Dirty Headlines

I cupped the back of her head. She swayed from side to side in my arms.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” I whispered. I was. And it made me feel oddly human.

“I don’t know what to do,” she sniffed, rays of the old Lily—the one I’d actually liked—seeping through the cracks of her Botoxed exterior. “Will you come to the funeral?”

“Of course.”

Her thigh nestled between mine, and I hated it, and I couldn’t stop it, and I hated that even more. Because if it wasn’t intentional, I would never forgive myself for pushing her away.

“Anything your family needs, I’m here.”

“Will you come today? Talk to Dad? He’s really beside himself. Mom, too. We feel like you were a part of us. Because for the longest time, you were. Grams loved you so much…”

“Not a good idea, everything considered.”

She looked up and blinked at me.

“The item in the paper,” I clipped. That you leaked, I refrained from adding. If I brought it up, I’d have to tell her what I thought about her version of our story, and now wasn’t the place, and certainly not the time.

“Oh, I talked to them. They’re willing to forgive you.” She disconnected from me to wipe her tears quickly.

And the Botoxed bitch returns. “How kind of them.” My sarcasm was pretty much dripping on the floor.

I glanced at my watch behind her back. I needed to get those reports out. At the same time, I couldn’t go about my day, business as usual.

Maybe because I’d tried to do it when Camille died.

Went back to the office after the weekend of her funeral.

Buried myself in work.

Didn’t talk about it with anyone.

Built a higher, stronger, thicker wall between me and the world, making sure no one could get through it.

Camille hadn’t deserved it. Hell, Madelyn hadn’t either. After all, she was the woman who’d given me the very best advice I’d never bother to take. It was after we’d exited Phantom of the Opera, arm in arm. We’d sauntered into our favorite Italian restaurant. She’d asked me if I thought I’d marry her granddaughter.

“Probably. It’s what expected of me.”

“But what do you want?”

“To make Lily happy.” And my father, who might finally accept me for making the right decision. And my mother, who normally didn’t particularly care.

“And yourself? Do you want to make yourself happy?”

“I don’t think I can be.” I hadn’t. Not then, and not now.

Madelyn’s face had fallen, and she’d squeezed my bicep between her fragile fingers. “Then you need to keep looking, because my granddaughter isn’t the one.”

“I’ll come,” I told Lily, taking a step back. Fuck the bigwigs and fuck the network. I needed to pay respects to the woman who’d put my happiness before her family’s.

Lily’s red claws sunk into my skin, and she pulled me into an octopus hug.

“Thank you.”

On the way to work, Leonard Cohen told me in my earbuds that we’re spending the treasure that love cannot afford, and I nodded, not only to the rhythm, but the sentiment. My Chucks were blood red, and I’d spent the train ride dying their laces black with a Sharpie.

I walked into the office not knowing what to expect. The professional side was going to be evidently extra depressing. But last night, Célian and I had showcased our hearts like they were on a window display when we touched—crawled into each other’s mouths and seeped into each other’s souls. Then I’d left, without a message or a phone call. Not my most mature moment, but I was sure he needed time to think, too.

I walked the hallway, ignoring the judgy looks and raised eyebrows people tried to pin me with. Jessica passed me and winced. She didn’t say anything, but one look at her face told me I was in for an unpleasant surprise.

Uh-huh.

My phone beeped twice before I got to my station, and I dumped my backpack under my seat, swiping the touch screen.

Grayson: Girl. We love you. We’re here for you. And just remember—he can take your joy (temporarily), but he can never take your good hair.

Ava: I heard his dick was too big, anyway. Jokes aside, those things only look good in porn.

What the hell is happening?

I decided to take it up with Célian, who was clearly the root of this weird behavior toward me. I stormed out of the newsroom and stopped when I got to his open door. His back was to me, and he was hugging Lily, who peeked behind his arm. She smiled at me, triumph glittering in her eyes, clutching the fabric of his shirt and nuzzling her nose against his arm.

He took her face in both his hands and leaned down, asking her something intimately.

She nodded, sniffed, and buried her head back in his chest.

His hands on her.

Her hands on him.

Red. My Chucks were red. My heart was black. My mind was white, thick fog.