The Swap(41)

“Why wouldn’t you tell me? Why sneak around behind my back?”

“That was Brian’s idea,” she said darkly. “He said it would hurt you too much if he got me pregnant, and not you.”

My chest constricted and my throat closed. Even the suggestion of it hurt.

“Look,” Freya retorted, “I was trying to do something nice for you. I don’t appreciate being treated like some kind of villain for spicing up your stale marriage.”

“It wasn’t stale,” I said, but my words wobbled.

“If you and Brian are too uptight to handle what we did, or if you’re too jealous that I’m having a baby, we don’t have to be friends.”

“I want to be friends,” I said quickly. “Brian’s just . . . still feeling raw about what happened that night. But he’ll get over it. He just needs a little break from you guys.”

It felt like a betrayal of my husband, but it was also true. Freya’s friendship was so valuable to me, that I would deal with my issues immediately. Brian would take more time.

But Freya was angry. “I think we could all use a break.” She snatched up the empty canvas bag. “Enjoy your new vase.”

I watched my only friend storm out of my store and out of my life, the emptiness already making my stomach ache.





35


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Thompson had fulfilled his mission. He had reached out to Freya, and she had contacted me. I took a sip of kombucha, leaned back on my bed, and read Freya’s message for the twelfth time.

Love your photos @The_Hawkeye_61. I’m a local influencer looking to take my page to the next level. Interested in a partnership?

Partnership. I didn’t know what that meant exactly, but I liked the sound of it. Freya and I would be a team. I’d portray her as a wholesome, maternal beauty; rebuild her brand as a pure, angelic Madonna. No one would care about the dead hockey player, the illegal hit, the ugly lawsuit. Freya would get more money and swag, bigger and better sponsorships. And in return, I’d get . . . what? More followers? A free camera? I didn’t care about any of that. I just wanted to be close to her again. I wrote back.

Would love to discuss. Can we meet?

Within seconds she had invited me to her home.

I debated whether I should reveal my identity before I turned up at her house. What would she do when she saw me on her doorstep? She was capable of extreme anger, even violence. But Freya wouldn’t physically attack me. I’d spent months analyzing the scene I’d witnessed in her kitchen that night and concluded that Max must have deserved her wrath. He must have done something cruel and horrible, may have even hit her. Freya wouldn’t throw crockery at me or chase me with a barbecue fork. But there were other ways she could hurt me . . . with her words and disdain.

But if I revealed myself through a message, she might shut me down instantly. She could block me from her Instagram page, and I would lose all access to her. It wasn’t a risk I was willing to take. With my heart in my throat, I drove to her house. I parked my truck behind her Range Rover and walked, on spaghetti legs, to the front door.

Freya answered the bell seconds after I rang it. She looked gorgeous with her tanned skin and white-blond hair, her face fuller from the pregnancy. It made her appear softer and sweeter. But the smile flew from her lips, and her blue eyes narrowed at me. She looked like a very pretty, very pregnant viper, ready to strike.

“What are you doing here, stalker?”

“I-I’m the photographer,” I stammered, “I’m Hawkeye Sixty-one. It’s me.”

There was a brief pause where I could almost see her slotting the pieces into place. “Oh my god,” she said with a disdainful sneer.

“You’ve seen my page,” I said quickly. “I’m good. Really good. I’m the best photographer on this island.” I didn’t know if this was true, but then neither did Freya. “And I want to help you.”

Her expression remained stony, but she didn’t slam the door in my face, so I kept going. “I’ve created some Instagram presets just for you. And I’ve gotten really good at using Lightroom. I can turn you into a work of art, Freya. I can make your page cohesive and professional and mind-blowing. You’ll get a million followers. Even more.”

There was a spark of interest in her eyes, but they remained wary. I knew what I had to do, what I had to say. Swallowing my fear, I apologized.

“I’m sorry about before. I should never have slept in the studio without your permission. And I shouldn’t have . . . spied on you and Max. On your . . . argument.”

Freya folded her arms. “No, you shouldn’t have.”

“I screwed up. I know that. I will never cross your boundaries again. I’ll totally respect your privacy.”

Her eyes were like ice, but my cheeks burned under her gaze. I could feel sweat on my forehead and upper lip, as I wrapped up my pitch.

“I want us to be creative partners. I don’t need money or credit. I just want to take beautiful photographs of you and make your Instagram amazing. Together, we can take you to the next level. Everyone will forget all the bad stuff that happened, and you’ll be a huge star.”

She inhaled through her nose, her swollen chest and belly rising as she deliberated. I stood before her, my pulse pounding in my ears. If Freya turned me down, that would be it. There would be no more chances.