He’s powerless to fight her, instead launching an inquisition.
“What novel?” I hear Cal asks as he’s physically being led away. “Did you write a book, Tabby? Will someone please tell me what’s going on?”
“No.”
She’s so angry. At herself. At me.
Irrational.
From beside me, my sister places a caring hand gently on my forearm, reminding me of her presence. “So, I take it Tabitha wrote a novel and didn’t want to tell anyone?”
My head gives a jerky nod. “Yeah.”
“Wow.” Pause. “That is so… cool.”
“Yeah.”
“Why would she keep it a secret?”
My broad shoulders shrug feebly. “Because it’s romance. The slutty kind.”
“Wow,” Greyson repeats. “That is so… awesome.”
Tell me about it.
Grey rests her palm on my shoulder and gives it a squeeze. “This will blow over. You’ll see.” My sister’s words are quiet and slightly skeptical.
“Yeah.”
But even I don’t believe it.
Collin: Tabitha, would you please answer my calls? You barely spoke on the car ride home and you’re not responding to my texts. We need to talk.
Collin: Please. I’m so fucking sorry they found out that way, but it was bound to come out eventually.
Collin: Greyson told me that your brother told your parents. What did they say? Please call me back.
Collin: Did you get the roses I sent to your office? I didn’t want to be cheesy and I know you’re pissed, but the red, yellow, lavender, and peach roses say everything—please, Tabitha. Let me tell you in person how I feel about you. Please.
Tabitha’s Notes for Book THREE, title to be determined. Titles I’m considering: THE BETRAYAL. Back cover blurb: Tarran felt betrayed by the world. By the one man she loved. Handsome and clever, the quick-witted devil had become her downfall. Because of him, the walls she’d so carefully erected around herself didn’t just fall; they imploded…
“Honey, can I come in?” A few short knocks at my office door interrupt my thoughts, and quickly, I close the expanded document on my laptop screen when my dad sticks his head in.
Ironically, building up walls has become my specialty lately.
“Sure, Dad. Of course.”
It’s his company and his building; the man hardly needs permission.
His distinguished salt-and-pepper gray hair appears in the doorway, leading the way inside my office, the permanent smile he’s never without pasted across his face. Around his eyes, weathered from the elements and years of working outdoors, are well-earned wrinkles and laugh lines.
We get our humor from him, Cal and I.
“Come in. Want to sit?” I indicate a spare chair in the corner.
Plopping himself unceremoniously in the chair that has been around this office longer than I’ve been alive, my father, Hodge Thompson, stretches, crosses his arms, and looks around.
“I haven’t been in here for quite a while.” He inches forward, plucking a framed photograph of me and my college roommate Savannah off my mahogany desk, studies it wordlessly, then sets it back in its place. “Your mom will be joining us shortly.”
My mom and dad sitting in here together?
Oh crap, this can only mean one thing: an ambush.
I give a stiff laugh. “Is this an intervention?”
He raises a gray brow. “Why, do you need one?”
“Good one, Dad.” I feign ignorance, forcing out a fake laugh. “Are the two of you taking me to lunch or something?”
He raises his other eyebrow and gives me “the look.” You know the one your parents give you when they know you know they think you’re full of shit.
Did that even make sense? For an author, I can’t even string a few words together today.
Wait. Did I just call myself an author?
Crap. I did, didn’t I?
I’ve never had that thought before—that I’m an author. A writer. And now I can’t help but wonder why it suddenly crossed my mind, now of all times, with my parents about to lecture me about… who knows what.
Nope, that’s a lie. I know exactly what they’re going to lecture me about, thanks to Collin and my loud-mouth brother.
My writing. My book.
My novel.
I slump down in my desk chair a little, swiveling towards the window to avoid my mother’s gaze when she swoops into the room, sophisticated, blonde haired, and blue eyed.
“Sorry I’m late! Did I miss anything?” She bends and kisses my dad on the top of his head, then lowers herself into the chair beside him, dropping her purse on the floor. Her hands go to her hair, and she fluffs. “Ugh, how gorgeous is it outside? Too bad we’re stuck inside.”
