“Zip!” She pinches her fingers at me. “I’m a rich woman sitting in a place of privilege. If I want to keep my release schedule to two novellas a year, that’s what I’ll do. You’re not my agent anymore, so you don’t have to worry about my release schedule.”
The reminder stings, though I know Chloe doesn’t mean anything by it. And it’s my own fault for putting all of my focus into her author career instead of building up multiple revenue streams. But Chloe’s first series had been a unicorn, taking off right away and skyrocketing up the charts. Four months ago, I hadn’tneededmultiple clients.
Now that she’s gone indie, and I’m not her agent, I don’t know what to do with my life.
When I stay silent, Chloe tilts her head, suspicion flickering across her face. “You’re not thinking of leaving, are you?”
“Me?” I force a laugh. “I don’t know what to do with myself in Mosswood without you there. Besides, all of my plants are here.”
Chloe doesn’t buy it. “Are you okay? Really?”
I consider the question, and the answer that wants to crawl out of me isNo, not really. But admitting it would only worry Chloe, and she’s gone through so much with her toxic family and a superfan turned stalker. She deserves her peace.
“I’ll get there. Physical therapy is going well with all my walks around the island.” My left hand drums the side of the mug. “And I’m keeping busy with your emails and social media. I need something to justify my rent in Kyle’s guestroom.”
She nudges my shin with her bare foot. “You’re family. You don’t have to do anything except keep showing up.”
It’s a nice thing to say, but it lands in the hollow place behind my ribs. Family, yes, but notpack. As a Beta, I fall outside of that dynamic. Most of us float around, building relationships with other Betasunless we’re born into larger familial packs, and then we’re tolerated helpers.
Coming from two Beta parents, I always knew to keep my expectations small until I met Chloe. She was a loner, like me, desperate for someone to give her a scrap of encouragement. We bonded when I worked as a teacher’s assistant in a creative writing class she took, and I realized she had potential.
I put aside my own writing dreams to support hers and spent years navigating Chloe’s meteoric career. Then she used a loophole to escape her publisher and started writing monster smut for fun.
Now, all I do is repost her memes and turn down requests from new publishers who want to sign her. I’m really happy for her, but it’s hard when she has the publishing world at her fingertips and rejects it, while publishers never gave my manuscripts a second thought.
“Hey,” Chloe says, softer now. “You know what I remember about you, from before we even talked? The way you used to walk through campus with your nose in a book. And then if you hit a wall or a bench, you’d keep reading and limp the rest of the way.”
“True story,” I say. “I once sprained an ankleduring midterms. Didn’t realize it until finals week.”
“That’s you,” Chloe says. “You get where you’re going, even if you have to limp there. You’ll figure it out.”
I pat my leg. “Going to be limping for a while now.”
My joke falls flat, and her smile wobbles. My accident wasn’t Chloe’s fault, but I know she still carries the guilt for it. I was only on Misty Pines because she insisted on coming here instead of going to the Omega exclusive resort I tried to send her to, and it was her superfan who lured me out and pushed me into the Phase Two foundation hole behind the Homestead.
Her lips part, likely to apologize again, but Quinn’s excited shriek cuts through the tension. “Aunt Chloe! I think the centipede is eating the spider! You have to come see!”
Chloe rolls her eyes, but she’s grinning again. “Duty calls. Want to come inside where it’s cooler? It’s almost lunch time.”
“You won’t trick me into cooking for you. I think I’ll go for a walk.” I grab my cane and push to my feet. “Need to be sure I get my vitamin D.”
She squeezes my hand as she passes, trailing the scent of lilies and lilacs.
Through the window, I watch her lean over Quinn, hiding her squirms at the sight of bugs and murmuring appreciation for whatever story the little girl came up with.
I should go back to Mosswood. Chloe’s found her pack, and there’s nothing for me here. And I need to figure out what I want to do with my life now that it doesn’t revolve around my best friend.
Cane in hand, I make my careful way down the porch steps and onto the mulched path that leads upward. My knee resists at first, but after a hundred yards, the pain starts to ease.
I should give up my lease on the Mosswood apartment. It costs way too much for what it is. If I buy a place in Pinecrest, I can still visit with Chloe on the island but have a place nearby to go home to.
The thought of moving sounds exhausting, though. And lonely. Chloe and I have lived next door to each other since our university years. We’ve always been a knock away from sharing a coffee or bingeing a show.
At the main road, I choose a smaller one at random, heading down one of the easy trails toward the water. Logs line either side, with a fresh bed of sod and pine needles demarcating the safe route.
It’s uneven and hard on my dragging left leg, so by the time I reach the edge of the trees, my shirt sticks to my back, and my left hand tingles from gripping the cane.
But when I break through the last stand of pine trees, the view opens up, the water below shimmers with blue and gold. A salt-laden breeze sweeps around me, cooling the sweat on my skin, and I inhale, letting the wind fill my lungs.