Kept (22 page)

Around her people clapped and cheered. Miska clapped too as Dillan rearranged the candles. Someone started the birthday song, and she mouthed the words while Garrett lit the candles.

“Make a wish,” Matt hollered, and Dillan pursed his lips, head tilted, and studied the cake.

Garrett crossed his arms. “Dude, wax is not a frosting.”

Dillan blew out the candles. There was more clapping, more cheering. Loud chatter took over as people broke into groups, spreading throughout the tight space. Miska moved forward, intent on getting out of Dillan’s sight, but Cam and two women blocked her way.

Someone grabbed her arm, and she turned. Jordan grinned at her. “Good to see you, Miska.”

She doubted it, but Jordan’s smile said it was the truth. “You too. Where’s your man?”

She chuckled. “Don’t you start.”

“What?” Miska smiled. “Aren’t you two a couple? He seems like a nice guy.”

“He is, but… We were dating when he left for the Marines. That ended quickly. Then he calls me two months ago.” She shrugged. “I don’t want to go through that again.”

“You seem like a smart girl. You’ll be okay.”

“Well, thanks, Miska. I knew I liked you.”

Matt stopped beside Jordan, three cake-filled plates in his hands. “Ladies. For you.”

“Thank you.” She took her plate.

“Have you had Portillo’s cake?” Jordan asked.

“Don’t think so.”

“Best stuff ever,” she said around a mouthful.

As Miska ate and listened to Jordan and Matt, she studied the crowd. Tracy and Garrett stood by the refrigerator, talking with two other couples. A handful of unfamiliar faces mingled with people she remembered from Monday night. But how things had changed. Tonight no one sent curious looks at her and Dillan, because Dillan stood on the other side of the room, talking with Cam and three women.

Here, in this group, she felt invisible.

She shifted, aware that she was in Dillan’s line of sight if he looked past the redhead flirting with him.

Instead he nodded and said something to her. She cocked her head, and he laughed.

“Miska?”

She turned her back to Dillan, shifting her gaze to Jordan. “Sorry. What?”

“I asked what you thought about coming to that Bible study Wednesday night.”

Oh, gag. While the side effects of living the Bible way seemed okay, there was no chance she’d buy that stuff—and no way they’d want her, once they knew her like Dillan did. “Thanks, Jordan, but I don’t think so.”

She shrugged. “If you change your mind…”

The redhead Dillan had been talking to patted Jordan’s shoulder as she walked by. Jordan lifted her fork in a wave.

Who was Dillan talking to now? “So was he surprised, you think?”

“Dillan? Definitely, and he’s tough to surprise. We only pulled this off because we planned it last minute. He had a youth group activity tonight so we knew when he’d get back.”

“Youth group activity?” She pictured a bunch of teenage girls with long hair, no makeup, and ankle-length skirts sitting in a circle, praying about something.

“Laser tag, I think.”

Oh.

Jordan laughed. “What were you expecting?”

So Dillan wasn’t kidding about her poker face. “I never went to youth group. Or church.”

“Oh, yeah? You should come sometime.”

No matter how nice these people were, she couldn’t see herself talking about the Bible. Mom had had no time for it, and Wade and Zane had made jokes anytime someone mentioned it. Of course those two weren’t any great representations of mankind either. “I’ll think about it.”

Jordan shrugged her acceptance.

Behind his sister, Dillan squeezed through the crowd, his back to Miska.

Matt followed her gaze and smacked Dillan’s shoulder. “Hey, bro.”

Dillan turned, eyes on Matt. “Thanks for coming, man.”

“Wouldn’t miss it.” He pointed at Jordan. “She wouldn’t let me.”

Dillan shot Jordan a smile. “I’m guessing you had a hand in this?”

“I plead the fifth.”

“In other words, guilty.”

Jordan stuck a bite of cake into her mouth and gestured helplessly.

“Right. Can’t talk.” Dillan shook his head. “Whatever.” He moved on.

Miska stilled. He hadn’t looked at her, hadn’t even acknowledged her. She drew in a slow breath, hoping Matt and Jordan wouldn’t notice the snub.

