Page 85 of Fighting Words

Her mouth flattens into a frown. “Because you’re worried about me finding out about the murder stuff?”

“I’m not a murderer.” I laugh, going over to pour two fingers of scotch into my glass.

“No? Well, should I try another guess?”

“I wish you wouldn’t.”

Once I have my drink in hand, I turn around and lean against the counter. All the while she ignores me, carrying on with her wild theories.

“You’re leading a double life. You’re married. You have a wife and children back in the States. They don’t know you’re here.”

I laugh. “How would that even work?”

“They think you’re in prison.”

“They what—”

“For the killing. Because actually you’re a murderer.”

Her smile is infectious.

“Would you knock it off?”

“What? I just don’t know what could be so bad. You’re doing this whole cloak-and-dagger thing, like ooohhh everything is so mysterious and—” She gasps like she’s finally got it, even snapping her fingers with the aha moment. “You’re a vampire.No—a werewolf. That’s why you leave sometimes at night. I didn’t eventhinkto check if there’s been a full moon lately.”

I walk over to the kitchen table, grab her usual chair, and tug it out for her. “Sit down.”

“Am I close?”

“Sit down, Summer.”

It won’t work forever. This lightheartedness will only carry her so far, and then she’ll have to sit and listen and determine if she’s willing to hear me out.

With a pout, she takes her seat and watches me curve around the table and take mine. It’s quiet now. She’s not going to continue on. She must see my expression and know it’d be better to just let me get on with it.

“I told you once about my old editor, Elaine.”

“Yes, we’ve talked about her,” she says with a cavalier wave of her hand. “You think she was the only reason you were able to publishEcho of Hopeand I think that’s complete bull—”

“Enough.”

I can’t stand how silly she’s making this.

“I was in love with Elaine.Wewere in love.”

The words wash over Summer in slow motion. There’s the look I’ve been expecting, the tensing of her jaw, the narrowing of her eyes, all the light—gone.

I have no choice but to continue now. “Elaine is the reason InkWell publishedThe Last Exodus. She believed in the book right from the beginning. She and I were friends at first. We worked together on developmental edits for the first book, and through that, we grew closer. She held my hand during the whirlwind of press that happened after the book was released. That year was amazing, but tough. I thought being a writer meant I would be at home, by myself in front of my computer.” I sigh. “There was a lot of publicity. The book tour stopped in twenty cities, I was on every morning show you can think of—radio, podcasts, you name it.”

“Why?” she asks. “InkWell wouldn’t have demanded that of you.”

She’s right. Authors always have the final say on what they’re comfortable doing, publicity-wise.

I take a sip of my drink and shrug. “I was young and I wanted to be a team player. Elaine pushed me out of my comfort zone as well. By then,The Last Exoduswas her baby as much as it was mine, and she wanted it to be a success.”

These words make Summer scowl. “It was never hers.Youwrote it.”

I nod, conceding here. It’s not worth arguing over the minute details of the past.

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