Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 82651 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 413(@200wpm)___ 331(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82651 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 413(@200wpm)___ 331(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
“But he said it was my last chance to get the facts right?” I ask her.
“Yes,” she says in a small voice.
“He knows,” I say confidently.
“I’m so sorry, Van,” Etta starts crying again. “I should have done a better job—”
“Hey,” I cut in on her harshly, and then soften my tone when she goes quiet. “You did everything perfectly. Best mom/aunt/friend in the entire world. Don’t ever let me hear apologies out of your mouth again.”
“Okay,” she says quietly, but at least more calmly.
“Now…everything good for your flight to Vancouver?” I ask her to get her further refocused.
“Yes, it’s fine,” she says. “I’m meeting Simone tomorrow for breakfast while you are at team skate.”
“Then all three of us will do lunch together,” I remind her, trying to sound as if life is still just going along merrily despite this fucktacular news.
“Yes, I can’t wait,” she says, and then tacks on, “But Van…what are you going to do?”
I look at Simone’s concerned expression and tell Etta, “I’m not sure. But I need to think about it for a little bit. I’ll let you know, but in the meantime, text me the reporter’s contact info.”
“Okay, honey. I’ll talk to you soon. Love you.”
“Love you back,” I tell her, and then I hang up.
My gaze focuses on Simone’s worried expression. “You get the gist of that?”
She nods hesitantly. “An article is coming out about your identity?”
Letting out a gust of frustrated air, I sit down on the edge of my bed and rub my face with my hands. When I look back to Simone, I shrug. “I don’t know. It was a reporter asking about me and said there’s an article going to run soon. That’s all she knew.”
An alert chime sounds from my phone, and I look down to see Etta sent me the reporter’s name: Jack Vernicki.
I don’t recognize him as a sports writer, but that doesn’t mean anything. As of this moment, I don’t have a fucking clue about how to handle this.
“What do you think I should do?” I ask Simone.
She comes to the bed and sits down beside me. Hooking one arm across her stomach, she stretches her legs out and crosses one ankle over the other. Her other hand goes to her mouth, where she nibbles on her fingernail while she thinks.
Twisting her neck, she looks at me and asks, “We don’t know for sure the reporter knows your true identity, right?”
I shake my head. “But he told Etta it was my chance to get the facts straight.”
“Maybe that was just language they use to get people to talk to them,” she suggests. “Like sort of a threat. I might write bad or untrue things if you don’t talk to me.”
“Maybe,” I hedge, but I don’t think so. It’s been bothering me since my trip to the prison. “Arco knows who I am. He’s dying. Maybe he leaked it for some notoriety.”
Simone shifts on the bed to face me. “Would he do that?”
I shrug. I don’t know a damn thing about my father other than he’s certifiable. “I remember during and after the trial, he loved the headlines. Would taunt the police and press with revealing other murders, but then after he went to prison, he was quiet as a mouse. Nothing from him in the media.”
Pushing up off the bed, I start to pace while I think. I could call the warden to see if he would tell me whether or not Arco had any visitors, but I’m thinking that information may be protected.
A sense of panic hits me as I realize I know nothing. I don’t have an ounce of control in this situation.
“I should call the reporter,” I say out loud as I turn to Simone. “Don’t you think?”
She stands up to face me. “Van…I don’t know what to tell you. And I know this is scary as hell and you don’t need this right now, but it could be nothing at all. It could be a reporter just taking a stab in the dark. But if you reach out, he’s going to know you’re worried about something. You’ve never given an interview before, and the minute you call him, he’s going to figure you’re hiding something.”
Goddammit. That makes total sense and totally hamstrings me.
“And there may not even be an article at all,” she continues. “It could be some hack who wants to try to pitch this to a newspaper or something, but he needs you to make it fresh or different from other media articles about your dad. It could be he has nothing unless you respond.”
“It would sure help if I knew whether or not Arco talked with anyone,” I mutter as I take two steps to come toe to toe with Simone. She steps into me, knowing that all I want is to hug her right now.