But they locked eyes onto each other. Jordan cleared her throat. Matt pressed his lips together and looked around the room. “Now where did—”

“Guys, it’s okay.” She should have expected this, but she’d hoped—though she hadn’t known it—she’d hoped Dillan would forgive her. “He’s got a lot of people to talk to. I’ll see him later.”

Jordan rested a hand on Miska’s arm. “I don’t know what to say. That seemed so rude, but that’s not like him.”

“I know.” But he’d been rude. He’d treated her as if she didn’t exist. As if she wasn’t worth his time.

Was that how it was? That someone like her wasn’t even worth looking at? Wasn’t worth talking to? Was she really worthless to these people? If so, how long before Jordan caught on? Before Tracy?

The room swam. “I think I’ll head out.”

“Oh, Miska.” Jordan’s mouth turned into a heartbroken frown. “I’m so sorry. I’ll beat him up for you.”

“No.” She forced another laugh, her throat tight. “Don’t say anything. He’ll feel bad.”

“He could stand to feel bad.”

“Really. It’ll just make it awkward. I’m sure he didn’t mean it.”

“If you’re sure.”

“I am.” The condo seemed too small. “You guys have a good night.”

“You too, Miska.”

She wove her way through the crowd. The handful of people blocking the door let her pass, calling goodnight. She smiled, waved, and slipped outside where the only sound was the muffled chatter coming from Dillan’s place.

Dillan, the man who refused to look at her.

She raised her chin as she unlocked her door. If that’s the way it was, then fine. Life was simpler without him, anyway. If he wanted to be left alone, that was okay.

Because she wanted to be left alone too.

Just her and her condo. Just her and the view out her window. She walked to it and stared at a sleeping Buckingham Fountain and the blackness that was Lake Michigan.

Only tonight the blackness didn’t comfort.

Another night as a third wheel.

Dillan opened his bedroom door, letting it bump the wall to warn Tracy and Garrett that he was coming out. Not that they were the making-out type—well, Tracy didn’t seem to be—but one never knew. In three months they’d be married. At this point waiting was probably difficult.

Garrett and Tracy sat on the couch, his arms spread across the top. He was saying something quietly as Dillan neared, and Tracy laughed, smacking his knee. “Stop it.”

Garrett glanced over his shoulder, his carefree grin in place. “Dillanetics. What’s happenin’, man?”

“I’m hungry.” He opened the refrigerator and scanned the contents. Milk, mayonnaise, ketchup, a mostly empty container of sour cream, half a sub, and a package of red grapes.

Nothing.

SportsCenter’s bump music came on, a hockey clip playing. The second game of the Stanley Cup Finals had been tonight, but Sullivan didn’t seem to be around.

Dillan tapped the counter. Forget Miska. He was here for food.

“Popcorn’s above the microwave,” Garrett said.

“Thanks. You guys want some?”

“We’re good.”

He set a bag in the microwave and started it, then leaned against the counter and watched the seconds tick by.

“Did you finish your cake?” Tracy asked.

“Ate the last piece for lunch. Sorry.”

“I was just curious. Jordan said Miska had never had it before.”

He narrowed his eyes. Amazing that there were things she hadn’t done.

Why she’d been at his party made no sense. It had to be Tracy. Or Jordan. Or both. Those two didn’t get why a guy wouldn’t want her around. Fortunately, the packed condo had made it easy to ignore her, and he’d been relieved when he’d realized she’d left. The less he saw her, the better.

Some silhouetted woman was being interviewed on SportsCenter.

He should ask someone out, even though no one interested him. There was that new woman—Amanda, the redhead. She seemed nice. He’d better ask her quick before Cam got to her.

The popcorn had just begun popping when Tracy gasped. “Garrett, go back.”

Garrett sent her a confused look. “Go back to what?”

She grabbed the remote and rewound the interview. When it played again, the voiceover was midsentence. “And she’s not the only one making a living off professional athletes and talking about it. The writer of the blog
My Kept Life
makes her living off two professional athletes, both of whom think they’re the only one.”

The picture changed to a blog title’s fancy red script.

“We asked her for an interview, but she didn’t respond. Her blog only goes back seven months, but in it she details how she keeps these two lives separate and why she does what she does, the first relationship a romantic one while the second is purely business.”

Tracy sagged against the couch. “That’s Miska.”

It did sound like her. Scary to think that there were others like her.

