Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 126425 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 632(@200wpm)___ 506(@250wpm)___ 421(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 126425 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 632(@200wpm)___ 506(@250wpm)___ 421(@300wpm)
“No shit. Also, the night he’s talking about having done this stuff, he couldn’t have.”
“Why not?”
“Because I was with him.”
Ding.
“Shit, someone’s texting. Audrey, hold on.”
I pull the phone away from my ear and put it on speaker as I look at the text.
GARY: Yo! Cord, my new favorite person! You sign that contract yet?
I ignore the text and turn my attention back to the stream.
“And, knowing Raylen has a gluten allergy, we very deliberately made sure to have no gluten-free cupcakes available for her in her author welcome room. In fact, the ones we made for her had double gluten.” Steve squints at what he’s reading and says, “Are you fu—? Anyway. Also…”
“This is all a total list of fabrications,” I say to Audrey on speaker.
“Of course it is. I have to assume it’s to make the lawsuit go away.”
“But—”
Ding.
GARY: FYI, Steve Smith is currently apologizing on Snitch. I bring it up because I don’t want you to think that it’s gonna move the needle on anything. I know you two are friends. But, as stipulated in your contract, you will refrain from having any contact with the guy. Okay? We added it as a special condition. Y’know. Just to be safe.
“Item number fifteen,” Steve goes on. “In regard to the font size of Raylen Star’s name on the posters…”
Audrey sounds exasperated over the phone. “This is so fucked.”
“Yeah.”
“I wish there was something we could do for him. After everything he’s done for the romance community, it’s just… Ugh. I hate seeing him go down like this.”
“Yeah.”
Ding.
GARY: Yo! Cordy Cool! U getting my texts?
“Audrey, I’ll call you back.” I end the call and watch just as Steve says…
“But, most of all, I’m sorry to my fans and fellow authors. Because I got you to believe a…” He pauses. The next word sticks in his throat. “To believe a…”
He takes a deep breath, closes his eyes, and says, “Fuck this.”
And time feels like it slows down.
“I mean… Fuck this bullshit. These apologies are… I didn’t do these things. Half the stuff on this list I didn’t even know about and the other half… If I’m guilty of one thing, it’s that I didn’t just own what I was doing sooner. I should’ve been proud of the fact that I was writing work that people care about. I am sorry to the readers for not just being more open and honest with you. I am. But all this other stuff, I…” He looks around like he’s at a loss. “Doesn’t matter. Nobody’s gonna believe me anyway. So let me just keep going through this list. And then you can all get back to watching my friends play Warrior Legends. Which is what you’re here for anyway.”
He looks sad. Defeated. Totally unlike the Steve I met just a few short weeks ago.
And it breaks my heart a little bit.
“Hello. Did you lose something?”
That was the first time I heard his voice. That booming Tank Watson voice he used.
“I’ll take care of it.”
“…What?”
“I’ll take care of it. I’ll get you something.”
“I… They’re sold out.”
“No, they’re not.”
“They said they were.”
“Not for… SS. For SS, there’s room. I got it.”
The memories come washing back over me, unbidden. But I can’t stop them.
“I read your book.”
“You finished it?”
“Mm-hm.”
“Already?”
“Mm-hm.”
“And…?”
“It’s incredible.”
Everything that’s happening—has happened—I owe to Steve.
“Essie did say that Steve is a genuinely nice guy, by the way.”
That’s what Britney told me. And then I remember something I thought on the last day:
Steve Smith is genuinely the nicest guy I’ve ever met. And I hope he gets all the things he wants.
“Number nineteen,” Steve says, looking all alone and at a loss for words except for the bullshit apology he’s being forced to read.
No.
No.
Fuck that.
He might be at a loss for words, but I’m not. I never am.
I grab up my phone and open the WishMaker app. Gregory’s cartoon mug smiles at me. “Ms. Sarantopoulos! So glad to see you! What might I do for you?”
“I want you to put me into Steve Smith’s Snitch stream.”
“I’m sorry?”
“Gregory, don’t fuck with me. You said you can grant any wish, worldwide, as long as I’m not in North Korea or some parts of Russia. And LA most certainly ain’t those places. So, I want you to inject me into the Steve Smith Snitch stream right now.”
I know his cartoon face doesn’t really express human emotion, but I swear I see him smile. “Your wish is my command,” he says.
And, suddenly, the light on my computer that indicates the camera is on glows to life and I find myself projected onto my own screen in a little box just like Steve and all his bros.
“Number twen—Cordelia?”
“You can see me?”
“Yeah. I… Yeah.”
“Who’s this?” one of the bros asks. The nameplate in the corner of his little box reads ‘Shawn.’
“Um, this is Cordelia Sarantopoulos.”