Page 96 of Don't Cross the Blue Line
“You believe in that? That God intervenes like that?”
I think maybe I do believe that. Because I’ve plotted a lot of stories in my life, and every one of them is about the redemption of my characters. But never, not in my wildest dreams, could I have planned Beckett Benson’s redemption story in my life.
So yes, I think maybe there is a larger force at work in our stories, surprising us.
My phone buzzes on the counter, pulling my attention from my deep dive into everything I know about Beckett.
Julia
All right, that’s it. I’m coming in.
I don’t even have time to respond, because moments later, Julia strolls into the kitchen, my spare key dangling on her finger. She stops in the doorway, her eyes traveling slowly across the contents of the counter. The letters. A mess of scribbles on the legal pad nearby. My laptop, open and dark, forgotten beside me.
“Oh…no. This is so much worse than I expected.”
“What?” I say, lifting the bagel as evidence. “I’m eating.”
“Yeah, surrounded by fan mail like you’re mapping out a conspiracy board.” She ventures in farther, eyeing the place as if it’s a crime scene. “What is all this?”
She picks up one of the letters, takes one look, brows lifting high into her bangs. Her lips form that little O, and she sets it back down. “Beckett’s letters. This is why you haven’t answered any of my texts today? Evie, I thought it had been so long since you’d showered that you’d forgotten how to and somehow drowned. I thought you were dead.”
I scoff. “Dramatic.”
“Oh, and the denial love shrine you’ve built on your countertop is…?”
“Research.”
Julia sucks in a breath. Holds it. Eyes closed. Lets it out again. “All right, Evie. I’ll bite. What are you researching?”
I run my fingers over the first letter again, the pen strokes indented on the page. “I think…maybe…he didn’t mean what he said during the interview. I think maybe he was protecting his career. Or even me.”
Julia’s expression softens, a breath exhaling from her nose, and she sits down beside me. “Everly, I know you wanted to believe he’d changed. But…he said the exact same thing he said all those years ago. Doesn’t that tell you something?”
She studies me, something sad in her gaze. She takes my hand. “Sweetie, you don’t want someone who’s going to pick their career over you. You’ve been there, done that. And you deserve better. You are a daughter of the King. Don’t you think you deserve someone who fights for you?”
“I do,” I say, giving her hand a squeeze. “I just think…maybe Beckett doesn’t know that he’s allowed to fight for me.”
Julia gives me a flat look. Oh, honey.
“Just look at this.” I slide the third letter across the counter.
Julia looks at me for a long time. Then she picks up the letter. Reads it through. Sets it down.
“I hate that I understand what you’re saying,” she says.
“I know.”
“I came over here to be the voice of reason.”
“And you’re doing a great job.”
She lets out a breath. “So. What are you going to do?”
I’ve been sitting on that question all day. The heroines in my books don’t wait. They act.
I open up my laptop and start writing.
Julia slides off her chair. “All right, I’m making coffee.”
