Boyfriend Bargain(47)

I blink rapidly. She knows the way to my heart.

“Sugar, I know you haven’t told me everything, but if you need to talk to me, I’m here. I’m not your mama and we’re not blood, but you’re mine by choice and I have no regrets. Nothing you tell me will shock me.”

I stare at her, taking in the big blonde hair and faded pink lipstick. I love her more than anything and she is my family. I don’t know why I haven’t told her what happened except that maybe part of me is embarrassed that he fooled me. I sigh. “He blames himself for his dead girlfriend’s car wreck, and I found a photo of her and…well, we look very similar…” I can’t go on. I don’t even want to think about the letter.

Mara fires up a cig and blows out smoke. “I see. A doppelgänger situation. Sounds like a good HBO movie.”

I huff out a laugh and several moments go by. I feel her thinking, assessing the situation.

“When you were with him, how did you feel?”

“Feel? God, I would have burned the whole world down to be with him, and I thought…I thought he was right there with me.”

She takes another toke. “You say you look like her, and I can’t answer for Z, but I know you can’t fake real emotion. Those cracks always come through when something isn’t true. Your heart knows.”

My heart doesn’t know shit. It’s dead. Empty. I never knew a person could reach this level of…nothingness.

I run my fingers over the rim of the cup, and she sighs from her seat, moving on. “Speaking of breakups, I remember when Clint broke my heart. One night in Vegas and he was off with the wind, but he was upfront about it.”

I sip my tea. She always knows how to make me smile. “Give me his digits and I’ll ring him up. I could use some rebound sex.”

Her eyes flare and I have to laugh.

Julia waltzes in the door dressed in a new sparkly gold corset and booty shorts. She must have heard my comment because she looks straight at me. “That’s true. We really need to get you back in the saddle, my friend.”

“Doesn’t work for me,” I say.

Her hands are on her hips. “And I have the perfect guy—this dude named Dallas who mentioned to me he was in your poetry class. Apparently he saw us talking to Eric and he sent me a text.”

Wow. “He’s quite persistent.”

“Tenacious, which you happen to go for. Plus, he’s hot,” she says.

“Nah.” I raise an eyebrow. “Don’t you need to go shake some ass, Barbarella?”

She snorts. “Mama does need some dollars, but don’t try your passive aggressive shit with me. I’m not giving up stripping, no matter how many jokes you make.”

I arch a brow. “Meow. Someone’s sensitive tonight.” I tap my chin. “Could a certain hockey player be the reason? Oh, wait, you don’t know him. Riiight.”

She puffs up. “I’m on a break right now, thank you, and you are not the boss of me. Isn’t that right, Mara?”

Mara smokes her cig, looking at us with a smile on her face. “Oh, she is honey. After me, that is.”

I laugh just as Mara’s office phone rings. She speaks to the person and then waves it at me, her eyes big. “It’s Mr. Winchester from Birmingham for you.”

I motion to her that I don’t want to talk to him. He’s been calling my cell for over a week and I’m avoiding him.

She gives me an exasperated look when she hands it over. “Take it.”

Fine.

I put it up to my ear. “Hello?”

“Miss Ryan?” His tone is dry and wintry and utterly professional. I picture the tall and lanky man who came here in January to tell me my father was dead. “Finally.”

I pace around the room, holding the phone tight. “Yes?”

“I just wanted to confirm that you’ll be in Davenport for the reading of the will. It’s in two weeks.”

My chest constricts. Of course I know when it is. I have it saved in my phone and Mara has it circled on her desk calendar. “I will not.”

There’s a long silence from him and then his voice softens. “Before you make up your mind, I want you to know there is no animosity toward you here.”

I huff out a laugh. “I find that hard to believe with the way my father cheated on their mother for years.”

He seems to take a breath. “I hope you change your mind. It might…do you some good to come back and see where you came from.”

“Please don’t assume you know what’s good for me. I don’t take well to condescension, Mr. Winchester.”

“I apologize.” He continues, clearing his throat. “I conveyed your waitlist situation to Mrs. Mitchell, and she’s sent in a letter of recommendation for you.”

