Page 65 of First Comes Revenge

Right now, Jameson is sharing bagels he brought with the half dozen or so people gathered around the bus stop bench.

I’ve spent more time than I’d like to admit watching him from my window on the third floor, especially ever since he started the whole book reading thing. What the hell is he doing down there? Every day is the same thing.

Jameson walks up with a huge, heavy bag. He sits somewhere and eventually pulls out a book. He sits there and reads, glancing up every page or so toward my building, as if expecting me to emerge at any moment.

At first, he was by himself. After Roxie and Dani’s little stunt, things in front of my building have grown more chaotic by the day as the number of people grows.

“I just want to know what he’s doing,” I say.

“Waiting,” Gemmaline says. “It’s one thing to text and say you’re sorry. But he has been out there rain or shine for over two weeks now, just waiting for you. It’s so freaking romantic.”

I know it’s only a matter of time before I go down there and confront him. If it weren’t for Roxie and Dani, I’m sure I would’ve already gone down there to at least hear him out.

Yes, I’m still pissed at him. I don’t even know where an apology would lead. Maybe it would just be salve over the wound he left, but we’d go our separate ways. Maybe it would lead to us in a bed together. I really can’t say, because Jameson left behind a complicated tangle of emotions I haven’t been able to peel apart.

I’ve also been busy on two fronts, because I’ve been learning first hand how becoming an author is unfortunately about more than just writing a book. It also involves the messy business of getting it out into the world and into people’s hands–a skill that unfortunately has very little to do with writing. It’s like I have to be a good writeranda good marketer, businesswoman, publicist, social media guru, and designer.

It sounds stupid now, but I think part of me just imagined I’d finish the book and the perfect landing spot for it would magically appear out of thin air. The first people to read it would be absolutely blown away and beg me to sign a contract with them. I could skip all the other necessary skills in publishing because someone would see my potential and do it all for me.

Technically, that did happen. Jameson Wolfe read a couple chapters of my manuscript almost two months ago and tried to sign me on the spot. The catch is I think he only cared about pissing off Vaughn Vanderlesh. For all I know, he only said my book was good because he knew he could piss off his rival by publishing it. It’s a sour thought, and not one I’m sure I entirely believe. Jameson may have lied to me, but I confusingly still can’t make myself believe he lied about that. He only lied to help his friend and his business. It wasn’t malicious. It was just… him choosing work over me, I guess.

Outside of the book stuff, I’ve had to admit it may all take longer than I like. That’s why I now work forty hours a week at a coffee shop, which is doing little more than prolonging my plunge into poverty.

Going back and begging Jameson or Nolan to publish my book would’ve been the easy path. It probably would’ve been the smart path. But I’ve been too stubborn. I want to earn this. I don’t want it handed to me on a silver platter just because Jameson wants my forgiveness, which is probably what would happen if I asked.

I sent out queries as soon as I finished editing the book. I had a big list made up of all the local publishers in the city because I thought my chances were best if I could personally meet with agents and editors. At first, nobody replied to me. It was all crickets.

But then I sent a second wave of emails where I briefly explained the drama with Landmark and mentioned that Gray Wolfe had “expressed interest” in publishing my story, which wasn’t really a lie. Suddenly I had meetings with three different publishers in person.

Those had all been a few weeks ago, but every day that goes by without contact makes my hopes sink further into the gutter. I gave all of them a manuscript to read and crossed my fingers that I’d hear back within the day. Now I’m convinced they all read the book, hated it, and will never reach out to me.

I just can’t shake the feeling that everything went wrong when I broke things off with Jameson. I can’t get away from the endless line of what if’s that float around my brain every day and night. What if I’d forgiven him? What if I’d let him make it up to me? What if I still had him by my side to help me navigate this mess I’ve found myself in?

I miss him.

I miss him every time I have more than a few seconds to think. Every time the feeling of longing gets too strong, I remind myself that he lied. If he lied to me once, it means he could do it again. If he could lie to me, how could I ever trust him?

But more and more, I feel like I’m just reading lines to myself. They are the lines I think I’m supposed to say, but they aren’t the ones I feel in my heart. My heart is bursting with the desire to forgive and to give second chances, even if it has burned me so many times in the past. I want to forgive because that’s who I am. It’s who I was before Vaughn tried to burn it out of me and it’s who I was before I tried to be someone else by walking away from Jameson before he could hurt me more.

“Hey,” Roxie says, snapping her fingers. “Get that puppy dog look off your face. I can tell what you’re thinking about.”

“No you can’t,” I say.

“You’re thinking about going down there and getting all smoochy with him.”

I open my mouth to argue, but can’t seem to find the right lie to convince her I wasn’t doing exactly that. I clear my throat and stare at my feet.

Roxie and Dani both laugh.

Gemmaline hugs me. “It’s okay, Girl. I support you if you decide to go down there and talk to him. I think he’s at least earned a listen.”

“Quit being a bad influence,” Roxie says.

“It’s okay to let your guard down sometimes,” Gemmaline says. “It’s okay to…” she struggles to find the words and starts gesturing in a circular motion.

“Maybe it’s always going to be a risk?” I blurt. “I mean… Yes,” I point to Roxie. “You have had some real scumbag boyfriends who have really been shit to you. I totally get the wholeus against the worldmentality you have. I really do. But what are we supposed to do instead? Just only date guys who are one hundred percent safe? There’s no such thing. And if there was, it would be boring, right?” It’s more than I’ve said about my feelings since this whole thing started weeks ago. Mostly, I’ve just listened and let my friends tell me what they think. But I finally feel like I’m boiling over with energy–like I’ve got to dosomethingandsoon.

Roxie folds her arms. “There are guys who don’t lie to you and mistreat you.”

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