Taking the Heat (Jackson: Girls' Night Out 3)

“Jesus, Veronica, that was years ago. Grow up. It’s a drink.”

“Yeah? What if he wants a quick lay afterward? You want me to do that, too?”

She expected him to explode. She actually winced, waiting for it, but after a brief moment of silence, he laughed, one deep, hard bark of laughter. “Get over yourself and meet him for a drink. It’s a development deal, not a sex-slave ring. And I don’t know what the hell you’re so uptight about, anyway. You have no trouble embarrassing me with half the columns you write.” He hung up without waiting for her agreement. A few minutes later, her mail dinged again, and she opened it to find an email from her father. It was just the nam

e of a psychologist and a phone number, nothing else.

She called the psychologist’s office immediately and left a message with the receptionist, blatantly dropping her father’s name in the hopes that the therapist would call back quickly.

As soon as she got off the phone, she sent an email to her editor, asking if it would be all right to update the online column early this week. Then she started on the first draft of her letter.

Her father’s name, as bitter as it was on her tongue, was a magic word in this town, and her phone rang just as she finished reviewing her words. Not only was he fast, but the therapist agreed to review Veronica’s letter as soon as she sent it, to make sure she was offering the correct advice.

As she waited for his response, she read the letter from Nobody again, trying to puzzle out details that weren’t there. If he was writing to her, he probably went to her old high school here in town, and she could perfectly imagine him wandering those halls, hoping he didn’t run into anyone who’d draw attention to him.

Veronica’s stepbrother had been one year ahead of her, so the only class they’d ever shared was Spanish. But that hadn’t mattered. He’d been a year older. He’d corrupted everything for her, his disdain trickling down through the lower classes.

She’d hated every single day. She’d hated waking up in the morning and knowing she’d have to see him, share a house with him and then go to a school where he’d made her into a nobody.

Even now it was strange to think that her arrogant, superior stepbrother had been willing to tear her down so completely when she was related to him. She’d have thought he wouldn’t want that association. But the truth was that he couldn’t bear even one atom of approval or admiration being focused on anyone else, and she’d committed the biggest sin of all: she’d lived in his house, and she’d been there before him. Destroying her had been about claiming his territory, like the male lion who killed all the cubs in a pride when he took it over.

He hadn’t wanted his mom to remarry, he hadn’t wanted to leave Southern California and he definitely hadn’t wanted to live in Wyoming. Stepping on Veronica had been his revenge, and he’d enjoyed it.

Veronica sat back and stared at the ceiling, drawing deep breaths.

Returning to Jackson hadn’t brought back as many memories of her high school years as she’d feared. Jason and his mother had hightailed it out of here years ago, her dad had a new house, and most of the people she’d gone to high school with hadn’t been destined to stay in Wyoming.

But now there was this letter, bringing it all back. And then there was Dillon.

“Shit,” she moaned. She might as well just get that over with now, while these kick-ass memories were raining down on her.

She hit Dillon’s number and opened a text box. Her lip curled again. She couldn’t believe she was doing this. But if her dad’s contact could help her reach out to that teenager, it would be worth it. Probably.

Hi, Dillon, she typed, refusing to add an exclamation point to her greeting. Screw this asshole. I’ve got a show Thursday if you want to come by after. Or we could grab a drink sometime next week.

Hopefully, he’d be busy Thursday, and then she could put him off next week, and then nothing would ever happen.

No such luck. Thursday sounds great!

“Oh, Jesus,” she said. Her phone beeped again. Three Martini Ranch, right?

“Ugh,” she said, but she typed, Yes. Nine o’clock. One drink. That was all. Hopefully, she could rush the meeting, and then her father’s emotional ransom would be paid.

Her eyes fell on Gabe’s name as she closed her texts and she felt a twinge of guilt, but it wasn’t as though she were going on a date with Dillon. Far from it. Gabe would probably be right there waiting for her.

She sneered at Dillon’s last text when it popped up with a cheerful Can’t wait! then clicked off her phone.

No, there was nothing to feel guilty about. This was more like meeting with an old enemy to reconfirm the peace treaty.

Dillon was a handsome guy, but she would never, ever find him attractive. How could she? He’d been a worm of a boy, so he couldn’t be much better than a bug of a man. And after being with Gabe, she was starting to get a new perspective on dating.

Up until now, she’d spent every date trying to figure out how to get comfortable when it felt as if she was writhing on a pin. But the point of all of it was to find a guy who didn’t make her feel that way in the first place. Sure, she’d had a few anxiety attacks with Gabe, but she’d mostly had fun.

Dillon wasn’t going to be fun at all. Her gut churned at the thought of sitting down with him, of having to be polite and smile and pretend he hadn’t helped ruin several years of her life.

Her email chimed and she lurched forward to open it. Dillon didn’t matter. He was the nobody in her life now. Veronica held her breath as she read the email, then let it out in a rush of relief. The therapist had only a few suggestions, but otherwise, she’d written the right thing. She’d reached out; she’d sympathized; she’d offered help.

If the writer saw it online, hopefully, he’d get in touch again or at least reach out to a doctor or therapist for assistance. Maybe she could truly help him. Maybe she could make his life just a little better.