputation to save your own? Or do you expect me to take the blame for all of it the way I used to do? Are you here so I canapologize? Because I’m telling you now, in no uncertain terms, that is never going to happen.” Tears well in my eyes as I think about how different my life would be if I hadn’t acted on that impulse to run toward Finn. “I’m not sorry. I’m not sorry for any of it.”
A vein in Chip’s neck pulses with his anger. “Okay. You want me to say it? Fine. We were both wrong. We both made mistakes, but we can fix it. We’ll apologize. We’ll go to therapy. It’s not too late to save this. Save us. We belong together, Rosalie. You know that as well as I do.” His calculating eyes slide to my bodyguard again. “Let’s talk about this later. At home.”
“Are you stupid?” I hiss, and when John takes a concerned step toward me, I stop him with a flung-out hand.
“Do you know who put me here?” I ask Chip. “Do you know who tried to shoot me and did shoot the man I love? A beautiful, brilliant, big-hearted man who is now in surgery fighting for his life because he put his body between me and the next bullet to come out of that gun?”
I’m shrieking now, tears streaming down my cheeks, but I can’t believe the gall of this man. I don’t know why I’m surprised. Arrogance and narcissism are pages one and two of the Chip Daniels playbook, but for him to come here and think he can treat me like he always has… It’s more than I can handle.
Chip swallows. He knows the answer, and when he refuses to say it, I laugh. It comes out wet with tears, yet so, so dry.
“You did this,” I say. “You played me, and you played Lauren. The difference is when we found out who you really are, I broke free and she just broke. She wanted what she thought I had and all you wanted was some action on the side.” I laugh again and shake my head. “Lauren wanted me dead and it’s all because of you.”
“You’re hysterical,” Chip says in a low, taunting voice I know so well. How many times has he used this tone to make me feel small, weak, and helpless? Too many to count. Enough to know I’ll never be victim to it again. “And you’ve bumped your head. This isn’t like you, Rosalie. I’m here to help. You love me, I know you do, so let’s—”
“Get out,” I interrupt, the last of my rage peaking at his words. I’m about to collapse with the fear that’s edging closer and closer, and I’ll never forgive myself if Chip witnesses my weakness. “Get out now.”
He doesn’t move, his tall, lean frame taking on a stubborn stance. “Rosalie—”
“Walk out before I ask John to throw you out.”
John strides over like he’s been waiting for the green light, and his hand lands on Chip’s shoulder with a meatythwack. “You heard,” he says. “It’s time for you to go.”
“Get your hand off me,” Chip snarls as he violently rolls his shoulder, and John scowls as he shoves him toward the door.
“Never contact me again,” I say to Chip as he walks out of the room and out of my life. “If you need to discuss business, do it through my lawyer. Oh, and Chip?”
He turns his head, eyes cold enough to turn my stomach, and I lift my chin because he’s not getting any more emotion from me.
“If you ever so much aslookmy way again, I swear to God I will air every dirty secret, every questionable business deal, every private moment we ever spent together, and I won’t stop until your career is beyond resuscitation. Do you hear me?”
Chip’s gaze finally grows hot as I speak the only kind of language he understands.
“Forget you know me, Chip,” I say. “Forget you ever met me. Forget you know my name.”
thirty-three
Finn
Iwakewoozyanddisoriented, body aching and throat dry, the air sharp with the scent of disinfectant, and something beeping obnoxiously by my ear. It takes me too long to realize I’m alive, then no time at all to remember what happened.
“Rosie?” I call out, or at least I try to. It’s little more than a strangled croak, and I start throwing off my blankets and pulling at the tubes and wires stuck to my chest, arms, and hands. A sharp pain shoots through my thigh, and I groan as an angel flies across the room, gently pushing me back onto my pillows with sweet, shushing sounds.
“I’m here,” she whispers. “I’m right here. Don’t move, baby. Lay down. I’m not going anywhere.”
I’m swept away by relief, and it leaves me weak enough that I can’t fight the soft pressure of Rosie’s palms on my chest. I don’t want to. She’s here, and right now, she’s doing much better than I am. That’s all I need to know.
