It’s mine.
“I don’t need her to.” My voice softens as my anger turns to pity.
I allow my eyes to scan over Bea’s face one final time. I knew all those years ago she was only out for herself. I don’t know what led her to be that person. But I can see that nothing has changed. She’s not grown. She’s not turned over a new leaf.
She’s just fallen further. Unraveled.
She went down, and I went up.
The worst night of my life set my future careering onto an entirely new trajectory. It wasn’t music anymore. It was justice and values, and belief in doing better. And people.
And now that I’m here, I intend to make every damn second mean something.
“It’s part of who I am. But it’s notallI am, and she sees all of me. Goodbye, Bea.”
Her eyes turn glassy, but before any tears of self-pity appear, I gesture to Stuart, who watched the entire exchange. He nods at me before we walk away together.
Leaving her behind us.
Leaving it all behind.
Firmly in my past.
Chapter thirty-four
Harley
Ipullmyphoneout of my purse as I walk up the subway steps. It immediately starts dinging with notifications.
None are from Reed.
My heart sinks and I sniff, blinking furiously.
I will not cry. I will not cry.
After he left Suze’s last night and I almost threw up grilled cheese all over the kitchen tiles, I went to the bathroom and took a long, hot shower. So hot that my skin was glowing bright red when I emerged. It felt kind of symbolic. But not in a good way. It was like washing those last kisses of Reed’s from my skin meant that it was final. He’s gone. And he’s not coming back.
“It was never going to last forever, Angel.”
I manage to place one foot in front of the other and join the crush of people heading out onto the sidewalk and enroute to work. I scan through my phone messages, opening a text from Maria first.
Maria: Hey, it’s crazy here. Reed’s hosting a last-minute press conference in the ballroom. And Griffin didn’t come home until late. I think it’s something to do with the news about Dennis Vincent. Call me when you can.
I check the time it was sent—fifty minutes ago. That’s typical. Of all the days for the subway to break down between stops, it had to be today. I spent twenty minutes standing there baking hot with no air circulating the packed carriage, face to face with a guy who had clearly not brushed his teeth this morning.
Public transport sucks. Especially on days like today, where it seems I may as well have been on a different planet for the past hour, judging by the amount of city news alerts I’m getting to my phone. I set them up after moving in with Reed. I thought it would help me to understand the whole campaigning and election jargon for when I was at functions with him in case people asked me my opinion. I wanted to sound like I had an idea about it all.
I’m still mostly illiterate when it comes to it, but not today.
Today I understand perfectly.
Today’s breaking headline means one thing.
Dennis Vincent has something to do with that video. And so does Graham Hutchings… and Bea.
My stomach lurches upward into my throat and I fight the urge to gag as I read the article on the screen.
Dennis Vincent has been outed as being Graham’s biological father. And he’s being investigated by the DOI?