I haven’t watched the whole thing.
I can’t.
Griffin took my phone from me and gave me a temporary one. He didn’t tell me what he saw, but he told me enough to confirm that there is more on the video. A lot more. And that my suspicions were right about it appearing to be Reed’s assault filmed from start to finish.
“You can have your phone back soon, Harley,” Griffin says.
“It doesn’t matter.” I drop my eyes to the floor and to a small patch of rainbow light that’s been created by the sun shining through a vase of flowers on Griffin’s desk. If only there was a pot of gold at the end of it. A pot of gold in the shape of a solution to this giant mess.
I give Griffin a tiny smile. The upside of me not having my phone is that I can’t stare at photographs of me and Reed that I took on it and cry myself to sleep at night.
I Google him and cry that way instead.
Most of the images are of him alone. Doing interviews, press conferences, and things like that. But there are some of the two of us looking happy together, as well as the awful breakup day images. Of the ones of us together, there’s a mix of both before and after the president’s retreat. When we were a fake, and then a real couple. Reed’s eyes don’t change between them. That’s the main thing that struck me as I stared at one photo after another after another. My eyes change. The way I look at him softens with each photograph, and my smile widens. It’s too subtle for anyone but me to notice.
But Reed?
His eyes don’t change.
He’s looking at me with the same glow in them in every picture, from the very first one, until the last. He’s looking at me as if he’s always known something special would connect the two of us one day.
And he was right.
Wewerespecial. Both of us held pain in our hearts from the trauma in our pasts. A trauma he claims he is free of. But I don’t think he could make such a claim if he knew this video exists.
I don’t know what it would do to him. And that terrifies me. What if it pushes him into that dark place again and there isn’t anyone there to pull him back from the edge? The thought of him drowning him in the past again frightens me so much that for the past two nights, I have shaken and cried on Suze’s couch. Only sleeping when exhaustion finally wins, giving me a few hours’ respite.
“We’ll sort it out, Harley,” Griffin says, his voice steeped in steely determination. “I won’t let the woman in that video almost ruin his life again. Or steal what he’s only just found for the first time now, with you.”
When I get in after work, Suze’s house is empty. She texted and said they may try to catch dinner and a movie tonight as a treat, and did I want to join them. But I declined. As much as I love her and the kids, I would be terrible company.
I change into some sweatpants and a t-shirt. I can’t bring myself to put on my pajamas, even though they’re the comfiest thing I own. They just make me think of him. Maybe I should put them in the trash. It’s not like I can ever wear them again without feeling like my heart is being ripped out.
I pour a large glass of wine and flop down onto Suze’s sofa. I’m flicking through the TV channels half-heartedly when my phone rings. I’ve only given my new number to a handful of people, so I answer it without even looking at the screen.
“Hello?”
“Harley?”
“Stu?” I sit up straight. “Why are you calling me? Is Reed okay?”
“He’s fine.”
I slouch back against the cushions as I exhale.Hang on, I didn’t give Stu my number.
“I got your number from Griffin,” he explains before I ask. “I wanted to see how you’re doing.”
“Me?” I pick a glittery pink thread off my sweatpants and frown at my slippers. Reed was right, these things do shed everywhere. I slip them off and curl my feet underneath me on the sofa. Perhaps they will be joining the caticorn pajamas in the trash can of heaven where the clothes from breakups go.
“Yes, you. Reed says you haven’t spoken to each other since… well, since…”
“Since I left?” I drop my head against the sofa cushions and close my eyes. “We haven’t. I… I had a problem with my phone. Griffin’s getting it fixed for me, but until then I have a temporary number.”
“I see.”
“How is he, Stu?”
“I called to ask how you are, Harley,” Stuart says gently before sighing when I don’t answer. “He’s focused. Reed is… being Reed. Only more intense, more determined, and more motivated. Even more so than when the campaign was running.”