Mom, who does the accounting for the company, looks pointedly in my direction. “Take a break, both of you, and make some time to sit outside for a few. Get some fresh air.”
I grab the nearest pencil and anxiously tap it on the surface of my desk. “I’ll try.” I scan their faces. “So..?”
My dad starts, and, having no patience for bullshit, cuts right to the chase. “So. You wrote a book.”
He states it as a fact, not as a question.
Denying it would be futile, so I nod. “But it didn’t interfere with my work, I swear. I didn’t use company time to write, and I used my own laptop.”
My mom instantly looks deflated. “Honey, that’s not what he meant.” She reaches towards the desk and nabs the pencil from my nervous hands. “We want to know why you didn’t tell us.”
Because.
Because.
I have a million reasons why, but when I open my mouth to give them, no words spill out. Then I say, “What did Calvin tell you?”
Dad shakes his head, shrugging his broad shoulders. “Nothing. Just that you wrote a book. And that no one knew about it.”
“It’s a novel, actually,” I blurt out, unable to stop myself, and then I regret it when they both raise their eyebrows in surprise. “Sorry.”
Dad clears his throat. “He also said you’ve been seeing the Keller boy.” Unable to resist, I roll my eyes at that. The Keller boy. “He’s the one you were with when you spilled the proverbial beans, I assume?”
Only my dad would use air quotes when he said ‘proverbial beans,’ like it was a thing.
“Sort of seeing him. Yes.”
My mom, who can’t resist meddling in my love life, chooses her next words carefully. “Honey, why are you taking this whole thing out on this nice young man? Cal says you walked out on him. How is any of this his fault?”
Because I’m stubborn and willful and embarrassed. But of course, I don’t say any of this. Instead, I shrug, gazing out my office window for the answers.
“Tabitha.” My mother’s voice holds a sharp edge. “Did you hear what I said?”
God, I hate it when she talks to me like this, like I’m a child. I feel my chin start to wobble a little when I open my mouth to say, “Why did I take it out on Collin? Because it was easier to get mad at him rather than myself. Because I knew I was wrong. I needed someone to blame and he was there.”
Mom leans back in her seat and waits for me to continue.
“God, I acted so juvenile.” A tear slips down my cheek, and I swipe at it with my shirtsleeve, refusing to stare into the faces of my disappointed parents. “He’s so great, Mom. I hope… I hope you get the chance to meet him.”
“If he’s anything like his sister, I’m sure we’re going to love him.”
“He is. You will.”
Silence fills the room then, and when my dad doesn’t continue where my mom left off, she sniffs impatiently. “Your father and I aren’t here to talk about your relationship, although we were concerned about it when we heard.” She shoots a pointed look at my dad, to get him on board with the discussion. “The real reason we wanted to sit you down was to tell you that we’re proud of you, honey. Of course we were shocked! But not for the reason you’d think. Tabitha, sweetie, you wrote a novel!”
“God damn right my girl did!” my dad booms, accompanying his decree with a bang of his fist to my desktop. “My daughter wrote a book. A goddamn book!”
“Hodge,” my mom scolds him for cursing, and rolls her eyes impatiently. “Anyway. The thing we’re disappointed in, is that you were afraid to tell us. The thought that you kept that secret from your father and me for a year makes me… so sad for you, sweetie. It breaks my heart that you’d even think we wouldn’t support you.”
“I…” I look down at my folded hands, clasped together on my desk. “I know you depend on me. I went to college for this, for freaking construction. Do you know how many women were in my classes? Hardly any. Then I had to go to an Ivy League school. Who does that? Why didn’t I just go to State, for crying out loud?” I’m on a roll now that the floodgates have opened. Cathartic, I forage on, mindless of the consequences my words might have. “This is the only job I’ve ever had since I was in middle school, working in the office—why would I leave to be a writer? Talk about a bad decision.”
“Honey, your dad and I—”
“And then there’s Cal,” I blurt out. “He’s counting on me to be here when you and Dad retire, which is when? Eight more years? Seven? Then what? He’ll hardly be qualified to take over by himself. I’m not either, but at least I have a few more years of management under my belt.”