“Bryan, it’s Kate.” She ran her fingers through her hair. What should I say, God? “Can you call me when you get this? Listen, it’s very important that you not talk to the press.” Unlike your stinking girlfriend. Kate gritted her teeth. She needed Bryan to cooperate, and a snarky attitude wouldn’t help. “Just call me.”

She hung up. Lucas was looking at her with an expression she couldn’t read and didn’t have the brainpower to decipher. She dialed Bryan’s cell and got voice mail again. She left a similar message and hung up.

“What did your agent say?” Lucas asked.

“They want me to stay quiet. Do nothing. Hope it blows over.”

“You’re not happy.”

“I see where they’re coming from. They might even be right; they’ve got more experience than I. It just makes me feel so—”

Helpless. Useless. Like a sitting duck. Like a twelve-year-old girl waiting to see if her mom is Jekyll or Hyde that day.

She walked away from the thought, into the bedroom, but it followed her there, like a persistent shadow. She didn’t bother to flip on the lamp, though only remnants of daylight seeped through the curtains. Instead, in the darkness, she paced the short length of the room while rain pounded the roof, a surge of the storm’s temper.

She’d thought their plan would work. They’d asked for God’s help. She’d been so sure He’d guided them to the right decision.

Lucas appeared in the doorway. He leaned against the doorjamb, watching her.

“I just—I hate this doing nothing.” She whipped around, her hair slapping her on the cheek, and sank on the edge of the mattress. Would this be the way her career went down? With her forfeiting the match; not even putting up a fight?

Lucas approached Kate, aching to comfort her. “Maybe they’re right,” he said. “Maybe it’ll blow over.”

And what will happen to us? He wanted to know but couldn’t ask. Not now, when she’d been bombarded by everyone else. Heavy clouds seemed to roll in, darkening the room.

“What if they’re wrong? What if my readers think I’m a hypocrite?” Her eyes glazed over and she blinked rapidly. “Maybe I am a hypocrite.”

He’d never seen her look so fragile, so vulnerable, not even on her wedding day. She looked broken, her always neat hair a disheveled mess, hanging in her face.

“Hey . . .” he said, smoothing the sides of her hair with both hands. He tucked it behind her ears the way she liked it. “Stop talking like that. It’s going to be okay.” He cupped her face between his palms. “We’ll get through this.”

A tear escaped, and he brushed it away with his thumb.