Prologue #2
It was the same as always, but better somehow. The two of us together again, finally. We’d barely watched the movie because we’d been talking too much, and when it came time to leave, I hadn’t wanted her to go. I always struggled leaving Story, but last night it was different.
Last night, I finally felt things shifting into their rightful place. Our time had arrived, and we would get our chance.
“I thought you had to be in school today,” she says, stepping back, though her fingers stay looped in mine.
“I did. I was. I came back.”
“Oh amazing, lucky me.” She grins wide, and her fading summer freckles spread across her nose. “I was going to call you . . . I want to talk, actually . . .” She pauses, and her head tilts as she regards me with an expert eye. Only Miles knows me better than Story does. “Hen, are you okay?”
I shake my head. “Not really.”
She can tell by my face that whatever’s bothering me is nothing to joke about because that’s what she’d normally do. Make a joke.
“What is it? What’s happened?”
I push my fingers through my hair. I’ve already told Alex. I’ve said it out loud, yet telling Story is infinitely harder.
My eyes find a spot in the distance, past the fountain and into the field where the Aberdeen Angus bulls are grazing. I know, in the field beyond, are this year’s calves, all growing nicely. My throat is suddenly dry.
“There’s a girl I hooked up with—”
I don’t imagine how the grip of Story’s hand on mine loosens.
Her voice is weirdly high-pitched when she replies, “You’ve been hooking up with someone? I didn’t know that.”
“Yeah, not often, just a couple of times. Alex and Miles were in London a few months ago, and we went out—” If I tell her my brothers were there, maybe it’ll feel less like my fault.
And Story will be less annoyed, because I know she’ll be annoyed.
“A few months?”
I know why she’s mad. I never told her. But the one thing Story and I never talk about is the girls I hook up with—or, in her case, the guys.
If we don’t talk about it, we can pretend it doesn’t happen. An unwritten rule that started in our mid-teens.
Plus, I haven’t seen Story in person since I met Sienna.
“She called me this morning on my way into class. I went to meet her after . . .” I stop talking, and my eyes find the bulls again. I can’t look at her. Fuck. “She’s pregnant.”
Normally, when I’m having a bad day, Story envelops me in her usual sweetness, and that instantly relaxes me. But I know that’s not going to happen this time.
“Pregnant?”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. I can barely believe it. No matter how many times I say it, it doesn’t feel real. “Seven weeks.”
“Seven weeks?” Her voice is so quiet I barely hear it. “What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know.” I shake my head. “She wants to keep it—”
“Are you in a relationship with her?”
“No.” The word is almost shouted, and I shake my head so hard my brain rattles. “No. It’s always been casual. We don’t talk much outside of when we all go out. But now . . . I don’t know. I guess I have to see what the paternity test says.”
I don’t know anything.
The sum of my conversation with Sienna was being told she was pregnant before she left me to meet her friends. And left me in the coffee shop with nothing but my dumbfounded thoughts and the bill.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. I’m going to be a dad. I’ll have to put my studies on hold. I’ll have to move away from Valentine Nook. I never wanted to live in London full-time, but I guess I don’t have a choice now.
I’m so deep in my thoughts that I don’t notice Story hasn’t said anything for a while. But when I look up, she’s crying.
“Stor?” I reach for her hand, but she jumps away before I can.
“How could you do this?”
“What?”
“How could you be so stupid?”
“Story—”
“Last night . . . I thought, finally maybe . . . and now . . .” She pauses, snatching a tear away as it falls. “No. I’m not doing this. You know what? It’s me. I’m the stupid one . . . You are never going to change. You and Miles . . . It’s always going to be like this. Forever—”
“What? What does that mean? What is always going to be like this? What aren’t you doing?”
“When are you going to grow up?”
“Excuse me?” I snap, but I’m not entirely sure she’s talking to me. Or about me. Or maybe she’s talking to herself.
“No, excuse me.”
“Story?”
She holds her hand up, and I stay silent. Tears spill down her cheeks and drip off the hard set of her jaw. I can’t recall ever seeing Story as angry as she is right now. And she can get mad, but not like this—cheeks blazing while murdering me painfully in her mind.
“Why are you mad?”
“Why am I mad? Why am I mad?” Her voice gets higher-pitched. Her eyes narrow, and her lip curls in a snarl. If looks could kill, I’d be dead a thousand times over, reduced to nothing more than a chalk outline. “Fuck you, Hendricks. Figure it out for yourself.”
My stomach twists, and I’m too stunned to move.
My body is frozen in shock. I forget all about why I’m standing here in the first place, why I’m not in London right now, and why I’ve spent most of the day stewing in my own anxiety, because my best friend shoots me one last withering look before storming off.
“Stor . . . Story!” I call after her right before she disappears around the bend in the road.
Picking up my phone, I dial her number only for it to ring once and get sent to voicemail.
What the hell just happened?
I’m about to run after her when Lando drives toward the fountain. He spots me and pulls up.
“Alex just called me.”
The engine’s still running as he jumps out and wraps his arms around me.
And just like that, my present smacks me in the face, and for the second time in fifteen minutes, I sob into my big brother’s shoulder.
“Come on, let’s go back to Burlington, and we’ll figure it out.”
I tell him everything on the way, getting the practice in before I break the news to my mother.
Truthfully, that should have been the worst of it, but I’m numb as I repeat my predicament. I’m barely listening to a word she says, because all I can think about is Story and the devastated look on her face.
Once my mother is done, I call Story again, only to be sent to voicemail again.
HENDRICKS: Story, please pick up the phone. I’m freaking out, and I need you. I need my best friend.
I try her two more times.
HENDRICKS: Stor, I don’t know what I’ve done to make you so mad, but please talk to me. Call me back.
She never called. And I lasted thirty-six hours until I cracked and went in search of her.
Only I was too late.