“At some point I noticed that the camera was gone. I’d had enough to drink by then, but I remember thinking, Thank God Stella’s not taking pictures anymore. One thing led to another, and I found out what she was doing when I questioned another reporter who’d overheard them talking. I went apeshit. Ran out of the hotel, sobering up with each step because I swear, Beaux, it was like I knew I had to get to her, sensed something was going to happen to her… but it already had by the time I got there.” I clear my throat, trying to use my training as a journalist to tell the story, except it’s utterly impossible to keep my emotions out of it.

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