Fearless, Abby Brooks [leveled readers .txt] 📗

“Maybe that was the problem. I should have been the one to interpret what my spirit guides were saying.” I arched an eyebrow as I glanced up from my notes on a potential plot that had captured my interest.

“You know? That’s actually kind of brilliant.”

“Besides, look at me, writing again. Maybe Alex wasn’t the point of my trip to Wildrose Maybe this was.” I pointed at the notebook in my lap.

“Maybe you had to have your heart broken again to prove you could be fearless.”

“Maybe. But…” I glanced around the room as if I could see my higher self/spirit guides/whatever else Amelia thought might be throwing hints my way. “I’d appreciate a chance to learn some lessons that didn’t hurt so much. I really liked Alex.”

“Oh, sweetie. I’m so sorry. I really liked him, too. Or at least I thought I did.”

In the week since I left Wildrose, I’d heard from Alex exactly zero times. “He got what he wanted from me and showed his true self. Feel like I fell for the old switcheroo. Again.”

“Have you talked to his sister? Do you know if he took out that scene?”

“Why would he? If the whole point of pretending to like me was to finish his book, why would he change it?”

“I don’t know. Something just seems…off…about the way he reacted.”

I bobbed my head. Everything about what happened to me in Wildrose seemed off, especially because I’d begun to think I could call that place home. That I’d found friends who understood me and the perfect eccentric town to help me find my way back to myself. “Twice now I’ve had someone I cared about steal a piece of me and share it with the world.”

Amelia made a sad face, but I held up a hand.

“Drew stole my book and it hit the top of the charts. And it sucks that I didn’t get to experience that ride, but still. My words. My characters. My book. I did that. Alex was right. Drew will never do that again because he just doesn’t have what it takes, but apparently I do.” I pointed at my notebook. “And I’m going to do it again. And this time, my name will be on the cover.”

“And the checks.”

I laughed. “That’ll be a nice change of pace, too.”

When Alex’s book hit the shelves, it was sure to skyrocket into fame. His name alone was enough to create buzz around a new release, but, like it or not, that story was one of his best. He outdid himself with…well…everything.

And even though I hated seeing myself the way he saw me, scared, meek, so freaking taupe I wanted to vomit, I was gonna be part of that success.

Me.

I made that character compelling.

No one would know. No one but me, Alex, and Amelia. Maybe his friends. Probably Izzy. But when his book succeeded, that would be because of me, too.

There was something empowering in that.

Whenever the voice of fear spoke up, whispering to me in the middle of the night that Alex had stolen from me, used me, that the whole world would get to see the weakest parts of me, I reminded myself that I was about to hit the top of the charts again.

Sometimes I cried, but more and more, I found myself smiling.

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Alex

Watching Evie move out of her house should have made me feel like I’d done the right thing. It should have been a celebration of chivalry to do my White Knight Syndrome proud. Instead, it sank my heart into my stomach, where it stayed for weeks.

I finished the book, carefully weaving the ending together with the threads I’d started in the beginning. Pulling plot points, subtext, and character arcs into a finale that felt like a fucking nuclear bomb. My thrillers were known to keep people on the edge of their seats, but this one…this one…

It had depth.

Emotion.

The payout was beautiful as I crafted the female lead to fit the way I truly saw Evie. Yes, she was the framework for my character. Yes, she was right to hit me with all those accusations when she stormed into my house, but she was so wrong when she believed I saw her as meek, mild, and fearful.

Eveline McAllister had a quiet grace. A gentle fearlessness that had gone into hiding after that asshole Stephens gave her a reason to doubt how people would treat her, but it was there when she chased me to my car all those years ago. It was still there when she crept downstairs in her underwear to face a ghost with nothing but her camera and a whole lot of side boob. And she was overflowing with it when she knocked on my door to call me out for using her story against her wishes.

My life was better for having known her.

At least that was what I kept telling myself. Meanwhile, I often forgot to shower. I barely saw my sister. I only left the house to see Mom. I’d been turning the guys down for drinks at the bar for weeks now. I wrote Evie letter after letter, pouring out my heart and soul, explaining everything and begging for her forgiveness. Only I never sent them. I’d promised to protect her, even from myself.

My editor called the new book a triumph.

It damn well better be because it might be the last thing I ever wrote.

“Wouldn’t that be the worst twist of fate ever?” I asked Morgan as he plopped to the ground at my feet. “I did the right thing and chased Evie away because I didn’t want to abandon her to work, only to never write again.”

A knock at my door sent my heart racing, calling Evie’s name. Obviously, it wasn’t her. She’d left Wildrose and never been back, but my heart hadn’t gotten the memo. It still expected to see her every time I stepped outside. Or peered out my bedroom window. Or opened my eyes in the