BEHIND MY WORDS

Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Spencer

Present DayThe cabby beeped his horn as he pulled up the driveway. I looked over my shoulder as I clicked off the light to my small townhouse.

“Bye, house,” I whispered without a moment of regret. It was time for me to start over, and I had decided the best way for me to do that was to go back to the beginning, to the last place I was ever truly happy.

“Ready, miss?”

“Ready.” I thanked the cabby for offering a hand with my bags then slipped inside the car and drew a deep breath. It had been a month since Justin and I broke up, and it was time to go home.

I was a different person now, not simply because I left one life for another, but because I was slightly jaded and more reclusive than I once was. They said you shouldn’t let the past shape you, and I didn’t. I just had long, jagged scars that lined my soul, reminding me of what had happened. Maybe, in time, they would fade, but for now, I’d keep my head down and continue moving forward.

I caught my tired eyes and my frown lines in the reflection of the window. I missed my happy, carefree self and my smile that would warm my belly when I thought about my career or my family. Funny how everything could disappear in a snap, and you were left as a shell of a human looking in, not out.

I drew another deep breath as I stepped out and opened the door to my new start.

You got this, Spencer.

I swung a heavy box inside and nearly tripped over the little hound that never moved an inch as I recovered my balance.

He did manage a grunt as I slid him, still on the mat, out of my way with my foot.

“Always a pleasure, Bentley.” I smiled as I set my box on the wooden table then dropped onto the couch and sank into its overstuffed pillows. I looked around and noted Bentley’s water dish was full, and a half-chewed ball rested beside it. My neighbors had been looking after him for the past year while I decided what I wanted to do with the place. They had dropped Bentley off this morning. I swore the poor little guy suffered from PTSD.

I studied the room and let my mind wander. My Aunt Lisa had spent weeks at a time here while she painted and needed some time to think, so in hindsight, I was glad I never sold the place.

I never wanted to take over the family cabin after my parents died, but my breakup with Justin changed me, and I realized it was exactly where I needed to be. The city had too much white noise. I needed to be alone with my thoughts, and now that my brother had surfaced, I needed to find some source of inner strength to deal with the s**t storm that was about to rock my world again.

Boxes, bags, and cleaning supplies blocked my view of the lake. I had my work cut out for me, and I only had one week to make it mine.

I pulled the crate over and opened the door to let Lloyd, my tabby cat, out to explore our new home. He jumped up on my lap then moved to my shoulder where he perched and hissed imperiously at Bentley.

“Be nice,” I scolded.

I knew the neighbors would all have heard I had taken up residence in the cabin. Everyone knew the story of what happened here. It had, after all, made headlines for months. It wasn’t lost on me that many a head turned as they walked by the driveway, and I knew they hoped I would come out to hear their sympathy. I just didn’t want it, so for the next few days, I planned to keep the blinds closed and my concentration on combing through my parents’ belongings. I needed time to make my peace with being here. I knew my parents always hated me living in the city, and there was a part of me that had never felt comfortable there. I now felt what they must have felt in that little cabin nestled alongside Whiskey Lake. A safe haven? After what happened to them there, it seemed odd to think that, but strangely, I did.

I lived on microwaved meals for most of the first week and drank entirely too much coffee, and my stomach was starting to hate me by day eight. I was settled into a bit of a pattern by then, and I kicked my feet up and used my wireless mouse on my thigh to scan through my emails, then I began to comb through six new offers.

“Let’s see, Lloyd.” I felt him circle the chair leg.

Three science fictions, one western, and two romances, but none caught my attention enough to even open the outline. The last time I settled on a book, it nearly sucked the life out of me.

“Nope, nope, and nope.”

Lloyd jumped up and knocked over a frame that sat on the window ledge, and it tumbled down and landed inside an open box.

“Such a brat.” I tugged the photo free and took a moment to admire it.

#1 Wall Street Journal Author S Peters takes the romantic suspense world to a whole new level with her first book, “Tiny Dark Secrets.” With three awards and a movie deal, she will be the James Patterson of our generation!

I flipped the newspaper clipping over and shoved it into the top drawer of the desk. In a twist, I moved the chair and unwrapped a family photo. My parents’ smiles beamed at me from the picture. It was when they first built the cabin. My brother was, of course, MIA at the time. I set it in the empty spot and went back to work.

