Page 20 of True Abandon

I fumble my words in disbelief, “What do you mean you burned papers? How many?”

His head sways from side to side. “Three hundred.”

“Why would you do that?”

He clears his throat and wipes a hand on the back of his neck. “You were upset.”

My mouth hangs open as I stare at the square floor tiles. One is raised slightly, standing out from the others. I was fifteen when I performed in that play. It was before we were an item. He should have told me then what he had done. A time when I would have actually appreciated it.

“It worked out,” he says. “You joined the school newspaper after that and found your true calling.”

Feeling uncomfortable with the direction our conversation, I take out my phone as a means to distract myself. No matter what I see on the screen, I can’t help but feel his presence. His bleached hair is looming in the background. That gaze penetrating my every thought.

I raise my shoulders and spread out my hands as if to ask, Why are you looking at me like that?

“I thought for sure you’d be on your way to being a reporter by now.” He folds his hands on his lap and tilts his head in appraisal of me. “You used to watch Diane Sawyer like she was a rock star. You were just as smart and beautiful as she was, too. If there was anyone in this world who was going to be what they set out to be, it was Triciana Hogan. You gave up.”

I clench my jaw and bit down. He sees the look of pure anger I give him.

“What?” he asks, incredulously. “You’re just gonna settle for being someone’s assistant?”

“Production assistant.” I breathe out harshly.

“A PA is nothing more than a glorified coffee fetcher,” he hisses.

“Better than a wannabe rock star,” I spit.

“Hey, at least I’m living my dream.”

“You took away my dreams!” I shout.

“Says the person who’s too afraid to chase them.”

“Fuck you.”

“You’ve already done that, sweetheart.

I bolt out of my seat so fast, I’m surprised I don’t fall over. I’m at the door in three seconds, gripping the handle.

“Trish.”

The harsh tone of his voice makes my body stop.

“Trish, please. I’m sorry.”

I pause with my back to him, my body halfway out the door. My heart, however, is halted inside the room. A heart so full of hurt yet, for some reason, still beats faster at the sound of his voice. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

He’s right. He shouldn’t have. What is it about this inept man that can’t comprehend the years of tragedy he ensued on me?

I should walk out the door. I should slam it and choose to sleep on the floor of a hospital waiting room all night, or hell, even brave it out in the greatest hurricane to bear down on our city in a hundred years. But this is the opportunity most people wish they had—to confront an enemy at a time when that person needs mercy instead of vengeance.

With my back to him, I speak out into the open air of the room.

“Why’d you do it, Jax?”

He doesn’t answer. I know it’s not because he doesn’t understand the question. It’s because he knows it all too well.

“I let you film us because I thought it would be fun. I wanted to give you that memory to take with you. It was for you and you alone. Never in my life would I have believed you’d share it.” Reluctantly, I turn around.