Fast Lane | ✔️

23

Ch23

Claire was no closer to get any answers than she was after she'd first seen the pictures. She'd cornered Miller on the beach, determined to find out the truth, but once he'd seen the magazine, he clammed up. And then he cried. He actually cried! Claire's stomach twisted uncomfortably. It made her physically ill to see the anguish that covered his face, to see the secrets lurking behind his blue eyes as realization to what he was looking at had finally sunk in. She'd always been able to trust those eyes, but now she wasn't so sure. He was hiding things from her—and had been for who knows how long—and just when she'd managed to confront him, knowing he'd have no choice but to face the music, he'd managed to elude her once again.

Just as he was about to speak his cell phone rang out, alerting him to a text message. She'd silently begged him to ignore it, but he hadn't. He pulled up the message and quickly scanned over the words, his eyebrows creasing in confusion. Before she could ask what was wrong, her own cell rung out. On autopilot, Claire reached into the pocket of her thin maxi dress and retrieved her device.

Oliver McGee. What could he possibly want? She opened the message and quickly read through it.

"Given the unfortunate events that have recently unfolded and the heavy scrutiny you're all under, I would like to call a meeting for all former cast-mates of Paradise Cove. I may be able to offer some assistance in your time of need. You are not in a position to ignore my request. Please meet me tomorrow at my house in Point Dume, 4 o'clock sharp. I promise, it will be worth the trouble. I trust you will be there. Oliver McGee."

What was this all about? Scrutiny . . . was he referring to the magazine? 

Oh my God, the pictures must be all over the press! 

Their weaknesses were all on display for the whole world to see! How would this mess affect their lives? The pictures of her were the least of her troubles, but every single person she cared about most were bound to be tormented by the photographs taken. The insinuations that had been made . . . Claire closed her eyes and brought a hand to her head as an overwhelming darkness closed in around her. She tried to regulate the breaths that were coming in and out of her lungs much too quickly, just like the night before when she had collapsed.

Take it easy, she silently concentrated. Breath in . . . breathe out . . . Nice and slow. 

"Claire, are you alright?" she heard Miller ask. She'd almost forgotten he was standing there. The baby . . . the magazine . . . the pictures . . . the text . . . It was all too much to think about! "Let's get you inside. You don't look very good."

Claire felt a strong arm snake around her waist and vaguely perceived the sensation of being guided alongside the shore. "Miller, we need to talk," she heard herself whisper, but every time she opened her eyes to focus, her vision was met by a montage of shapes all swaying rapidly in front of her.

"We will talk, let's get you inside first. You need to sit. You're so pale . . ."

Before Claire could respond, she felt another presence on her opposite side. Brooks. She could hear his voice but was unable to make out what he was saying, he sounded so far away. She allowed them to chaperon her into the house and suddenly felt the cool sheets of her bed underneath her.

"We need to call an ambulance," Miller announced. "This is the second time this has happened that I know of."

Claire fought hard to open her eyes and focus on the men in front of her, the men who had been her closest friends for so long, but the way the figures danced in front of her made her stomach churn with nausea. Her lids quickly closed and she drew in a sharp breath.