“Okay, enough is enough, Spencer, open the door and let me in!” I smirked at her shrill squeal. “It’s flippin’ freezing, and I swear a raccoon is eyeing me for a possible romp in the leaves.”

I tossed my glasses on the desk and hurried across the living room and opened the door.

“Well,” Jaci raised her eyebrows at my leggings and baggy Guns N’ Roses t-shirt, “you look just as I expected.”

“Meaning?” I stepped aside as my best friend pushed past me, tugging her suitcase behind her. Bentley lifted his head as if to acknowledge her but flopped back down with a grunt. He wasn’t one for people interrupting his many naps.

“Meaning you need a little me time.”

“How lucky.” I dripped with sarcasm but broke out into a smile when she looked around and seemed impressed with the work I had done.

“You did all this in three weeks?”

“One, actually. I had a deadline.” I pointed to my Mac.

“You didn’t ask for an extension?” She removed her jacket and draped it on the back of the chair.

“Didn’t need one.”

She kicked off her shoes, made herself comfortable on the couch, and waited for me to join her.

“Hey, Bentley,” she called to him. He opened one eye and yawned rather dramatically. “Your dog doesn’t like me.”

“He does, he’s just old and likes his naps.”

“Meh, I get that.” She shrugged. “So?” She changed the topic.

“I only know what you do,” I assured her.

She observed me carefully. “You seem like you’re handling your brother situation pretty well. You don’t look like you have any real anger issues in your life.”

“I do. I just channel it differently than you. Why do you think I write mystery suspense?”

“Touché.” She made a face. “And romance, can’t forget about that bathhouse scene you wrote for book two. Damn, I still feel winded.”

“Yeah.” I sighed dramatically. “Gotta love a good s*x scene.”

“I wish I could get my hands on the actual paperback.”

I knew what she was feeling. I sometimes wished I could see my finished projects too.

“Do you still…” she giggled, “you know, get in the mood when you write certain spots?”

A pillow met her head, but I shrugged with a smirk. “Nothing like a glass of wine, silk, and some Justin Timberlake to help open the mind.”

“I love your job.”

“Mmm,” was all I offered. Nothing was better than the real thing for research.

I sank further and rested my head to stare up at the cathedral ceiling. My parents had spent two years building this cabin. Everything was dialed in to what they wanted. I guessed you could say it was the perk of being architects. They took their time with it because, as social as they were, they loved their privacy.

The cabin was built on an angle that allowed them privacy in every direction but the driveway, and even those windows were tinted so it was hard to see in from the outside, even at night. It drove their nosy neighbor nuts, which always entertained us. My father would say, “A little mystery is a lot more appealing than knowing everything about someone.”

“Has your Uncle G been over to visit you yet?”

I shook my head. “He will, but he knows I’m settling in and will want to give me some space. I’m sure he’ll be around. He invited me to a barbecue tomorrow night to welcome a new guy…” I trailed off and listened to a low-powered engine. The neighbors loved to fish.

“What’s it like being here?”

“Some days are harder than others, but being here helps.”

A lot of people would think it was messed up to live in the same house where your parents were murdered, but I felt closer to them being here, and that was what I was looking for.

Jaci looked around. “People dream of having a home like this, so I don’t blame you for moving in. I would have too.” She clapped her hands. “Your father built one sick hot tub.” She jumped to her feet and pressed her face to the glass. “Built right into the dock too. That’s crazy, Spencer.”

“Yeah.” I fought the images of the last time I was in there. I had a bad day, and Mom brought me a glass of wine and told me to let the stars carry my stress for a bit. I convinced her to join me and was able to express my frustrations about Justin, how we didn’t seem to fit anymore. She always knew what to say. God, I missed her.

Jaci was the only one who knew what I had been through with my family and was there for me every step of the way.

She turned when I went silent and slapped her hands together to pull me out of my thoughts. “I’m making us dinner.”

“I won’t protest.” I loved that she didn’t want to beat a dead horse by talking about my family. It was what it was.

“Go shower, and we’ll head into town and get some wine, steak, and cheesecake.”

I pretended to be annoyed, but to be honest, I knew I needed a break from all the awful food I had been eating.

