On the Way Down

Chapter Seven

I stop walking when I get a view of the sky from a window that faces the front of the house. It was overcast during most of the drive over, but the clouds in the distance now are an ominous shade of dark gray.

"Those clouds don't look good," I say. "We might want to stay here until they clear out."

"Was it supposed to rain? I didn't check after leaving Vegas yesterday." Phoenix sounds baffled. I understand why. Rain in southern California is a rare event and hyped up by the news for a week before it happens.

"Maybe? I was wrapped up in writing this week and didn't pay attention to the forecast." I was preoccupied by thoughts of today, too, but I won't tell him this.

"Were you working on the novel that's based on a woman who went missing from around here?"

It's a casual question from him, but it sets off an alarm in my head. I haven't said anything publicly about what I'm currently working on, and neither has my agent. We always keep the details under wraps until the Publishers Marketplace announcement comes out.

"How do you know that? This book won't be announced for a while."

"Ava mentioned it to Torin when she told him you were coming to his show."

Ava is the closest thing I have to a sister, and I love her without question, but she and I should have a chat about how much she discloses to other people. She's also likely to lose her shit when she learns she was the reason for what happened in Vegas and where I am now, so that might be enough of a warning to filter what she says on its own.

"Are there any other details of my life she revealed that I should know about? Like where I'll be next Tuesday at two in the afternoon, or anything else I've said to her this year?"

He chuckles. "She's proud of you, that's all. We all are. You're such a talented writer."

Is he serious or trying to flatter me with an empty compliment he can't back up? I wrote when we were together, but I didn't let him read much of it back then, even when one of my manuscripts landed me my agent.

"You say that like you've read my books."

"I have. Come with me for a second."

He takes my hand and leads me to the living room. The handholding is unexpected, but I'll go along with it for now. We pass by an oversized ash gray sofa and stop in front of a floor-to-ceiling bookcase. When he reaches for one of the shelves, I spy the familiar hardcover spines of the novels I've published.

He pulls out the book that was my first bestseller. "I was blown away when I read this. My agent sent me the script for the film adaptation the other day, and I was happy it does it justice."

"So that's why I'm here. You want to ask me questions about the characters and get the inside track for your audition."

I'm teasing him, but he doesn't seem to be aware of this. His expression becomes more solemn than I've ever seen it, and he returns the book to its spot on the shelf like it's a hot potato.

"I swear on everything that thought didn't cross my mind. You're asking all the questions today."

It's the segue I've been waiting for, and I pounce on it. "Cool. Then I have one for you now."

My hand is still in his, which is why I'm able to detect the slightest tremor in his fingers. Is it because he's about to open up to me and doesn't know how I'll react? Does redeeming himself mean so much to him that he's nervous?

Raindrops patter against the roof and windows, which makes the final decision for us about staying here versus going to the beach. I guide him away from the bookcase to the sofa. When I sit, he does the same. I let go of his hand and settle back against the cushions.