My hands grip the phone, and Mara reaches over and pushes the speaker button. It’s killing her that she can’t hear what he’s saying. “My name isn’t Mitchell. It never was. And what does she know about me? How can she write a letter?”

The line is quiet as he shuffles papers.

“Does she feel sorry for me?” The thought pisses me off.

Mr. Winchester sighs. “I don’t know. It’s common for former alumni to send in letters of recommendation.”

“But if you had to guess, Mr. Winchester, why would she do it?”

There are a tense few ticks of silence. “Who knows the matters of the heart, but perhaps she sees a young girl who never got the chance her own kids did.”

A sweat breaks out on my skin.

“Will you come?”

Mara is waving her hands at me, mouthing, “YES, YES, YES.”

I close my eyes and push out the words. “I’ll let you know.”





37





Zack





I sit up in bed at five on the dot. I haven’t had a nightmare in a while, and I wonder if fighting with Reece helped me get past something.

I don’t know.

I get dressed for my run. I have to or I’ll go crazy from thinking too much.

Right now, I’ve shoved everything to do with Sugar down so far I’m not sure where it is, locked up tight and stuffed in a black box shoved into a corner of my mind. I’ve got chains and a padlock around that box, and no way in hell is any of it getting out.

I’m numb inside, keeping my emotions in check and protected.

I trudge out to the hallway and Long John Silver brushes against my legs. I give her a rub. “Hey, baby girl. You hungry?”

She meows and stalks to the kitchen, and I follow.

I don’t even notice him until I look up, but Reece sits at the table, dressed in gym shorts and an old shirt. He had his head down but it bobs up when he sees me.

We stare at each other and I mumble a terse greeting as I walk by. We’ve been stalking around each other for weeks now, barely speaking, but I won’t budge about Veronica. She isn’t allowed at this house. Once I’m gone after graduation, he can do whatever the hell he wants.

I stop at the fridge to pull out a Gatorade and suck it down. His eyes are on me, and I can’t resist asking, “Why are you up?”

He swallows. “So I could catch you and talk.”

I drink down the blue liquid. “Veronica isn’t welcome back.”

He flinches. “I know. I don’t blame you. What she did…” He shrugs and looks away.

I set my bottle on the counter and study my brother, taking in his bloodshot gaze, the purple bruises under his eyes, the haggard face. “Missing her, huh?”

His grey eyes find mine. “That’s right, good old Reece, always getting what Z doesn’t want.”

Tension zings through me, but it doesn’t have much heat. These past few weeks, I’ve lost some of the vitriol I spewed out the night Sugar walked away.

One thing is sure: I’m close to losing my brother. And that scares me.

He looks down at the gold box I brought out last night and set on the counter. “Those your letters?”

I give them a brief look and nod. “Yeah.”

“What are you doing with them?”

I toss my empty bottle in the trash, grab the box, and stick it inside my running backpack. “Letting them go.”

He blanches. “Where?”

Resignation colors my voice. “Where do you think? It’s time. I…I don’t love Willow, Reece. I haven’t for a long time. What we had wouldn’t have lasted. I was too young and so was she. You get that, don’t you?”

“Sugar, huh?” There’s an expression of acceptance on his face, a quiet realization.

My shoulders shift as I turn away from him and grab a protein bar from the cabinet.

“Z?”

I look over my shoulder. “Yeah?”

He licks his lips. “The photo of us…can I keep it?”

I give him a nod. I feel so tired. “Sure. It’s yours.” I open the box, pull it out, and hand it over.

“Thank you.” He takes it gingerly, as if it might fall apart in his hands.

I rub at my unshaven face and look away from him, finding it hard to take in his unhappiness. He’s hurting too. I catch a glimpse of myself in the hall mirror, and I’m death warmed over with my thin face, shaggy hair, and scruff that’s now grown into a thick, dark beard.

I look back at Reece and he’s watching me, pain etched on his features until they contort and his face compresses, his teeth chewing so hard on his bottom lip that blood comes out.