It was a fifteen-minute walk to the nearest market, ten if you hurried, twenty if you had a Jaci with you. We drew plenty of attention on our walk. I’d spent a lot of time here as a child, so the looks I got were not a surprise. I was the little town’s bachelorette, and they all probably felt it was now their mission to find me someone.

“See,” Jaci wrapped her arm through mine, “when you shower, you look hot.” She nodded at a man who held the market door open for us.

“Ladies.” He smiled.

“Such a gentleman.” She winked and started to strike up a conversation while I headed straight to the wine section. I heard her explain that her name was pronounced like Jackie not how most said it as Jay-See. I laughed. The poor girl had been battling the spelling of her name her whole life.

I quickly grabbed my favorites and started to load up the wagon we had brought. Jaci joined me with an armful of different cheeses and crackers.

“He’s a lawyer from New York visiting family on the other side of town.”

“Name?” I reached for a chocolate cheesecake, inspecting the thin crust.

“Does it matter?”

“Yes.”

“Douggy or Dan or something.” She waved me off. “Not like I’m gonna sleep with him, but it is okay to know your loins are still working.” She smacked my ass to make her point. “And you, my friend, have a tight little body and hair most women would kill for.” She brushed her fingers through my long, wavy, brown hair. “Nina Dobrev.”

I pushed her hand away and went back to eyeing my sugar rush that would be making its delicious way through my body this evening.

“I don’t look like her.”

Jaci laughed. “You’re her doppelganger, Spencer. Accept it.”

I’d heard that my whole life. I appreciated the compliment, but I just didn’t see it.

We managed to spend too much money, but the dinner she made was amazing, though it should be. Her fabulous cooking skills were how she became one of the top chefs in New York City.

“So,” she looked at my computer and took the wine glass I offered her, “what are you working on now?”

“Just finished a manuscript.”

She shook her head. “I don’t know why you waste your talent ghostwriting for someone you don’t even know.”

I pulled my laptop off my desk and sank into the couch next to the river stone fireplace. I loved the deep, heavy heat that emanated from the stone. It was my favorite part of the cabin. We had spent days collecting river rock to build it. Every stone held a memory for me.

“You know why.” I tapped on my email icon that blinked with three unread messages. “I don’t like the attention, and look where it got me.”

“Some authors would kill for what you went through.”

“Just cost me two parents and a lovely cold case.” My brothers face popped up, but I pushed it away. I always suspected he had something to do with what happened, but I never could prove it.

“Your parents’ death wasn’t your fault.”

“I know,” I muttered. I tapped a message that just arrived a moment ago. “Hm,” I thought out loud. “Damn.” I swung the mouse to open the rest of the request.

“What did you get?” Jaci shimmied closer.

“Here, I’ll read it to you. Dear Ms. Hemsworth.” I grinned at my fake name. I always loved Liam Hemsworth.

“Always in the fantasyland, I see.” She laughed as I raised a brow and went on.

“I see that you have an opening for a series. I have a five-book deal that’s a murder mystery romance. It’s an intense project, but one that would be worth your time. Here are the details. It would be a book a month, and the word count would be around eighty-five thousand. I’m willing to negotiate the timeline if you can provide a faster turnaround time. Payment for each book would be eight thousand US dollars. After doing a great amount of research on ghostwriters, your name was mentioned on many occasions. If you’re interested in speaking more about this project, please switch to an IM. I have provided the link below. I’m not one for paper trails.” I squinted at the link.

“Christ, that’s a lot in a half a year.”

“It is, but it’s also eight grand per book.”

“Let me see that again!” She grabbed my laptop and scanned the words for herself. “I am in the wrong line of work.” She tapped around on the attachment and started to hunt. “And you have no way of knowing who it is?”

“Not until the books go live and I go digging, and even then, it’s tricky because the author can add to it and throw the ghostwriter off.”

She glanced over at me, her lips pressed into a straight line. “How does that not drive you crazy? I mean, this could be James Patterson, for all you know.”

“It’s not.”

“How do you know?”

“I just do.” I’m not even on his radar.

She leaned her head back to sigh when I snatched my laptop back. “Are you going to take the deal?”

I scrolled down to the rest of the document and noticed they didn’t enter the normal requirements. Again, I read that if I was interested, I was to follow the link to an IM chat, and he or she would discuss it further.

