I raised my head up. I was going to make this count.
“Miss?” The front desk clerk looked stunned.
“Sheldon!”
I turned. One of the reporters was coming right for me, and there was no hiding on her
part. Her microphone was extended toward me, and the camera was perched on the guy’s shoulder behind her.
The front desk staff went into action then as well. “No press allowed.” The front desk clerk had gotten over her stunned spell. She pressed a button, then lifted her phone.
“Sheldon Jeneve, why are you here in this hotel?”
The second reporter asked, “Did you come with Bryce Scout or Denton Steele? Are you dating either of them?”
The front door slid open, and two more reporters ran inside. That was when the security guard, who’d been after me, cursed and veered for the front door instead. He grabbed one reporter and physically carried her back out. More guards were streaming into the lobby by then, along with other hotel staff.
Crap. They were going to snuff this before it even began. I had to talk quickly. I leaned into the closest microphone and looked straight at the camera.
A hush went through the room then. They were all waiting for me to speak. Not even the reporters dared make a sound.
A tickle started at the back of my neck, and I turned, pulled by some invisible force, and I saw Corrigan standing in a side hallway, just off the main walking ways in the hotel. He caught my gaze and a small, so tiny and ever so slight smirk formed as he nodded to me. That was his approval. He was giving me a nod of encouragement. I felt it, warming all of me, filling me up and tears threatened to spill. I blinked rapidly, holding them back, but then I saw Bryce appear beside Corrigan. They were both waiting in the shadows for me.
That was enough for me. Both of them there together.
I turned back around and spoke, closing my eyes and not giving a shit how ridiculous I looked. I was speaking from my heart.
I said, “I came here today for one reason, to confront the woman who cut my car’s brakes last spring. That incident was buried by the police department and ignored. It resulted in one of my best friends, who was driving the car, being put in the hospital—”
Light bulbs started flashing as I talked and someone asked from the side, “Can you give us a name?”
“Who cut your brake line?”
“Do you have proof the police covered it up?”
More and more people were filling up the lobby. After the first person spoke up, questions were thrown at me.
“Are you saying the police department isn’t looking at all the evidence? Is this a cover-up?”
“Are you being framed? Is that what you’re saying?”
I ignored all of them, needing to say what I had come to deliver. I opened my mouth again and started, “I was at his bedside when I was notified that another friend had been murdered.”
There was a sudden pause, but I knew it wouldn’t last. I could only imagine what they were thinking. This is when I opened my eyes. They were stunned, but there were others whose eyes were lit up from excitement.
This was my statement. Grace’s murder had never been addressed by anyone in my camp. I shouldn’t do this, but I was. I took a breath.
Here goes.
Clearing my throat, I said softly at first, “I’ve always been known for being mean, for being a bully, for pushing others down—”
A female pushed closer, jostling the crowd. “Are you saying you’re not?”
Another hushed her. “Let her finish, Annie.”
I started again, ignoring the interruption, “The truth is that I don’t push people down to hurt them. I do it to protect myself. I’m sure you are all very aware of my mother. Using me has become her ticket for attention. I do not endorse that, nor do I have a relationship with my mother, but I’m aware that I will never be able to stop her from this behavior. I bring her up as one example of who I grew up with. She’s my mother, but she’s someone who uses me.”
“You’re saying you’re the misunderstood victim now?”