Taking the Heat (26 page)

Veronica glanced around again. No one was paying attention besides these two women. Her friends. People who hadn't batted an eye at her last confession. She squeezed her eyes closed. “He was my first,” she whispered.

“What?” Isabelle asked. Veronica felt her lean closer. “Your first what?”

Determined not to be a complete coward, Veronica opened her eyes. “My first time.”

Lauren frowned. “Back in New York, you mean? You knew him before?”

“No. I mean here. A week ago.”

It finally hit Lauren. Her eyes went wide. She sat back. Isabelle was still frowning, but a few seconds later she slapped a hand over her mouth. “You're kidding,” she said past her fingers.

Veronica shook her head.

Lauren looked around as if she was confused. “But you're...you're an expert.”

“Yeah. I read a lot.”

“He was really your first?” she asked, looking as if the shock was still sinking in.

“Yes.”

“Did he know?” Lauren asked.

“Yes. And he made it perfect. So completely perfect. Maybe that's why this is so hard to take, because it's not perfect anymore. He's
gone
.”

Lauren's mouth went tight. “I'm going to kill him.”

“No! It's not his fault. I didn't want it to be something weird and meaningful. I just wanted to do it. God, this is so fucking embarrassing. I can't believe I'm telling you.”

“Shut your mouth,” Isabelle snapped. “Didn't we already have this conversation? You don't have to keep your weird crap from us.”

“Ha!” She managed that one laugh, but then tears welled in her eyes and spilled over her cheeks as if someone had switched on a fountain. “I don't want him to be gone,” she admitted, which didn't help slow her tears at all. “Shit, is everyone looking at me?”

“No one is looking at you,” Isabelle said, but Veronica felt a cocktail napkin thrust into her hand. She dabbed at her cheeks.

Lauren patted her arm. “Did he break it off? Because maybe you could still see each other if you like him that much.”

“I can't. I can't go back there.”

“To New York? Come on. It's not that bad. You're just being a wuss.”

She laughed again, though the sound was a little clogged with tears. “I hate that place.”

“You lived there for years. You're telling me there's nothing you like about it?”

Veronica shrugged. “The food is good. And I like Central Park.”

“Well, there you go. Dinner and brunch and walks in the park and sex. Come on. That's a long weekend right there.”

Isabelle nodded. “If the sex was worth it, anyway.”

“Oh, it was worth it,” Veronica said. Then she growled in frustration. “God, it was so worth it and I hate him for that, too. He was...” She waved a hand, trying and failing to find the words, but her friends nodded as if they understood.

“Maybe I won't kill him, after all,” Lauren said.

“So you both think I shouldn't be mad at him?”

Lauren scoffed. “I think you should be as mad as you want. He asked you to trust him and he knew he wasn't telling the whole truth. Fuck that shit. We'll all hate him with you if you want.”

That sounded good. Helpful. But...no. She didn't want that. She didn't really hate him at all, so she couldn't stand the thought of her friends hating him. “No. But thanks for listening.”

Isabelle poked her arm. “We expect more details later, you know. But for now, would another drink help?”

Veronica took stock of her insides and shook her head. She wasn't in the mood. Just saying it all out loud seemed to have helped. She was starting to let go of a little of her shock, and she found herself laughing with Lauren about the letters they'd heard during the performance. A few minutes later, Lauren was trying to bribe Veronica into letting her see the night's letters that she hadn't used, but before Veronica could finish saying no, her phone buzzed.

“Hold on,” she said, pulling it out of her purse.

“Is it Gabe?”

It wasn't Gabe. It was only her email alert, but Veronica still held up a hand and read the email. “Oh, no,” she breathed.

Lauren grabbed her hand. “What is it?”

“It's not Gabe,” she said immediately.

Lauren slumped with relief.

Veronica read to the end of the message. It wasn't Gabe, but it was bad news. The teenager had finally written back, and even though he thanked her for the advice, he didn't think it would help him.
You don't understand
, he said.
Nothing good will ever happen for me.

Veronica pushed back from the table. “I'm sorry. It's something to do with my column. I need to take care of it.”

“Do you want us to walk you home?” Isabelle asked, but Veronica was already moving toward the door.

“No, thanks!” she called. “Lauren, I'll let you know when I hear about Gabe's dad!”

As soon as she was outside, Veronica toed off the heels she'd been so happy with earlier and jogged toward her place in her bare feet.

Nothing good will ever happen for me. I don't want to talk to anyone about it. It'll be better for everyone if I'm gone.

She paused halfway to her apartment and wrote a quick reply.

Are you there? Can I write back to you at this address? I really want to talk to you.

Hitting Send, she took off for her place again. Her phone buzzed just as she reached her front door. “Please, please, please,” she whispered, but she didn't get her wish. Her email had been returned as undeliverable just like last time. “Shit!” she cursed as she struggled with her keys and finally got the door open.

