But I know differently.
Bea didn’t have to tell them about what happened to me twelve years ago. She didn’t have to give them that. But most of all, she didn’t have to bring Harley into it.
It’s my fault. I was the one who asked her to pose as my girlfriend. I was the one who brought attention to her. Harley is hurting because of me. Because of my past.
This is crushing her.
Tom’s laugh echoes off the walls.
“It’s no lie. Wait until you’re my age, then you’ll dream about the days you could look as put together as you do now, even with no sleep.”
I curl my lips into a smile. He may be in his sixties, but he doesn’t look much over fifty, and I’m sure he knows it and is being polite.
“I’m sorry to hear the news that you and the young lady we met at the dinner have parted ways,” Tom says.
I fight to maintain the easy smile that was on my face seconds ago, but it’s already sliding away, like ice cream off a cone on a hot day.
“Harley, wasn’t it?”
“Yes.” I nod once. “That’s her.”
Tom looks into my eyes with a knowing look only someone his age with his wisdom possesses. “Sometimes the greatest things happen the second time around. Like you, here, back in New York. And now you’re going to be mayor. You’ve done well.”
“Thank you,” I reply as Stuart and I follow him down a long corridor until we reach a set of double doors.
Talking about Harley brings both a lump to my throat and a fire to my stomach. I’ve let her down. It’s my fault her eyes were full of turmoil last night at Suze’s. It’s my fault that she looked so confused and anxious when I left.
I’ve allowed a situation that’s now tearing away at her.
I’ve allowed it to tear us apart.
She ran thinking it would hurt me less than the alternative. She did what she thought she had to.
My Angel is a lover, not a fighter. But right now, she’s fighting. She’s fighting to save me when she shouldn’t have to. It’s the wrong battle. The fact that she can’t see that already means I’ve let her down.
But not anymore.
Tom turns to us both over his shoulder. “I’ll show you the studio, and then you can get ready.”
He pushes open the doors and Stuart and I follow him onto the informal set. Two deep blue sofas are angled together around a low coffee table with a jug of water and two glasses already laid out.
“Cozy.” Stuart smiles his approval.
“Just let me know when you’re ready, Reed.” Tom pats me on the back. “And we’ll get started. No rush.”
I nod in response, taking in the set up. It’s a direct contrast to the news channel sets I’ve been filming on all day. They’re all chrome, glass, giant screens, and electronic cue readers everywhere. This screams Tom. He may have started out as a political reporter, but his career has grown, and his interview style evolved into a more relaxed, informal arrangement.
The perfect battlefield for a surprise attack.
Because it’s time to win the war.
Chapter thirty-six
Harley
Mylungsburn.
My chest heaves.