Page 93 of Some Like It Fox

“That’s good, isn’t it?” Confusion and concern coil around the words.

I’m confused too. And angry. And terrified. “It is good. Listen, I have to go, but I’ll call you by the end of the week with an answer, I promise.”

“Okay, sweetie, no rush. You take care, okay?”

We hang up and I slump back in the seat.What am I doing?

I spent the last week going through orientation at Silvertongue headquarters. It wasn’t exactly like I thought it would be.

Everything was so... corporate. Lots of meetings, people in suits, paperwork, and formalities. Sure, that might change once I’m on the road, in the trenches.

The work I did at Veronica’s, like for the festival, was small time, sure, but it was an opportunity to help artists that hardly anyone knows about. Bringing attention to musicians who would go unnoticed otherwise. Silvertongue only works with big names. It’s an incredible opportunity, it’s just not for me.

Not to mention, I’ve been miserable since I left Whitby. There’s a hole in my heart and it’s shaped like Atticus.

I quit before the week was out. I couldn’t stay. The urge to bolt was back, biting at my nerve endings and I had to leave.

Now I don’t know what to do with myself. I want to go back to Whitby, but anxiety is making me freeze up in confusion.

What if Atticus doesn’t want me? He didn’t ask me to stay. He didn’t even try. He wants me to be happy, even if it’s not with him.

I’m so angry I want to scream. How dare he be so noble and wonderful and caring?

I hate him.

But that’s the problem, isn’t it? I don’t hate him. Not in the slightest.

I’ve spent every minute of every day since I left dwelling on my past, examining every minute of my interactions with Atticus and how Aria’s death, my subsequent guilt, and then the whole fight with Mindy has impacted me over the past eight years.

I’ve been searching the country looking for answers, for peace, and running from my problems, but I can’t find solace in the middle of a festival.

The truth is I’ve been running like a coward, trying to escape from my past. But I can’t run from myself. Everything I’m evading, good and bad, is a part of me whether I like it or not.

It’s time to stop and face myself, and accept myself.

The horror.

The phone rings in my hand, startling me out of my thoughts. My heart leaps for a second, as it does every time I get a call or text.

Atticus?

Nope.

Jake. I swipe my thumb to answer.

“Hey, Jakey.”

“Hey there, Tay-tay, whatcha doing?”

I’m running, again. I just don’t know if I’m running away from something or running toward it.

“Not much.” Just questioning all my life choices. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, it’s fine. I was just checking in. Oh, and I need you to settle a bet I have with Archer. They put you up at the Hyatt in downtown Sacramento, right? Not the Marriott?”

I frown. That’s a weird bet. Then again, Archer and Jake fight over what constitutes a sandwich, so maybe not so strange. “I was at the Hyatt,” I say carefully. I promised him no more lies.

“Wasat the Hyatt? What does that mean? Where are you now? Are you okay?”

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