Page 2 of Where the Little Birds Are (Little Bird Duet 2)

Not giving her a chance to press, I busy myself by pulling my credit card out of my wallet and move to start unloading my purchases onto the conveyer belt. It’s hard not to feel the burn of curious eyes. I’ve acknowledged that I’m this person now—the one who cheats, lies, and destroys people’s lives.

But is his destroyed?

My eyes can’t help but dart back to the magazine rack, where Corbin’s small smile to the photographers graces the front. He doesn’t look destroyed. The only life I’ve ruined is my own.

The girl behind me picks up one of the magazines and tosses it on to the conveyer. “It’s okay to admit you like that sort of s

tuff. My mom gets all weird about it too.”

Freezing over the magazine shifting closer to the cashier as the belt moves, my eyes turn to the teenager. I don’t know what to say and can’t put it back in fear of how that will make me look. When I go outside, I’ll throw the magazine away and never open the pages to see the newest story they’ve printed.

Yet another lie.

The curser on my laptop blinks, the empty screen taunting me as I draw my knees up to perch on the edge of the cushioned office chair. Tapping my nail against the desk, I reach toward the keyboard to write something, anything, before sighing in defeat.

Resting in the desk drawer beside me is every edition of my life in fifteen hundred words or less. Grainy pictures. Professional pictures. Choppy quotes. Wild assumptions woven together by truth and exaggerations. I collect every magazine and don’t know why.

My cell rests screen down, buzzing with an oncoming call. Hands twitching against my stomach, I prepare myself for any name to appear when I flip it over. Picking it up, I exhale in the tiniest bit of relief as I swipe to answer.

“Hello, Jamie.”

“Kinley,” my agent greets. Long nails tapping against keys fills the hesitant silence between us. The noise abruptly stops. “How have things been going since we last spoke? I expect you’re nearly done with the second book?”

My eyes go back to the blank screen. “It’s a work in progress,” is the only thing I can think to say. It’s better than the last update she got almost a month and a half ago. The story ideas that normally swirl through my head all disappeared the second I got back to New York.

“They’re expecting it next month. We’re all on deadlines here,” she reminds me, sternness in her tone. “The remaining two books need to be finished by the end of the year.”

Her reminder of the three-book deal leaves thick anxiety creeping up my throat until it hurts to swallow. The first book was one I polished off in California—a way to distract myself from a certain silver-eyed man. “I know they’ve been patient with me, but I may need a little extension—”

“No.” I wince back into my seat at the all-business, no-bullshit response. The few times I’ve witnessed it in person were never directed at me, but it made shivers roll down my spine regardless. “They gave you time after what happened with Parker, but you promised you’d make the new deadlines. We’ve worked very hard to secure this deal, Kinley. You cannot risk losing that. One House is too big of a publisher to get on their bad side.”

Parker.

Normally, the name deepens the little crack in my heart he left behind after calling off our engagement. It’d taken a long time to open up to someone who seemed supportive of my career, crazy schedule, and preferred seclusion, but he’d been that person for me. I knew exactly what Corbin meant when he told me that Lena was what he needed for a while because Parker had been the same distraction for me. But somewhere along the way Parker Jennings got tired of it all. I couldn’t blame him and the way he called me out for focusing more on my books than him. He was right.

Now his name doesn’t give me the same ache in my chest. In fact, there’s no feeling at all. I know the reason behind it is because there’s a hole much deeper from somebody else. The crack Parker left is nonexistent in comparison.

Numbness aside, I find myself nodding. What else can I do when I know Jamie is right? If I mess up this deal, I’ll lose the advancement and any opportunity to publish through them again. But the itchiness of another risk lingering in the depths of my conscience keeps me unsteady regardless of the final two books that I have yet to write.

The truth sits at the tip of my tongue but refuses to escape past my parted lips. After the first accusations of Corbin and I being involved made gossip outlets all over the country, I convinced Jamie Little and her team to let it slide instead of making a press release to deny anything. It would have made the public more eager to believe something happened if we were quick to say nothing had. The last thing I wanted was for someone like Jamie, who took a chance on me when I was younger, to be disappointed.

I can shut myself away from the world and layer in clothes to hide what’s growing inside me, but it won’t last forever. Rumors will become reality the second the wrong person sees. Every day I try figuring out how to accept that this can’t be undone, but I choke on the bitter pill I swallowed when I admitted to myself that I still love Corbin.

Nine years of pretending like I let go is almost a decade spent suffering. How many people have I brought down with me? My ring finger still feels the absence of the silver band I wore—the one Parker wouldn’t even let me give back despite the limited money he made.

“Kinley?” Jamie sighs, typing again and clicking on something. “Your schedule is wide open right now, so you should be able to finish if you stick to daily deadlines. Pace yourself like you did when you wrote Through Shattered Glass.”

Nostrils flaring over the book that got me into this mess, I shake my head. Writing that book doesn’t compare to the standalone series following new characters that I took on when I signed with One House. The characters are new and have nothing to do with me or my life, which was supposed to make it easier. Instead, I’m suffocating under the pressure of living somebody else’s life like a fraud when I have so much to say that’s left unsaid like it isn’t important.

I’m pregnant!

I’m in love!

I’m miserable!

I want to write my truth on paper and submit it for the world to see hoping it’ll relieve the pressure sitting on my chest. Every day when I force myself to sit down and write all I do is focus on the things I can’t fictionalize for the sake of admission. My conscience needs clearing, but the guilt just continues festering until I fear I’ll explode.

And I let it because I know that it’s smarter than risking everything I’ve worked hard for. “I’ve just been off since getting back from California. Seeing the movie took a toll on me and it was hard to sit back down and write.”

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