Chapter 28
Another message appeared.
Before you argue, Maribel told me.
I smiled.
Traitor, I typed.
Her loyalty is to your blood sugar, he replied.
I hesitated, then typed:
There’s a diner on Ninth with terrible coffee and good pie.
His reply came fast.
That sounds beneath your brand.
I typed:
My brand survived court.
He wrote:
Then pie it is.
I put the phone away, still smiling, and continued down the hall.
I found Sloane in the garden.
That surprised me.
She sat on a stone bench in a navy wool coat, her hair loose, face pale from more than winter. She stood quickly when she saw me.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
The words came out too fast.
I stopped several feet away.
“For which part?”
She swallowed.
“All of it.”
“Try again.”
Her eyes filled, but she held the tears back.
Good.
“I’m sorry I helped him humiliate you. I’m sorry I let him tell me you were crazy because it made me feel chosen. I’m sorry I wore your bracelet. I knew it mattered. I pretended I didn’t.”
That was better.
Not perfect.
Perfect apologies are usually fiction.
“What are you doing here?” I asked.
“Dr. Reeves approved my physical therapy through the transition. I offered to pay out of pocket.”
“Can you?”
She looked down.
“No.”
At least she had stopped lying.
“The scholarship fund will cover medically necessary care,” I said. “Not private housing. Not wardrobe. Not consulting.”
She nodded quickly.
“I know.”
I studied her.
Without the white chiffon and borrowed jewels, Sloane looked less like a villain and more like a cautionary tale told in good lighting. She was twenty-nine. Talented once. Injured badly. Famous enough to be watched, not famous enough to be safe. Chase had found the fracture and poured himself into it.
That did not excuse her.
But it explained the shape of the damage.
“Are you cooperating fully?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“Then keep doing that.”
She nodded.
As I turned to leave, she said, “He told me you were empty.”
I paused.
“He said you only cared about buildings and names and control.”
I looked back.
“What do you think now?”
She glanced around the garden, the treatment rooms, the athletes moving slowly behind the glass.
“I think he never understood what you were building.”
No.
He hadn’t.
But the truth was harder than that.
For a long time, neither had I.