GOODBYE TO YOU
Mateo and Layla wandered through the gallery, checking out her dad’s exhibit. It was his best work yet—vibrant, full of life, the vivid forms seeming to jump off the canvas—so why wasn’t anyone buying?
“It’s a good turnout.” Mateo entwined his fingers with hers. “Maybe your dad can start to relax.”
Layla frowned. “Forget the turnout, what we need are buyers.”
She leaned against Mateo’s shoulder, enjoying the dependable solidity of him. They needed more moments like this. Between the contest and all the drama surrounding Madison, they’d barely seen each other, and when they did, they acted overly cautious. Like the slightest misstep might derail their already fragile relationship. Even if it was just a date at her dad’s show, Layla was happy to be with him.
She snuck a peek at her father. On the surface, he looked good, handsome as ever. But having recently come across some disturbing statements from banks and other unpaid creditors, Layla knew the stress he was under. If this show didn’t result in the sale of at least one major piece, journalism school would have to wait. She’d need to stick around, use the money she’d earned from her blog to help save their house until they could figure something out. She was more than willing to do it—she’d do anything for him—but she hoped it wouldn’t come to that. It would delay her dream and make him feel like a failure.
Her phone chimed with an incoming text, and Mateo’s fingers instantly tensed. He’d tried his best to be patient, but he was reaching his limits. Still, she wasn’t yet free of the contest, which meant she really needed to check it.
She clicked on the link Trena had sent and inhaled a quick breath as the words appeared on the screen:
Blood Found on the Night for Night Terrace!
Possibly Belonging to Madison Brooks?
Beneath the headline was a picture of Ryan Hawthorne surrounded by suits, his hand raised, shielding his face from the cameras, as he was escorted inside the police station.
Mateo peered over her shoulder, snaking an arm around her waist as he pulled her closer and said, “Good. It’s over.” He tried to nuzzle her neck, but Layla batted him away. “And yet, you’re still at it. . . .”
“Just—” She hated to upset him, but if he’d give her a second, she could give him her complete attention. “I just need to—”
Before she could finish, Mateo was shaking his head and heading for the bar. “I’m going to get us some drinks,” he called. “When I return, maybe you can try ignoring that thing.”
Layla frowned and skimmed the article again. Apparently Trena had nudged the police, and now, thanks to her, she, Tommy, and Aster were all off the hook. She could actually feel the weight of the burden melting away.
“Looks like you’re not the only one receiving interesting texts.”
Mateo held his phone before her as Layla squinted at a picture of her and Tommy kissing in the middle of the Jewel dance floor. It was time and date stamped.
She closed her eyes, wishing she could rewind time. When she opened them again, it was worse than before. Mateo looked as crushed as she felt. Difference was, he was the victim. She was the perpetrator. Their pain was hardly equal.
“I’m sorry,” she said, cringing at the inadequacy of the words. She owed him far more than a shrug of the shoulders and an inept, though heartfelt, apology. “I don’t even know what to say.” Her mind swam with possibilities, centering on the horrifying truth that someone was spying on her. Someone had hated her enough to take a picture of her most regrettable mistake and use it against her.
She reached for Mateo, pressed her fingers to his flesh, but she’d already lost him.
“Who sent that?” She gripped so hard she was leaving red marks.
“Is that what you’re worried about?” He pulled away. “I mean, that is you, isn’t it?”
She closed her eyes and nodded. There was no point in lying.
“And the guy?”
“Tommy. Tommy Phillips.” Her knees felt floppy, weak, as she struggled to steady herself. “He’s one of the competitors, and that’s the first, last, and only time that ever happened. I swear.”
“This happened weeks ago, and I’m just now finding out about it? What else have you been hiding?”
She shook her head, gazed around the gallery. The timing couldn’t have been worse. Not that there was ever a good time for something like that, but it was an important event for her father. She couldn’t afford to make a scene.
“Mateo,” she whispered, “I haven’t been hiding anything. I swear. I think someone’s setting me up!”
Mateo averted his gaze like he could no longer stand looking at her. After the whole thing with Madison, he was sick of her conspiracy theories. But for the first time, she realized it might not end there. Maybe he was finally sick of her too.
“Doesn’t look coerced to me.” His gaze bore into hers.