“Cole…” Kate leans in and tongues my neck just underneath my ear. Her mouth is wet and sticky against my skin and I have to swallow back the partially broken-down alcohol that pushes its way up my throat.
“Kate,” I grumble as I wrap my hands around her wrists and hold them down against my leg. “I’ve got a girlfriend and you’ve got to go.”
“Don’t bother stopping on our account.”
My head snaps up. It takes me a moment to fit all the slippery pieces together. Jodi is in my living room pointing the sharp end of an umbrella at me with ball-withering intensity. Mara and Aimee are standing just behind her. Aimee’s hair is wet and her grey dress is spattered with rain.
“Aimee?” I’m dizzy. “Is it raining outside?”
But Aimee’s not listening to me. She’s staring at Kate. More specifically, she’s staring at Kate’s hands on my leg.
Shit. I try to stand but the room sways and I’m knocked back on my ass. “Aimee?”
She lifts her eyes to mine and I can’t help my reaction. I flinch. Everything about her face is wrong. She’s gaunt, torn-up like she’s just been kicked down three flights of stairs. Her eyes are hollowed out, burning with hurt. I fucking hate it. And I hate myself for being the one who put that expression there.
“No,” I say, pushing off the cushions and this time managing to get my feet under myself. I stiff-arm the back of the couch to keep my balance. “It’s not what you think.”
She makes an indignant chuckling sound. “Not what I think?” Her hands press back into her hair. “Do I look stupid? I don’t even—I don’t—” She sucks in a violent breath. “We never made each other any promises so don’t bother with the stupid explanation because I don’t need to hear it.” She looks at Kate and lifts her hand. “You were right. He’s all yours.”
“Whatever, bitch,” Kate rasps out.
And that’s when all hell breaks loose. Jodi starts yelling and Kate’s up off the couch and looming over her. Daniel and Mara both step in between the girls while Adam and some other guy that I don’t know hoot their enthusiastic approval of a catfight.
Everything is leaking away from me—circling on the floor like sudsy water around a drain. Aimee grabs Jodi by the arm and pulls her toward the front door. She’s shaking her head over and over.
“Wait!” I desperately stumble over the first few steps. Faces blur together, the walls shift. I trip but catch myself on someone’s shoulder.
“Please!” What am I asking for? Forgiveness? Help? Time?
Ignoring the sound of my name from behind, I rip the front door open and crash outside. Wetness pricks my face and I look up and see raindrops spinning, spiraling to the earth. I wipe my forehead and peer out into the soggy night.
There.
Headlights.
Breathing hard, falling fast, I sprint over and pull on the handle of the passenger door. It’s locked. I slam my hand against the glass. It’s dark and I can’t see her face through the muggy glass, but I can make out the outline of her head. “Aimee!”
Jodi lays on the horn and inches her car forward in a series of sharp jerks. I grapple with the handle some more but the wet metal slips through my fingers. “Talk to me!” I shout, moving forward with the momentum of car.
Jodi honks again and this time she doesn’t let up. The car engine revs angrily. Frustrated, wrecked, panting, I let go and back away and watch from the curb as Aimee disappears out of my life in a fog of rain and red and white lights.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Aimee
“You look terrible.” Mara says. She’s leaning against the doorway to my bedroom. Her hair is pulled up into a ponytail. In the grey morning light she looks pale and tired. Neither one of us got much sleep last night.
I rub my red, swollen eyes and prop myself up onto my elbows. “Thanks.”
“You know what I mean.” She glances down the hallway to the front door. “What are you going to do?”
“I’m not sure. My heart hurts.”
“He’s not going to leave until you talk to him.”
Cole has been out on our front patio since midnight. He knocked and rang the doorbell for over an hour before he gave up and slumped to the ground with his knees pulled up to his body and his head bent to the crook of his arm. I think he fell asleep around two.
“I don’t really know what to tell him.”
“You tell him the truth,” she says thoughtfully.
“Maybe I don’t know what that is anymore.”
“Then you make it up as you go.”
***