Her next email was to her editor. She forwarded the message she'd received from the boy calling himself Nobody and added only
Calling you now!
to the subject.

The call went to voice mail. “I know we've already discussed the protocol for receiving Dear Veronica letters about suicide, but I wanted to give you a heads-up. I just got a letter from the teenager who wrote last week, the one who says he's being bullied. He wrote from another random address. I can't get in touch. He didn't give any specific plans, but it's clear that he's considering hurting himself. I'm going to call the police and see if there's a way they can track him down. Please let me know if there's anything else we should do.”

She dropped her purse and shoes and raced to her laptop to find the phone number for the Teton County Sheriff's Office. It took only a few minutes to get through to a deputy.

“Oh, hey!” he said. “Dear Veronica! I read your stuff.”

“That's good, because I need a favor. I received a letter indicating that a teenage boy is having suicidal thoughts, but it came from a fake email address and he didn't give a name or number. I have no idea how to get in touch, and I'm really worried. I think he needs help. If I forward you the email and file a report, can the sheriff's office do something?”

“Absolutely. We can try to track down the IP address, see if we can get in touch with the kid that way.”

“Thank you,” she sighed. “All I know is that he's in school. I suspect he's a sophomore here, but that probably only narrows it down to a couple of hundred kids, and I have no idea what to do.”

“We'll be happy to help,” he said, giving her his email address so she could forward everything she had. He asked her to come in to the station and fill out a report also, though he said it could wait until morning. There was no way she was waiting until morning.

She hung up, sent the emails to the deputy, then wrote to the therapist, forwarding the letter and letting him know the steps she'd taken. Her heart beat so hard it hurt, her body telling her to take action, to make this better. But how could she make it better when she couldn't even find him?

She read through the letter one more time, hoping she'd gotten it all wrong, but it was only worse on the second read.

Dear Veronica,

Thank you so much for writing back to me. I'm sorry I used a fake email address. I don't want my parents to find out and freak.

I know you think things can get better, but they can't. You don't know what it's like. Everyone hates me. Someone spit on me in the hall last week. They call me gay, but I don't even think I am. Not that it matters, cuz no one will go out with me.

I'm not going to college. My grades suck cuz I'm so screwed up. It feels like I'm never getting out of this place, but I can't stand it here any longer.

You say everything can change for me but you don't understand. Nothing good will ever happen for me. I don't wanna talk to anyone about it. I don't want therapy. I just want everything to stop.

I'm sorry I dragged you into this. You seem like a really nice person.

He hadn't signed it this time, maybe because she'd told him not to call himself Nobody. The only positive thing she could see was that he'd reached out again. But everything else about it scared her. She knew the statistics for teen boys and suicide were high. Higher than other demographics. They couldn't see that life might get better. They didn't have the ability to think ahead.

The therapist wrote back quickly to tell her she'd done the right thing.

If the police track him down, I'd be happy to help. Please give his parents my number, or the hospital can get in touch with me if he's checked in.

Veronica changed into jeans and a sweater and pulled on her running shoes to head to the sheriff's office. It was only a short walk. She was filling out her report within fifteen minutes. Unfortunately, there wasn't anything to do after that. She had to wait to hear from the deputy. All she could do now was repost the suicide hotline information to the website.

She started to head home, then found herself stupidly turning corners and walking down random streets, hoping that...what? She'd see a distraught teenage boy and ask if he was the one who'd written to her?

She'd never felt so helpless in her life.

When her phone beeped, she pulled it out with a sudden rush of relief, but it wasn't the police. It was Gabe.

Spent the evening with my dad. He's in good spirits and his condition has been upgraded to serious. I never thought I'd see that as great news.

She smiled as another text popped up.

I'm going to try to get some sleep. Hopefully, we'll know more in the morning. He looks good, though.

Before she could respond, a final text popped up.

I'm sorry
, was all it said.

She broke down in tears. Uncontrollable tears. She was so mad at him, but she wanted to call him. She wanted to hear his tired voice and tell him it would all be fine. She wanted to tell him about the letter she'd gotten and how worried she was. But he didn't need her problems tonight, and he didn't need to listen to her cry. He needed sleep and time with his family.

And Veronica didn't need him. How could she? She barely knew him.

She cried for a few more minutes, thankful that it was pitch-dark on this street. When she finally managed to wipe away enough of her tears that she could see, she wrote back.
Such good news!
 
she typed with damp fingers.
 
I'm so, so happy that he's improving. I'm keeping all of you in my thoughts. Get some sleep and things will look even better in the morning. Good night.

Then she went home, ate five of Gabe's mom's cookies and waited by her phone all night.

CHAPTER TWENTY

“D
AD
,
COME
 
ON
,”
Gabe groaned. “I don't want to talk about the restaurants right now. Every time you start getting into it, your blood pressure goes up. I can see it right there!” Gabe pointed at the machine that tracked his dad's life in impersonal lines and numbers.