“The host wants to chat,” I whispered.

“Is that how it normally works?”

“No. Not in my experience, at least.” I hovered over the link and clicked it. A new window popped up, and a black chat board waited for one of us to start the conversation.

New User: You contacted me.

I hit send and saw my name went from “New User” to “GW.” Real original.

“Why did that switch?” Jaci pointed to the screen.

“Not sure.” I waited for him to pop on.

“Ghostwriter is what he named you?” Jaci laughed to herself. “No wonder he needs you. He has zero originality.”

“I don’t know if it’s a him,” I reminded her.

“But you always call them a he, so we will say he.”

“Fair enough,” I muttered.

“Well,” she poked my leg with her Ugg boot, “are we going to talk about the subject that I’ve been waiting patiently to ask, or are we still dancing around it?”

I squeezed my eyes shut to take a moment to let the strange feeling subside.

“It’s a blind date, some guy Lisa knows from work. I tried to protest that I wasn’t ready, but she knows I’m totally finished with Justin and have been for a while.” When she began to speak, I held up a hand. “I have no clue what he looks like, but I am meeting him in front of the Hilton by the lake.”

“And you will follow proper protocol?” She lifted her eyebrows and turned her head to the side. She did it that way because she couldn’t raise just one. I hid my laughter and promised her I would.

“Good. Well, as much fun as this is,” Jaci yawned, “I have to be back in the city tomorrow and need to leave by six.” She downed the rest of her glass. “Night.” She kissed the top of my head while I stared at the cursor. “If you’re not up, I’ll drop the key through the mail slot.”

“Night, friend.” I blew her a kiss while I kept my eyes on the chat box.

That night, the wind blew hard against the side of the cabin. The lake provided zero protection against Mother Nature, but my father refused to obstruct his view. The season had changed from summer to fall over the past weeks. I loved October. It was my favorite of all the seasons. The fall meant days of glorious color. The leaves that lined the water’s edge had exploded into an endless palette of different shades of orange and red. The ground was a blanket of its reflection.

Soon, my eyes grew heavy, and I fell asleep to the crackle of the fire.

I slept dreamlessly, and it seemed like no time before the light from the sun warmed my face enough to wake me out of a deep sleep. I knew Jaci would have left by now, and I was alone in the cabin. I shook off the momentary loneliness and looked at the clock. It read ten, and I rubbed my eyes to clear the fog. I wasn’t a morning person at all. I wrote best in the dark.

Something wet hit my eye and then again on my lips. Ew. I peeled one eye open to see a bright pink tongue pop out and lick my forehead.

“Morning, Bentley.” I rolled over and heard him whine while he bumped his leash on the wall. He was well past ready to go for his walk.

With a groan, I pulled on my kicks, tossed my hair up in a messy ponytail, and wrapped a red plaid shirt around my waist in case it didn’t warm up.

“Let’s go, pup.” I waved him out first and followed.

The air had a slight nip to it, which made these walks much more enjoyable.

The book deal was on the edge of my thoughts. Eight grand per book was tempting, but it also made me wonder even more who it was.

Once I decided to ghostwrite, I had to force myself not to think too much, because you could drive yourself mad with questions. I had to look at it as an opportunity for me to get the words out and to tell a story without all the attention. All my fame had ever brought me was a whirlwind s**t show that spat me out at the end in a daze of unhappiness, loss, and pain.

I hated that my older brother suddenly mingled with my writing thoughts. I just plain hated him. I hated so many things, but the fact he was older than I was and still acted like a stupid, entitled brat really rubbed me the wrong way.

“Morning!” Mrs. Tingly, who worked at the local bakery, waved her floured hand at me. “Nice morning for a jog.”

“It is.” I gave a small wave back and kept moving. I knew better than to stop and chat. I wasn’t one for small talk unless it was something I could use in my next book.

My sneakers crunched on the leaves that littered the sidewalk then on the path around the lake that took us back home. The smell of snow hung in the air and flushed out my lungs.

Bentley barely made it to the steps before he collapsed on the front porch, refusing to move any farther. I set his bowl by his head and decided he could drink when he was ready. I rubbed his floppy ears and hurried inside for a shower, careful not to trip over Lloyd, who loved to dart out unexpectedly. Another missed opportunity to end my life, buddy! Crazy cat!