“Explain it. Now,” she urges, her eyes cold, a thunderous gray that terrifies me. “Okay, okay.” I shift on my heels. “Okay, I have been writing.” “How long?” She steps toward me. I’m surprised by the way my body retracts as if it’s afraid of her. “A long time.” I avoid the truth. “You’ll tell me, and you’ll tell me now.” “Tess—” “Don’t Tess me, motherfucker. I’m not the same little girl you met a year ago. You’re going to tell me now or you’ll get the hell out of here.” She purposely steps on a page, and I can’t find it in me to blame her. “Well,
