Beg, Borrow, or Steal (When in Rome, #3)(100)

“I’m really proud of you by the way, Emily. I’m not sure if I’ve told you that. But . . . it’s inspiring watching you face your fears with Jack. You are, as always, my hero.” The way she says hero . . . with zero irony or humor, but the same way a little kid might say it while staring up at Wonder Woman. Yeah, it has me gurgling tears. And then my tears make her tears simmer until we’re both hiccuping.

“Stop. I have to drive!” I wail.

“You stop!” She slaps my arm. “Why are you crying?”

“Because you told me to cry more often!”

“Well, wait until I’m out of the truck next time!”

This is how we pull up at the airport. Fizzing emotions out our eyes and noses. Disgusting messes. I pull up to the curb in front of her airline and we both give each other one painful, wordless, puffy-eyed look before climbing out of the truck to meet around at the tailgate. I pull her suitcase to the ground and she takes the handle from me. “You never told me what you wanted to change . . . in the house.”

“Oh.” It feels silly to say now while waiting outside the truck and staring into my sister’s eyes that are holding more and more untold stories by the moment. But I can’t do that. I can’t stop living anymore while waiting for them to need me. “I want to turn your room into my office to encourage me to keep writing, because it has the best natural light.” She looks punched in the stomach. So I hurry to explain, “And then turn Annie’s old room into a guest room. That way you still have somewhere to stay when you come home, but since you don’t do it all that often anymore and you’ll probably end up settling somewhere else after you—”

“No—yes. Of course you should do that, Em.” She’s blink, blink, blinking. I want to scoop her up, take her home, and wrap her in a blanket. “It’s . . . that makes so much sense! It’ll be the perfect place for you to write. Yes, do it!” She grabs me, wraps her arms tightly around my neck in one of her ferocious hugs that I love so much, and then she pulls away. Smiles way too big. “I’ll text you when I land.”

“Okay. I love you, Maddie.”

“I love you, Em.” She’s backing away with her luggage, mist in her eyes. This is always the most painful part of saying goodbye. The last moments before she turns away and I go back to missing her. “I’m going to read the rest of your dirty novel on the plane!” she yells so that the entire airport can hear her and then turns away with a laugh that I’ll bottle up and hold on to until next time she comes home.

I shuffle my way back inside my truck and drive home. I don’t turn on any music, and that clawing sadness tries to take root again. But I push it back a little with small reminders that I have things to look forward to. I get to finish my book. I get to finalize my lesson plan for the upcoming school year. I get to design myself an office. And my favorite of all, I get to see Jack . . .

I have to stop for gas before I hit the back roads that will take me into Rome, and while standing outside my truck waiting for the extra slow pump to push overpriced gasoline into my adorable rust bucket, I get out my phone to see if I have any missed texts from Maddie already. Or Jack.

I do have a long string of texts, but it’s not from Jack. It’s from a group of teachers, which is odd. I scroll through them quickly.

Monique: OMG did you guys hear the news?

Brittney: About Jack?????

Monique: YES! I couldn’t believe it.

Tiffany: Wait—I haven’t heard. What happened?

Monique: Jack’s dad went live on Instagram just now, revealing that Jack Bennett is actually AJ Ranger!! He said Jack’s been keeping it a secret all this time because he’s camera shy so he wanted his dad to be the one to reveal it since he has been such a big help with his books.

Tiffany: WHAT! Also who is AJ Ranger?

Morgan: Are you kidding me, Tiffany? It’s that mystery writer of the series I lent you over the summer. The one you loved so much.

Tiffany: Omg! WHAT! I’m even more in love with him now. Now that he’s single again maybe I’ve got a shot.



The hell you do, Tiffany.

I stop reading even though the texts go on and on and on. But I can’t breathe. After everything Jack went through to make sure my writing wasn’t revealed before I was ready, and then turns around and has his entire career ousted without his consent. And to have his scumbag dad phrase it in a way that completely steals Jack’s thunder and hard work while also trying to take credit?

It’s lucky for Fredrick I don’t know where he lives. Lucky for me too, because I’d end up in prison if I gave in to my current rage.

Instead, I drive home as fast as my truck will allow.





Chapter Thirty-Five


Jack


It’s out.

My . . . identity is out on the Internet without my consent.

Because I apparently love pain, I watch the video another time. My dad’s face—misleadingly soft and approachable—fills the little box. Hearts flood the right corner of the screen as he proudly announces that his son, Jack Bennett, wanted him to be the one to finally reveal his identity. I flinch when a picture of my face comes on the screen, followed by all the books I’ve written. My dad smiles like he’s proud. Like he’s been in on the ruse the whole time. A king admiring his little prince. He insinuates all through the gruesome video that he’s flattered to have been able to mold my creativity and help me get where I am.