Page 1 of Blue Line

Chapter one

Hadley

I groan, hitting the Undo button for the fifth time in as many minutes. I sat down to edit the photos I took on my birthday trip to Vegas a few months ago, thinking it would be a simple and quick task. But boy was I wrong.

I mean, there’s not a whole lot of images, most of them just need small adjustments or a little bit of cropping, but I can’t get them to look right. No matter what I do, there’s something still not right.

I’m currently working on a photo I snapped from my hotel room window overlooking the Strip. I assumed it would only need a few minor tweaks. I’ve tried changing the brightness, the contrast, and a few other settings, but nothing seems right. Sighing, I exit out of the photo, clicking No when it asks if I want to save my changes.

“Why would I want to save them? They’re awful,” I mutter.

Great, now I’m talking to my laptop. I tip my head back and stare at the ceiling of my childhood bedroom. The bedroom I’ve been occupying since I got back from my birthday trip, which was also my brother Holt’s last hockey game of the season and the end of my job as his daughter’s nanny. Now, I’m back in Ontario, in my childhood room, with no prospects, nothing lined up. I’m a twenty-six-year-old failure.

Wonderful.

“Knock knock.” Holt’s voice sounds from the doorway, and I startle, sitting up straight in my chair. “Everything okay in here?” He frowns, opening his mouth, probably to ask what’s wrong, but I don’t give him the chance.

“Yep. Yep. Taking a break from editing a few photos from our trip. What’s up?”

He eyes me for a second, and I think he’s going to call me on my bullshit, but he doesn’t.

“Want to go to the grocery store? Mom’s making lasagna for dinner and asked me to pick up a few things. Figured you might want to get out of the house …”

“I’m in.” I put my laptop to sleep. “Just need to put shoes on.”

“Okay. Meet you downstairs.” He shoves his hands in his pockets and walks out of my room.

I throw my sneakers on and grab my phone and wallet. Maybe a break from editing will help clear out whatever cobwebs have taken root in my head. Editing photos should not be this hard. Being a photographer is what I want to do with my life, and editing the photos I take is part of it, so why can’t I get it right?

I didn’t have any problems a few months ago after I took all those photographs at the horse show in Ocala. They turned out fantastic. The woman who hired me even sent me a picture of one she’d had framed and hung in her office.

Maybe I’m in a creative funk. That happens, right? I’m sure it does. Probably normal to experience it from time to time. Hopefully, it goes away on its own.

I shove the thoughts away as I climb into the backseat of my dad’s SUV, Holt and Weston Reynolds—his best friend who came to visit for a few weeks—sitting up front. They start talking about hockey, and I tune them out, staring out the window at the passing scenery and definitely not thinking about the photographs on my laptop taunting me.

“I’m going to go get the pasta and sauce. You get the meat,” I tell my brother, hooking a thumb over my shoulder when we step into the grocery store a few minutes later.

Weston disappeared without a backward glance, probably headed to the bakery. That man has a sweet tooth the size of Florida.

“K. Get extra noodles. And the pasta sauce with the mushrooms. Mom said they’re going to make two pans.”

I gag.

Mushrooms? Yeah, no.

“On it.” I push the cart toward the aisle I need and come to a halt in front of the pasta, scanning for the boxes of lasagna noodles.

“Bingo.”

I grab two and place them in the cart. I tilt my head. Do we need a third? We probably do. Just in case, I grab another box before moving down a few feet to the sauces. I scan the shelves, contemplating my options.

“Hadley.”

I stiffen. What the hell is he doing here? He’s supposed to be in Vancouver, living his fucking best life.

I turn, coming face-to-face with Henry, my ex, holding hands with a blonde woman.

“Hi, Hadley.”