Page 13 of All Yours

“No, I’m not going back into the public eye,” she insisted.

“Yeah, I get it,” I sighed, leaning my elbows on the table. “But a man ended up injured.”

“Well, he was the dummy that held onto Eden’s foot trying to pull her out of the car after scaring her to death and chasing her across the parking lot. What else did he expect? If the police want to ask her questions, they should go about it in a less terrifying way.”

“Do you not think Eden is here under suspicious circumstances?”

“Well, so am I. I’m giving her the benefit of the doubt that she’s the one running because she’s the victim.”

“I’ve given her that benefit, too. But we need to face the facts that law enforcement is looking for her, and I’m guessing for a significant reason.”

“Well, they seem to think so.” Sloane crossed the kitchen and ran water into a kettle and set it on the stove. A brief whiff of gas floated through the air as the flame lit under the kettle.

“You need to call the Chattanooga Police and tell them,” I whispered.

“No.” She whirled around to face me. “Absolutely not. The press gets wind of this, and they’ll be crawling all over this town. You have no idea…”

“I’ve seen the footage,” I blurt out.

“What?”

“It must have been awful. I couldn’t imagine the enormous pressure you were under at such a young age.”

“You said you’d never seen it.” Her face hardened.

“I didn’t want you to feel self-conscious around me. And it seemed like you might not stick around if I’d said otherwise.”

“Oh my god.” She paced the kitchen floor, then stopped and stared out the window at the brilliant fall color display surrounding the river that ran through her backyard. “And you wanted to walk in here all righteous that I’d lied to you about what happened on the trip when you’ve been lying to me our entire friendship.”

“I’ve been protecting you for our entire friendship.”

“Well, aren’t you just the hero?”

Chapter Five

Sloane

For the first time in years, I dreamt about tennis that night. I’m alone on a giant tennis court. The net is so far away that it’s tiny and forget about identifying my opponent. A ball comes whizzing toward me over the net at a high rate of speed. I hit the ball, my movements awkward and clumsy. I haven’t hit a tennis ball in years. They returned the ball to me over the net, and I move toward it and return a backhand. This time, they return the ball at a quicker pace than before. Then another and another. I’m zigzagging back and forth along the baseline between each sideline, frantically returning serves until balls fly past unchallenged. More and more tennis balls bombard me from an unseen source until I cannot return any of them. I take steps backward, hoping to get to the point they don’t reach me. But I am pelted one by one, then several at a time, until I am forced to curl up in a ball along the back fence.

The morning sunrays filtered through the trees and glinted off the flowing river water below. Mug of coffee in hand, I take in the scene out the kitchen window. The words flung between Jonah and me in this room yesterday still weighed on my mind. The anxiety of it all must have been what had seeped into my dream the night before. Jonah had stormed out and left me in a way he had never done before. He truly didn’t understand what it was like to be the subject of the videos. Your worst moments broadcast for public consumption like you were a television show; It was my reality, my existence, and not a script. I couldn’t clock out and go home to escape the scrutiny. In the end, I’d left it all behind, and I wasn’t eager to return.

My phone rang from the table, and I reluctantly left the window view and stared at the screen. Why was Lauren calling so early?

“What happened with Jonah?” she asked without preamble.

“What are you talking about?” I took my phone and coffee mug out onto the balcony.

“Camden said he was all pissed off last night but wouldn’t say why.”

“Why would I know?”

I heard the smile spread across her face. “Oh please, you two are always together.”

“That’s not true,” I said, dropping into a chair at the glass and metal table.

“You two should be together—”

“Don’t start with that. He’s my friend.”