Jax taps out an idle rhythm on the table. “I’d like that. Being more open about shit, I mean.”
This is somewhat of a surprise, given that he’s very private. But Jax has been changing too. His relationship with Stella opened him up in ways none of us predicted.
Rye remains painfully silent while everyone else talks being open and honest. That’s my fault too. I forced silence on him, made him keep secrets. I recall with shattering clarity the frustration and pain in the words he spoke in California. I can’t do this anymore. I don’t want to lie to our friends.
Out in the hall, I told him to wait. Wait for a perfect time to talk. Wait until I find my courage.
Wait.
A thick, choking feeling of wrongness fills my chest, my throat. Everything about us is wrong now. I can’t shake it. It’s like my skin is too tight and my insides too full. The pressure bubbles and builds, a force that refuses to be ignored.
“When I went to LA, it was to see Marshall Faulkner about a job,” I blurt out.
A log cracks in the fireplace, punctuating the awful silence. I glance around to find my friends gaping at me. Well, everyone except Rye and Scottie. Rye’s expression is one of pride tinged with sadness. Scottie simply looks thoughtful.
I swallow thickly. “I’ve been…flagging with my job, not finding joy in it. And Marshall offered me a position with him at his Los Angeles firm.”
Rye’s stare is a palpable touch on my skin. He gives me a small, encouraging smile. He doesn’t want me to go. But he’ll support me every step of the way.
Never be afraid to fly, Bren. Even if it takes you from all you know.
I hear his voice so clearly, remember the way he pressed his lips to my head as he said it, that lingering touch like he was memorizing the moment in case I left him. Heart aching, I tear my gaze from his and look around at my shocked friends who have begun to argue.
“This is your fault.” Sophie wags her slim finger under Scottie’s nose.
“Mine?” He raises a brow. “How do you figure, darling?”
“You introduced her to stupid Marshall.”
“I thought she might fancy a date with him, not run off to live in LA.”
Jax makes a noise of annoyance. “Why the hell were you trying to set her up with a tosspot like Faulkner? Who lives in LA.”
“Los Angeles isn’t that far,” Libby tries.
“It’s far enough if she’s quitting.”
“I’m not going to take it,” I cut in before they get any more worked up.
Another sharp silence falls. This one doubtful. I can all but feel my friends vibrating with uncertainty.
Killian tries to speak, croaks, then tries again. “You can, Bren. If you want. Don’t…Don’t stay because of guilt or anything. We wouldn’t want that for you.”
I really do love my cousin.
“I was going to go. But I just can’t. Although the idea of juggling more accounts excites me, leaving you guys doesn’t.” I take a deep breath, pressing my palms on the worn wood table. “So. I’m going to start my own public relations agency. You’ll still be my top priority, but I’m going to expand, take on more clients, hire people.” The idea expands and my words trip out with growing excitement. “Women, actually. I want to create a safe space in the industry that’s run by women for women.”
“I love that,” Stella says. “Power in numbers and all that.”
“I do too,” Libby says.
“I’ll be disappointed if you don’t let me continue to handle your public relations,” I tease.
“As if I’d have it any other way,” she says with a wink.
“And I was wondering, Stella and Sophie, if you two would consider joining me as partners.”
“What?” Sophie claps her hands together. “Really?”
“Seriously?” Stella adds with a smile.
“You guys are excellent at public relations, and you know it. With Stella’s fundraising smarts and Sophie’s social media genius, we could kick ass.”
“Oh, I am in,” Stella says.
Sophie nods, picking up a cookie. “Me too. I mean, I love these guys, but it would be nice to branch out a little.”
“Good.” I exhale with a small, bubbling laugh. “It’ll be fun.”
“Fun,” Whip repeats, a little dazed, but then leans over and kisses the side of my head, ending with a brotherly muss of my hair. “Whatever floats your boat, Bren.”
I swat him away with a smile. I can’t look at Rye. I feel him, though. He is etched in my skin.
Killian lets out a breath. “Okay. That’s good. Like I said, it’s better when we—”
“I’m not finished,” I cut in, my heart in my throat. It’s pounding so hard, I’m surprised I can speak. Part of me is screaming that I need to shut it. Not say another word. But I have to.
“There’s more?” This from an amused but watchful Scottie.