Garrett took the remote. “What do you mean it’s Miska?”

“I mean it’s her.” Tracy shot Dillan a look of concern. “That’s
her
blog. Miska’s blog.”

She blogged about it? He walked around the island. “Are you kidding?”

“Come on, Trace. How do you know?”

“It was on her laptop. She had the dashboard open, and I read the title.”

Unreal. “So she tells the world about it? What a—”

“Don’t you say it.” Tracy aimed a finger at him, jaw tight. “You don’t know what she writes. It’s not what you think.”

He snorted. “Right. It’s all about her horrible guilt from living like she does.”

Garrett cleared his throat.

Fine. Dillan opened the microwave and grabbed the corner of the bag. He’d shut up. He didn’t want to talk about her anyway.

“So you’ve read it?” Garrett asked.

“Yeah. It’s sad.”

Sure it was.

Tracy spun in her seat. “But, hey, don’t read it, okay? It’s not—it’s not good, all right?”

Finally. They agreed on something. He opened his popcorn bag. “Fine by me.” He tossed a kernel into the air and caught it in his mouth. Ow. Hot. “You guys have a good night.”

Adrienne moved the cursor over the play button on her laptop’s screen. “Ready?”

“I guess.” Miska eased onto a stool. Adrienne had called to ask if she could stop by after work. The request wasn’t unusual—Adrienne usually called first—but this time she’d been serious. Somber. This wasn’t girl talk.

The clip was from SportsCenter. The male host talked about women making a living off professional athletes by being paid safe-sex partners in a city the athlete routinely visited, being available only to them.

Miska shifted on her stool. Why was Adrienne showing her this?

The picture changed to a woman’s silhouette, a woman who tweeted about her life with a pro athlete.

Oh no.

The interview ended, and her blog appeared on the screen. The host told how she blogged about her relationship with two athletes. How she hadn’t responded to their requests for an interview.

When had they asked for an interview?

The clip ended, and only then did she realize she’d raised a hand to her mouth. Seeing her words splashed across a TV seemed bigger than anything she’d ever imagined. However many people had read her thoughts before, it had to be so many more now.

Adrienne minimized the clip. “A friend showed this to me. Did you know?”

“No.”

“Have you checked your blog lately?”

“Not since Kendall—” She lunged for her laptop on the desk. Two days had passed since her blog had been featured. What could have happened in that time?

She set it beside Adrienne’s computer and woke it. In a few moments she was at her latest blog post.

Comments were on.

She sucked in her shock. “Someone hacked it.”

“What?” Adrienne leaned in to see.

Miska’s fingers flew over the keypad. Her password had been changed, but she requested a new one. “I turned the comments off in January. People were one extreme or the other.”

She logged into the blog’s dashboard and scanned the information. Eighty-three comments beginning at eleven Sunday night. Three hundred and two comments today.

“What are they saying?”

She could read the first line of the comments as she deleted them. Offers to keep her company when her men weren’t in town. Suggestions. Lewd, despicable, perverted things. She fought off a shiver as she deleted more comments. “Perverts. All of them.”

“Men are gross.”

These men were. She thought back to Eric. Allen. Kendall. Her fingers shook, and she balled them into fists and pounded the island.

“You okay?”

“I feel—I feel like someone broke in.”

“You feel violated. I know. You need a good password, girl. A crazy difficult one.”

She continued deleting comments. “I can’t believe this. These disgusting people. Like they know me.”

“They’re not worth your anger, Misky. Delete them, change your password, and move on. Don’t let them keep you from blogging.” Adrienne grinned. “Think how many are listening to you now. Your following has exploded.”

That didn’t comfort.

“You need to track this. Get Google Analytics on there.”

“They can’t figure out where I live, can they?”

Adrienne shrugged. “I don’t think so. What’s your bio say? Just that you’re in the Midwest, right? You’ll be fine.”

This, right now, didn’t feel fine.

In a few minutes the comments were gone. Miska grabbed paper and pen. Time for a password they’d never expect from her—a Bible verse.

She Googled Genesis 1:1 and read it silently.
In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth.

Okay. How was she going to make this into a password?

Adrienne leaned over her shoulder, staring at the screen. “What are you doing?”

“I’m making a password they’d never suspect.”