CHAPTER THIRTEEN
LIAM
Today’s the day.
The day I’ve been absolutely dreading.
The day that I go home for break.
I blow out a sigh of exasperation, wishing that I didn’t have to go, because technically break doesn’t start for a few days.
But in all honesty, I can’t exactly stay here.
I’ve finished my classes for the semester, so I have nothing to do.
I thought I would have work, but no, the owner decided to close for the summer, being that most of our clientele are college students.
On top of that, I’m not exactly on good terms with everyone else working there right now.
I also have nothing better to do, and I promised my parents I would go see them, but that was before . . .
Before I knew who moved in close to us.
I mean, I’m thoroughly planning on ignoring her and taking Chase’s advice.
Besides, this will protect me in the long run.
I have to protect my heart. I can’t take any more pain.
If I don’t, I don’t know if I would get over it a second time.
I mean, I still haven’t gotten over it since the first time.
Contemplating the whole situation and trying my best not to freak out anymore, my hand drags down my face as I sigh.
Stuffing my suitcase, I make my way to the parking lot and jog to the driver’s side of the car, more than ready to roar its engine to life.
Somewhat ready to see how these months will go.
Biding my time to merge onto the busiest highway, I start to think about everything that I’m about to face.
Bianca Harrison is not only going to attend my college, but has also practically infiltrated my family.
Mom called and got me up to speed. Apparently, Ms. Kate has invited us to an event, and I promised to make an appearance.
Knowing Mom, she’ll be acting as if nothing happened, and for a second, I want to do that.
Yet seeing that rejection—that look on Bianca’s face—cemented everything for me.
I refuse to go back to a place of hope. That place I dug myself out of when I realized that Bianca and I were a done deal.
There’s still something inside of me, though, that still can’t come to its senses.
This part of me that wants to give our friendship another chance, maybe one day dare to ask to be something more.
I sigh, gripping the steering wheel tightly, my knuckles turning white as I try to bury my feelings, effectively pushing them away—but they always come back.
Turning on a random playlist, I raise the volume, hoping it drowns out my thoughts, but as my mind registers my getting closer to Los Angeles, music seems to be losing its usefulness.
Sighing at the restlessness in my head, and my ETA saying I have three hours to go, against my better judgment, I make a call.
“What do you want?”
I look at my phone in shock, scoffing at his tone. This idiot didn’t . . .
“And you wonder why I never call you,” I mutter, moving my thumb to hang up.
But not before he says, “Wait, no. I was joking.” He bursts out laughing and I roll my eyes. Why did I become sort of friends with this guy again? He starts to calm down, and I can imagine him wiping the tears off his face. “At least now you know how you are.”
I huff. “I’m not like that.”
“Alright, if you say so.”
I scowl at his response, and the car becomes utterly silent, to the point that all I can hear is the sound of my tires spinning along the road and the gentle hum of the motor.
“You still there?” he asks.
“Yeah, I’m here. You’d know if I hung up on you.”
He chuckles. “There he is. So, what’s up?”
“Nothing really,” I say as I yawn, already tired of the trip.
“I don’t believe you. You never call me. Not once. I almost dropped my phone when I saw your caller ID on my screen.”
“Really? I can’t imagine why,” I say, and accelerate slightly as I merge into a different lane.
“Are you there yet?”
“No, still got three hours to go.”
“Damn.”
“Yeah.”
“Okay, this small talk is sad. What did you really call me for?” he asks. “Is it about Harrison?”
“Sort of.” I sigh. “I wish she hadn’t come back.” Lies. “I hate her, and her enrolling at college and moving minutes away from my home is screwing with my head.” More lies, but I guess I have to convince myself somehow.
“You don’t hate her.”
“Of course I do.” The words taste bitter in my mouth.
“No, you don’t. You hate what went down, but not her personally. You hate that you lowered your guard. You hate that she made you feel replaceable when you tried so hard not to make her feel that way.”
My jaw clenches and unclenches as I process his words. I mean, he has somewhat of a point, but still . . .
I hate her.
Don’t I?
“Look, I get what you’re going through, but do what I told you to. Ignore her.”
After my talk with Chase, I feel slightly better. My feelings were out of whack, but he set me straight.
It feels weird to admit that.
My body aches from sitting in the same place for hours, but slight relief comes when I see the big sign that says, “Welcome to Los Angeles!”
Though, dread settles in as I get closer to the address Mom sent over.
It’s only thirty or so miles to the event, but due to a couple of accidents, there’s a thirty- to forty-minute delay.
I mutter silent expletives at the thought of sitting here.
The long sleeves of my white shirt bother me after a bit, so I roll up the cuffs.
I unbutton the first couple of buttons of my shirt, letting out a deep breath. One thing I’ve always hated is being late. I promised I would be there by at least three, but that came and went. I bang my hand on the steering wheel, as for twenty minutes, all I’ve moved is about two inches.
