Donna shook her head. “I’m too afraid to look.”

“Jesus, all this circus and the guy probably didn’t even show.”

“No,” Donna said. “He’ll be here. He’s a really great guy.”

Clare sighed. “Okay, well, keep breathing, for God’s sake. Otherwise you really will pass out. I have to check the numbers, but I’ll be back in like three minutes to announce you. I think you should scan the crowd and see if you can at least see the guy. What if he’s late?”

Donna grabbed Clare’s hand and pulled her back. “Thank you, Clare, seriously, for everything. Our friendship, the support…you always believe in me. I sometimes think, if you hadn’t come out here when you did and we hadn’t moved in together, I for sure would have given up and gone home years ago.”

“No you wouldn’t. You forget all your fancy MFA friends.”

“Those judgmental piranhas? Sure, I have them. But not a single one of them, despite all their many charms, has yet to publish in a major way. You did that! And sure, I was jealous, but when I eventually got over that, I realized that I have totally been selling myself short—something you’ve always said, for years now. And seeing your story in print, I finally knew it was true because if one of your stories can find a place at a major publication, mine can for sure. Once I realized that…honestly, I think it was why I had the courage to even speak to Simon Reamer last week.”

Clare blinked as her mind worked to unpack exactly what her friend had just implied.

“Anyway, I don’t want to keep you. But I wanted you to know how much your success has totally lit a fire under my own ass. Now, if I can manage to get through this reading without completely losing my shit…” Donna smiled. “I think this could actually be it for me, the night when my career really comes together.”

Clare swallowed, then turned and continued down the rickety plywood stairs. What the hell? Was she hearing her right? Donna basically thought that if someone like Clare could manage to fall ass-backward into a publishing deal, certainly she, Donna Mehan, could. Donna Mehan, who was more talented, more deserving, the much more obvious success story.

Because Clare wasn’t.

Was she reading too much into this? She didn’t think so. In fact, she was pretty sure Donna had just backhanded her while smiling to her face. And part of Clare felt like Donna knew exactly what she was doing.

Like she wanted to tear Clare down a little.

The bar was packed, and Clare had to squeeze through bodies and dodge filled glasses of low-quality wine and bottles of beer to make her way back to the door, where Brian was practically giddy with greed.