He sits down on the red vinyl seat next to me, swiveling until we face. “Well, here’s what I think I know about you. You ran away from wherever you really came from, which I never believed was Hollywood.”
I can’t help the eye roll. That was all Ginny. I just never denied it.
“Are you in some kind of trouble?”
I rub my temples. More like I’m trouble.
“Am I wrong?” Will’s concern brings my attention back in focus.
“No,” is my answer.
Later that night, I change my mind and decide to tell Will and Cameron everything. Or, at least, everything I can without outright signing them up for matching lobotomies. I spring it on them as they nurse a pair of Guinnesses, shouting at the hockey game on TV.
“You were right about everything, Will. I did run away.”
Both heads snap toward me. It takes approximately two seconds before Cameron shuts the television set off.
“Bloody hell, lass,” he murmurs.
I swallow and mentally cross my fingers that they’ll still be here when I’m done. Or, rather, I’ll still be here. “I was in . . . a bad situation where I used to live. I had a very stressful job that . . .” I flash back to Jens Belladonna’s claims of how I’d been responsible for a couple of nons’ deaths during a mission I oversaw. Even thinking about it now steals the air straight out of my lungs. “I had to do things I didn’t necessarily agree with. Things I wouldn’t choose to do if I had a choice.”
Will’s eyes are so dark, and yet, probably the most expressive I’ve ever seen. Right now, he’s staring at me with an uncomfortable mix of pity and I knew it! “What kind of job?”
Admitting I’m a Creator would go over well, I’m sure. Magicals have too often been thought of as monsters by nons who know nothing of our kind. “I can’t tell you that. Can you trust me enough to—”
“Of course I trust you.” His smile is small but genuine. “And, Zo, more importantly—you can trust me.”
“Us,” Cameron clarifies. He motions to the recliner near the couch, and I sit down on the edge, Nell hopping up behind me. I don’t want to rock. I’m too nervous to do anything but perch on the edge and await my fate.
But hearing Will call me that name, that nickname that’s just his to use, is too much. I need to correct it immediately, even if I might as well be signing my death warrant. “About that. My name isn’t Zoe.”
I worry I’ve frozen time again, because both men still completely—Cameron with his beer halfway to his mouth, Will while reaching for his own drink.
I want to whisper, but I force my voice to carry across the living room. “Zoe is the name I chose when I came to Anchorage.”
They’re regarding me like I’m the fraud I am. And I hate it. But if they’re gonna despise me, they’re gonna do it with all the info I can give. I touch my hair. “This isn’t my real hair color.” My index finger traces my lower lash line. “My eyes aren’t really blue.” I scrub my face tiredly. “My parents aren’t . . . they’re not dead. But they’ve pretty much disowned me, so it sort of feels like I’m orphaned. I’m from California, but not Hollywood. I lived near San Francisco.” I press my hand over my heart. I think it’s breaking again. It’s a thing, my heart and breaking. It happens way too often. “Please believe me when I tell you I’ve never lied about how I feel about you two.”
Will reaches out and lightly presses his fingers against my hair, like it’s brittle and he’s afraid it will clump off if there’s too much pressure.
I have to keep going, though. I owe it to them. To me. “The job . . . it was hard, yes. But I was also . . .” My lower lip trembles. “I am . . . maybe was engaged.” I nod once. “And it was . . . amazing, really, but also complicated, because I cheated on him.”
Will’s hand falls away from my hair as he drops back onto the couch.
I fight to keep my voice above a whisper when I admit the crime I rarely let myself acknowledge. “I hate myself for it. I’m not . . . I’ve made a lot of mistakes, and I don’t know what to do anymore.” Or, worse yet, who I am.
There’s surprise in Will’s eyes. Pity, too. And more than a wee bit of scorn, because the wound Becca and Grant’s cheating inflicted hasn’t healed fully, and he knows just how much that can gut a soul. Cameron, though—he’s all pity, and it slays me to see him look at me like that. Like he wants to give me a hug and tell me it’s all going to be all right.
Like a dad should, even when his daughter makes the wrong choices. Even when she’s breaking his heart.
I draw in another shuddery breath. “So, here I am. Zoe White, in Anchorage, Alaska. That guy at the Moose—I think he’s from my work. I think they’re looking for me.”