Chapter 9 Summer #2
Mel leans back against the fridge. “I always find that greasy food and a rom-com helps.”
I blow out a breath. As grateful as I am for the ungodly amount of alcohol now in my possession, I’d have really preferred for Siena to be here.
She’s got that unhinged, let’s-slash-his-tires-in-the-middle-of-the-night attitude I need.
And seeing as I still have the keys to Parker’s car, we’d be able to do exceptional damage.
I pour more wine down my throat. “Fine. But not a rom-com. That used to be our thing.”
“You and Denny?” Shy asks.
Mel shakes her head. “Her and Parker. It started at my parents’ house when we were kids. They let us watch them earlier than we probably should’ve. Look, Sum—”
“Can we not talk about him? For the rest of the night.”
“Denny?”
“Oh, no. He was dead to me the second I found out about the future wife.” I take another long swig of wine. The alcohol is already hitting me divinely hard after not having had a single bite of food today. My brain feels delightfully fuzzy, arms pleasantly tingly. “Parker’s worse than dead to me.”
“Is that even… possible?” Shy asks.
“Trust me. It’s possible. And you know what?
I’m done letting men fuck around with my emotions.
Making me trust them one second, only to introduce me to lying, cheating scumbags the next.
I’m done.” With the bottle at my lips, I stride into the living room and throw open the window, hanging my upper body over the street below.
“You hear that? I’m done! Hope you’re happy with your—your solo donut breaks at work!
And your stupid Mountain Dews and all that rope and the shackles and whatever else you pretend isn’t hiding under your bed—”
“Okay, let’s maybe do the yelling indoors.” Melody tugs me back inside. “You’ve got people staring from the street.”
I throw myself on the sofa, clutching the wine. “They were already staring. Everyone thinks I’m a homewrecker, thanks to your brother. Like mother, like daughter, right?” My chin wobbles and I clench my jaw.
Shy attempts to pry the bottle from my grip, but I need it now.
It’s a lifesaving buoy, just like this anger, sparing me from the depths of my darkest feelings.
“Do we think that you’re maybe misdirecting your anger on Parker?
I mean, how was setting you up with Denny any different than you picking a stranger on a dating app?
Denny was the one who—” I glare. She lifts her hands in surrender. “The Fuck All Men Brigade. Got it.”
I bounce off the sofa, stumbling my way to the kitchen.
I can feel their eyes on me through the opening in the wall as I pry open the box Mel brought.
There are several packs of Diet Coke, in both can and bottle form—which do taste different, no matter how much Parker disagrees.
I crave one or the other depending on my mood.
There’s a sleeve of blueberry donuts he’s been paying Wynn Sheffield to home-bake for us since the accident at the diner, to keep feeding the addiction we’ve shared since we were fifteen.
I sort through the rest of the snacks contained in the box, none of them doing a thing to whet my vanished appetite.
Then I catch a flash of color buried under a bag of salt and vinegar chips. It’s a miniature paper plane folded from a neon pink Post-it note. I rip it up without reading it.
Much as I hate to admit it, Shy’s right. I’m using my anger at Parker as a crutch. But right now, hating him is easier than thinking too hard about the truth that’s been staring me right in the face for years—mean and insistent, no matter how many times I’ve tried to bury it.
All signs point to there being something so wrong with me that I only attract the wrong kinds of people into my life. And chase away the ones who should’ve stuck around.
I slide down the cabinets until my ass hits the worn kitchen tiles. By the time Melody and Shy join me, I’ve dried my tears.
Shy links an arm with mine. “Summer, what Denny did to you isn’t a reflection on you. You know that, right?”
You’re wrong. “I looked for her online. The fiancée.” I stare at the scuffed white fridge opposite me. The ripped-up paper plane digs into my palm. “I kept thinking I’d want to know what he was up to, if I were her.”
Mel’s shoulder touches mine. “Did you find her?”
“Couldn’t. I don’t have him on social media, and I know nothing about her other than she exists.
He claimed he wasn’t online, but it’s obvious now that he was hiding his real life from me.
” And I was the love-starved idiot who fell for the relentless attention he paid me just to get in my bed.
My chin wobbles. Again, I shut it down. “Could we please stop talking about it?”
Mel grabs the wine bottle and takes her own swig. “Would it help to hate on my brother some more?”
I sniff. “Tremendously.”
“Does anyone else think he needs a haircut? He looks like he’s just stepped off a hockey rink, when I’m pretty sure he’s never laced a pair of skates in his life,” Shy says.
I couldn’t disagree more. I love Parker’s hair, the way it’s permanently tousled. It suits him. But I make myself nod in agreement.
“Can confirm. The man can’t skate.” Mel passes the wine over to Shy. “And what kind of person goes to a bar to read? It’s weird. Antisocial.”
“I do it, too. But he started it.” I love how much he loves to read. And I love that it became our Summer Friday ritual. In our own bubble, even surrounded by people. “He’s so stupid and ridiculous.”
Simultaneously, their heads rest on my shoulders. I’m the sad brunette, being buried by her feelings in a blond sandwich.
“So stupid.”
“So ridiculous.”
“And I hate him.”