Page 51 of Devoted

I chuckle and let the sound fade. “Not too long ago, I was thinking I needed to figure out what to do with my life. I still don’t know. That’s terrifying.” It disturbs me even more that Penelope’s life has to be in danger to give me a sense of purpose.

“When this is all done, you’ll figure it out. I’m sure of it.”

When I was a kid, my future was mapped out. I could look ahead five, ten, twenty years and know what I wanted to be. Soloist, principal, taking over as academy director for Mom. But the school is dead. I looked it up once after I returned home. It was turned into a women’s halfway house. A fitting use. A place that used to hurt young girls is now a place for women to have a second, third, or fourth chance.

When I look ahead now, there’s nothing but emptiness. A great expanse of nothing. I want to be useful. I want to be needed. But I want it to be natural, not forced. When I was eighteen, it seemed like I was asking too much. At thirty-five, it almost feels the same way.

“Want an omelet?” Using my nearly perfected omelet-making skills to get away from challenging thoughts is obvious to both of us, but I roll up and swing my legs over the side of the bed anyway. “Want to use the bathroom first?”

Her stare burns into my back, but she doesn’t press me to continue our conversation. “Yes, please.” She comes around the bed and plants a kiss on my forehead. Then she grabs her clothing on the way out of the bedroom. “It’s okay. We don’t have to have all the hard conversations in one night.”

She’s fucking amazing. I’d drag her back into bed, but we need to eat something. I get dressed and run a hand through my hair. I can get supplies ready while waiting for Penelope.

In the kitchen, I find my phone where I left it during our sexfest. The wrappers from our gourmet crackers and cheese snack litter the counter. Despite my heavy thoughts, I like the signs of us around the house. I like having another person around. I like not being alone.

The screen lights up. It’s filled with missed calls, but it’s the name that sends my heart rate to catastrophic heights. London. She never calls me. Ever.

I let my guard down, and something bad has happened.

I call her. If shit went wrong with Penelope’s family or her dance family, it’s better to hear it from London. She won’t be able to hide the emotion in her voice, not like Kase or Jacobi, and I’ll know how awful it really is.

She answers with, “Cannon, have you seen the news?”

Oh, hell. More media? Is Roman making up more stuff about Penelope? “No. What’s wrong?”

“And you haven’t heard from Kase or Jacobi? Probably not. They don’t watch the news like the people in my office,” she mutters.

I can’t take the wait. My temples are throbbing, and it’s dawning on me that London wouldn’t call me to talk about news about Penelope. I don’t want to hear what’s coming. “Just tell me.”

“You’re all over the news.”

The world spins around me and I brace my free hand on the countertop. “What?”

“Is your real name Erik C. Petrov?”

Fuck. “It’s not my real name” is all I can say.

“Did you used to do ballet, and is your mom in jail?”

My breath whooshes out. I went for so many years without anyone knowing who I was. I did it to protect myself, but it’s being used to hurt someone I care about. “Dammit, how did they find out?”

London’s sigh is full of sympathy. “Some photographer, claiming you were at a photo shoot with Penni. She must’ve sold you out for some money.”

The unprofessional bitch. Brittany Cowles trusted her, but the photographer screwed us all over. “How long ago did you see this?” Penelope and I were in the bedroom for hours. If Roman hasn’t seen the interview, one of the guys working for him has. It’s their job to comb the web, looking for me.

“I heard about it two hours ago and called you. But it could’ve been streaming all day. I just happened to start talking with one of my marketing team before she left.”

Depending on how long the latest gossip has been airing and when Roman or his team got the information, we could be in danger. My focus sharpens, and I go into mission mode. “London, listen. Tell Jacobi I’m ditching this place. I don’t know where we’re going, but we’ll figure it out on the way. My cabin isn’t safe for her anymore.”

“I’ll do that, and please be careful. We’re worried about both of you.” London has always been Jacobi’s wife, but this phone call made her my friend too.

I charge down the hall. Penelope steps out of the bathroom and jumps when she sees me bearing down on her. “Pack your things. We’ve got to go.”

---