Ugh, can this day drag on any longer?
Answer: Yes, it definitely can.
After about an hour, I get out of the traffic jam, but am still a little way away.
I pull off to the side of the road and type a quick text to Mom, letting her know that I would be late, but the message stays on delivered.
I sigh at that and get back on the road.
Pulling into the fancy venue, it looks as if the event is in full swing.
I get out as the valet asks for my keys and hand them to him.
The ballroom looks like it costs an arm and a leg to rent.
Some guests linger outside, and so do their stares, causing me to shift the cuffs of my shirt nervously.
Taking a deep breath, I walk in, trying to look for someone that I know, ignoring the whispers.
I look around as I go over my game plan. Ignore Bianca, avoid the Crystal Pines subdivision at all costs, and lastly, don’t let my heart get in the way.
I can do this.
Nodding, opting for a small smile as I pass by another group of men in what looks like golf attire, not taking notice of their expressions, I walk toward another huge set of doors, my mind swimming with thoughts.
She hurt you.
She ignored you. Ignore her back.
What’s the deal with that girl you’re always drawing?
You don’t hate her. You hate what she did to you.
Maybe it was a misunderstanding.
I blink rapidly, the low symphony of the live orchestra coming at me.
Guests all over are having animated conversations as I try to look for my parents.
Warmth comes over me as I twist my head to the left.
Squaring my shoulders, I walk closer as my eyes bounce to everyone.
Mom smiles when she sees me, and I return the sentiment while she meets me halfway.
She glances up at me with a look that says, “This is it,” and I nod, reassuring that I’m okay. I lock eyes on the woman who was like a second mother to me growing up. She looks at me awkwardly, mixed with confusion, and I don’t blame her.
She probably doesn’t even recognize me, considering that I was a little scrawny teenager the last time she saw me. Embarrassment washes over my face as she stands there. To mask it, I stick out a hand, but she shakes her head. With shame, I put it down, but then she wraps her arms around me.
The nostalgia practically rips me apart. All the times that I would go over and she would teach me how to make her famous hot chocolate, or even how to read my favorite chapter books—she was there for it all, and my inner child is so happy as her scent wafts through my nostrils.
“I’m glad we got to see each other again. You’re all grown up, little man.”
I pull back, nodding as emotionlessly as possible, not trusting my voice when she mentions the nickname she used to have for me.
Someone comes closer to her, and I recognize him from orientation.
Mom always said that since I was little, I had a weird sixth sense about people.
Of course, it’s pretty much advanced intuition.
I haven’t had that feeling in over a decade. But this guy—
This guy right here is not a good guy.
“I don’t think we’ve properly met. I’m Josh Callaway.
I’m Kate’s boyfriend.” He sticks out his hand, his tone clipped at the edges—almost as if I’m not supposed to be here.
He gives me a knowing smile like he remembers exactly where he knows me from, yet doesn’t say anything about it.
I glance between him and his hand, and he looks around at the other guests as if he considers the contact a chore.
I scoff slightly and begrudgingly shake.
“Nice to meet you.”
He drops my hand quickly, like a pathetic show of his superiority.
Though, the action falls short when he somewhat discreetly rubs it on his slacks and I realize that I make him nervous.
Dad observes the interaction before wrapping me in a big bear hug, and I return the gesture.
After a bit, he pulls back and smiles before it drops into a frown.
“You’re late,” he says, arching an eyebrow, and I give a sheepish expression.
“Traffic.”
He looks at me, making sure I’m not lying, and when he’s satisfied, he nods. Clapping me on the back, he says, “I’ve missed you, son.”
Giving him a small smile, I murmur, “I did too, Dad.”
He moves out of the way and she instantly comes into view; my heart constricts as if someone shot an arrow through it.
“Bianca,” I breathe.
Why? Why is it that when I’m around her, the past five years are forgotten so easily? Five years I’ve been missing—hell, pining—for her. How do people do this? Because wrestling with your head and heart is damn near exhausting.
My eyes meet those bottomless blue ones, and I clear my throat, avoiding them.
The very eyes that are in my every drawing, those eyes that I would look into for years of my life.
My inner child jumps with joy once again, but before either of us can say something, even though I see it in her eyes that she is about to—someone speaks.
“Bianca, say hello, don’t be rude,” Josh scolds.
She looks around, and I hate to admit that I miss her gaze on mine.
I swivel my head, a glare sent his way as he clears his throat before I look back at her.
She flushes in embarrassment, making me almost wince at the familiar expression.
I realize no one except Josh has said something.
I stay rooted in place as she raises her head.
We lock eyes, and I almost smile as I see those familiar gold specks once again.
And if only for a tortured moment, one I will later regret, I bask in it.
“Hi.”