Could die any moment
, it all seemed to say, no matter what the numbers read.
Could die, could die, could die
, over and over. Gabe had thought it would be less scary in the morning, but it wasn't.

“But you haven't even seen the new location in Brooklyn! It's two stories! Amazing place. If your mom would bring my iPad like I asked her to—”

“Mom doesn't want you talking about the business any more than I do. You're retiring now, anyway.”

“I never agreed to that!”

Gabe watched the numbers rise. “Fine. We'll talk about it later. But I'm moving back regardless. The details can wait.”

His dad grinned. “Good. I like seeing that face every day. Especially now that I can see it.” He smacked Gabe's naked cheek, then pulled him in for a brutal hug, not paying any attention to the wires and lines that tangled every time he made a sudden movement.

Gabe just shook his head at how
normal
his dad seemed. As if nothing had ever happened. Until he had to get up to use the bathroom. Then he looked like a man who'd aged twenty years overnight.

His dad patted his cheek again. “You look good, son. I'm glad your mom got you to shave the beard.”

Gabe rolled his eyes. “She guilted me into it this morning. Told me it would make you happy.”

“Did you buy that?”

“No, but I wanted to make her happy, too.” He rubbed a hand over his bare jaw. After three years, it felt like someone else's face. It was for the best, though. He damn sure wasn't going to wear one of those beard nets in the kitchens.

He winced at the thought of spending his days—and nights—in MacKenzie's, but he didn't let his mind shy away from it now. If he returned to Jackson at all, it would be only to pack up his stuff. Maybe it was easier this way. If he'd settled into his life there, if he'd settled into his feelings for Veronica...

Shit. Too late for that.

“Naomi says you have a girl out there in Wyoming,” his dad said as if he'd read Gabe's mind. His elbow hit Gabe's ribs. “Says she's famous.”

He laughed, thinking he'd tell Veronica that the next time he talked to her. If she was willing to talk. “She's kind of famous. Writes an advice column for the local paper.”

“You serious about this girl?”

“Dad, I just met her.”

His father shrugged. “I knew as soon as I met your mom. Asked her to marry me a month later.”

“Sure, but she was smart enough to say no.”

“Only the first time! So is it serious?”

Gabe forced a smile. Fuck yes, it was serious. “No,” he said, rubbing at the strange ache that had popped up in his chest. “We were dating. No big deal.”

His mom came in just in time to save Gabe from what felt like his own heart attack starting. He'd already fucked with Veronica's emotions, and now he felt as if he was betraying her in different ways.

“Did you bring my iPad?” his dad yelled.

“Oh, my God, calm down, James. I've got your stupid iPad right here. Why don't you get right back to working on your next heart attack? What could possibly go wrong?”

“She's never going to let this go,” his dad muttered.

“No, I'm not,” Mom answered as Gabe stood to give her a kiss.

“Gabe's moving home,” his dad said. “You should thank me.”

“Do you want to start another argument?” she snapped. “Gabe should do what Gabe wants to do.”

His dad just grinned again. “He wants to be here, helping me run MacKenzie's.”

Gabe stayed silent while his mom sighed. “I made chicken salad,” she said. “It's in the fridge. Go home and make yourself lunch. Take a nap. I'll be here all day with this stubborn bastard.”

“I need to show him the new Brooklyn location!” his dad yelled, but his mom shooed Gabe toward the door.

“Go on before he gets all riled up,” she whispered. “And make sure your sister eats, too.”

Gabe waved past his mom's shoulder. “I'll see you in a few hours, Dad. Show me the pictures then.” Hopefully, he'd get some rest in the meantime. Gabe had thought it was still morning, but it was already noon. Even with the windows, he had no sense of time in here. The day was gray and dreary. Drizzle dampened his head as he stepped onto the street. His cheeks felt cold.

His clean-shaven face was the most foreign thing about being home, though. The screeching, roaring, rumbling sound of the streets was already background noise. Unnoticeable. In a few months, he wouldn't even remember what silence sounded like.

His mind flashed on that moment with Veronica at the top of the climb. Of lying there, his hand wrapped around hers, the sun seeping through his muscles and straight into his bones.

Maybe he could get back there for vacations. Maybe she'd see him again. If he could just talk her into coming out to New York sometime, if he could go out and see her a few times a year... Now that he was back in the city, he could think of so many things to show her. So many things that she would love if she just gave it a chance. New York had been her dream for so long. There was no way she'd purged it from her heart so completely.

He grabbed a cab home, thinking of Veronica the whole way. He'd been too wrapped up in worrying about his father yesterday. He hadn't thought much about what he'd said to Veronica, how she'd felt, the look in her eyes.

He'd assumed that when he told her the truth, he'd have time to lay it out as gently as he could and time afterward to try to make it up to her. But he felt as if he'd slapped her. As if he'd hurt her and then walked away without a backward glance.

He stared out the window at the buildings he recognized from his teenage years. He had a lot of planning to do. He had to find a place. Had to resign from the library. Had to sink himself back into MacKenzie's and hope he didn't drown. But all he wanted to think about was the top of that climb and watching Veronica smile up at the sky.

He skipped the sandwich and didn't bother harassing his sister about eating, either. He just went to his room and fell onto his bed. He felt as if he'd missed a week of sleep instead of just a few hours. The thought of eating made his stomach turn.

A dark veil of sleep was just slipping over him when his phone rang. He raised it to his ear without opening his eyes. “Hello?”

“Gabe?”

His eyes popped open at the sound of her voice.

“I'm sorry,” Veronica said, whispering as if she were invading his dad's hospital room. “Are you busy?”

“No. I'm alone.”

“I didn't want to bother you, but...”

“No, it's fine. It's good to hear your voice.” The twist in his stomach seemed to unravel itself. “Really good.”

“How's your dad?” she asked.

“Already trying to get back to work. This morning the doctors said he could go home in two days if he continues to improve. But it's going to be a long road to recovery. He'll probably need stents. Maybe a bypass if he doesn't clean up his act.”

“I'm sorry.”

He sighed. “At this point, I'm thankful that it's all ‘maybes.' He looks good, and I think my mom is already planning a party for him when he gets home. My older sister should be here from India tomorrow.”

“Good. That's great.”

He waited for her to say more, but all he got was silence. “Veronica—”

“I didn't want to bother you,” she jumped in. “You have so much going on, but you're the only person I know who works with computer systems and stuff, and I just...”

Gabe frowned at the rough edge to her voice and sat up on the side of his bed. “What's wrong?”

“You know that email I got from the teenager? The one who was being bullied at school?”

“I remember.”

“He wrote back and he's talking about ending it and I don't know what to do,” she said, her words running together on a long breath. “I went to the police and they tracked down his IP, but it didn't tell them anything. There's only one major internet provider here, so they can't even narrow that down, and I don't know what to do! They told me they could try to get a search warrant from the internet provider, but that will take days. Do you have any ideas? I can't just hope he doesn't kill himself, Gabe. He wrote to me for
help
.”

“Shh. It's okay.” He hated hearing the pain in her voice. “Listen, maybe there are a few ways we can work on this. Do you have the IP?”

“No! Should I call the deputy? Maybe he can—”

“Hey,” Gabe interrupted. “It's not hard. I'll walk you through it.”

“You don't have time for this,” she insisted, her voice cracking a little and breaking his heart. He should be there with her.

“I have plenty of time. I was just lying down in my old bedroom staring at my ceiling. No big deal. Now, is your email program open? What's the email address?”

Luckily, the address was from one of the big providers that embedded IPs in the header. He walked her through how to grab the hidden information. “Okay, now it gets trickier,” he said. “You don't even know a first name?”

“No!” she cried. “Nothing! The deputy said if I could just get a little more out of him, maybe they could help, but I already tried to get him to contact me. He hasn't.”

“Are you a monitor on the Dear Veronica blog?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, listen,” he said. “I was stalking you a little last week, reading through your old columns, trying to figure out the best way to seduce you.”

Her laugh sounded like a little hiccup of relief.

“It seems like there are a
lot
of comments for every post.”

“There are. Yes. I delete the ones that are abusive.”

He smiled, thinking of how hard she must frown going through comments like that. “And you have to register to comment, right?”

“Yes, but people use fake names all the time. Almost everyone does.”

“But they have to use a real, verifiable email address,” he said. “So if you can find a user with the same IP address as your teenager—”

“Then I might find a real email address!” she gasped.

“Exactly. There are some pretty simple search functions you can use.” He promised to send her a link that would tell her exactly how to search the blog for that IP address.

“Gabe. Thank you. I just...I was afraid to call and bother you, and—”

“You don't ever have to be afraid to call me. I'm just happy you're still willing to talk to me.”

He'd been vaguely hoping that she'd reassure him. That she'd laugh and say, “Of course I still want to talk to you!” But she didn't say anything.

“Let me know what happens with the IP search,” he said.

“Sure. Yes. If I can get a real email address, my friend Isabelle has a boyfriend who's a US marshal. Maybe he can push the sheriff's department a little harder.”

“That sounds like a good plan,” Gabe said.

“I'll let you know. Thank you, Gabe.”

He hated the way she said it so formally, as if he wasn't expected to help her. He collapsed back onto his bed, but this time he didn't close his eyes. The knot retied itself tightly in his stomach.

He could have his family or he could have Veronica. It was as simple as that, and he couldn't walk away from his family. Not even for her.