Chapter 22
Chapter
Twenty-Two
BUBBA
T he house always looked expensive. It didn’t matter how many times I’d been here—every visit reminded me. The lawn out front was its own kind of smug. Stupid green despite the summer heat and trimmed to perfection. No dandelions. No dry patches. Not a single leaf where it didn’t belong.
Even the damn fountain out front burbled with judgment.
Jake parked closer to the garage, and I slid the bike right up next to him. Coop climbed out before Jake even shut off the engine. He was already in swim trunks and an unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt. His grimace told me all I needed to know about Jake’s mood before Jake slammed out of his Jeep.
Definitely not improved.
I had a change of clothes in my backpack. The air practically sweltered and sweat slicked my hair back as I pulled my helmet off. We looked like the before picture to Archie’s after. But whatever. That wasn’t new.
What was new? That sick twist in my gut.
This wasn’t just a party. This was the night.
Frankie was coming—with him . And no matter how many times I told myself his name was Mathieu , my brain still spit out Frenchy with a snarl. Some habits died harder than others.
Archie’s house was already buzzing when Jeremy opened the door to greet us in a wash of cooler air.
The guy wore an immaculate suit despite the heat and a mild expression that said he’d seen it all and wasn’t impressed by much.
But he nodded at us in welcome, unfailingly polite.
Then again, Jeremy could cut as neatly with a kind word.
I had no doubt where Archie learned his skills.
“Mr. Bubba. Welcome. Mr. Jake. Mr. Coop. Mr. Archie is outside by the pool.” A pause. “He asked me to remind you to pace yourselves with the bourbon and the sarcasm.”
I huffed a laugh. “So, no fun at all.”
Jeremy didn’t smile, but I swore his eyebrows did.
We moved through the house like we owned the place—which, technically, only one of us did—but that was the thing with Archie. His world bent around him, and somehow it made room for the rest of us too.
Outside, the pool shimmered in the sun, lounge chairs scattered like thrones. The bar setup looked legit. Fairy lights were strung across the yard, already glowing. Music pulsed low from the outdoor speakers. Classy. Controlled.
This wasn’t a kegger. This was curated. I diverted to the pool house to change. It didn’t take long. When I came back out, Archie was lounging under one of the umbrellas, drink in hand, sunglasses on.
“About time,” he called, raising his glass. “The rest of my court arrives.”
“Who died and made you king?” Jake grumbled, still tense.
Archie didn’t flinch. “Just go with it. The vibe works better when I’m monarch.”
I dropped into a seat beside him. “Then who are we? Jesters?”
He gave me a sly look. “You’re my favorite general.”
That earned him a scoff. Jake muttered something I couldn’t hear and stalked toward the drinks.
Coop stayed close, eyes flicking over Jake like he expected him to combust.
“Still think he’s gonna throw a punch?” I asked Coop quietly.
“He wants to.” Coop’s voice was low. “But he won’t. Not tonight.”
“Because of Frankie?”
“Because of you.” He gave me a look. If Jake threw down, I’d have to get in the way. We never had figured out which of us would win in a straight on fight. I still didn’t want to know. “And because she’s bringing him.”
Right. Him .
I hadn’t realized I was grinding my teeth until Archie nudged me with his foot.
“Relax, Bubba,” he said. “You’re going to break your molars.”
“Easy for you to say,” I muttered. “You already had your date.”
That got me a grin.
It was different now—between all of us. We'd said what needed to be said, but that didn’t mean it was resolved. It just meant it was out in the open. The silence was less dangerous, maybe. But the tension still simmered, low and steady like the beat of the bass-line behind us.
People started arriving in trickles at first—Sharon, with her perfect nails and fake laugh. She gave me a too-long look, but I just nodded and turned away. I wasn’t going to get pulled back into that.
Patty showed up in a dress I was sure was chosen specifically to ruin Archie’s night. Judging by the twitch in his smirk, it was working.
“Exes,” Jake muttered under his breath as Maria came through the gate. “Like roaches. They come out for the snacks and the fire.”
“Some of them are the fire,” Archie quipped.
Laura came next, wrapped around some senior guy I didn’t know, all legs and lip gloss and zero shame.
Coop’s jaw clenched. “Why the hell did you invite her?—”
“I didn’t.” Archie cut him off, voice syrupy. “She’s not a senior, remember? Must be her new ride. Hopefully, he noticed that she’s hitched herself on.”
“Oh my god, let it go,” Coop groaned.
“Did you actually break up with her?” Call it morbid curiosity, but Laura looked very attached to Baker? Braden? I couldn’t remember the guy’s name.
“Don’t ask,” Coop muttered.
“She doesn’t look like she’s upset, so maybe you’re off the hook.” Jake shrugged. It was about as philosophical as he was going to get.
Then Rachel Manning walked in.
She wore black, like she was attending a funeral. A one piece with a sarong. Classy, and as far from slut as you could get. Hair up. Lips sharp. Eyes sharper. She clocked Archie immediately.
“Oh good,” she said, strolling in our direction. “The peacocks are in formation.”
“Rachel.” Archie tipped his glass like he was genuinely delighted. “Come to add poison to the punch?”
“No need,” she said. “I brought my own.”
I liked her less than I respected her, and I respected her a lot. Probably more than I wanted to admit.
“What are you doing here?” Jake asked, not even pretending to be polite.
She arched a brow. “Is that any way to speak to the girl who’s been keeping your secrets?”
That shut him up. For a second. Which secrets was she referring to?
Coop gave her a warning look, but Rachel just continued past, plucked a drink off the table, and headed for the deep end of the pool like she, not Archie, ruled here.
“Why do I feel like she’s going to murder someone before the night’s over?” I asked.
“She won’t,” Archie said. “She likes an audience too much.”
“She could always murder him .” Jake sounded almost cheerful. “I’d help.”
I snorted. “Dude, you have got to chill.”
“Fuck you, Bubba.” There went the cheer.
I took a swallow of the cold beer and just shook my head.
More people arrived. The volume picked up. Football players. Cheerleaders. That weird group from theater who somehow got the invite and were now reenacting Hamilton by the fire pit.
And still—no sign of Frankie.
The longer we waited, the tighter the knot in my chest pulled. I didn’t even know what I expected to feel when she walked in with Frenchy. Anger? Jealousy? Regret?
All of the above, probably.
I spotted Sharon laughing with Mitch. Patty was holding court near the bar. Laura was already tangled up with her new distraction. Maria and Jake were pointedly not looking at each other.
Everyone was circling. Shifting. Waiting for the spark.
Archie grabbed me a fresh beer when he got a refill. He’d sauntered right up to the bar, ignored Patty and company and drifted back. I could wish I was that cool about Sharon’s presence. But it was a challenge—we had more than one mistake milling around, dancing, or swimming.
“You ready?” he asked.
I took the bottle but didn’t drink.
“Not even close,” I said.
Because I wasn’t.
Because the moment she walked in, everything would start.
Jake
It was too hot.
The kind of sticky that made shirts cling and tempers snap. The kind of heat where every breath felt like it weighed something. It clung to my neck, coiled around my spine, made the anger feel louder in my skin.
I shouldn’t have left Frankie’s place like that.
Hell, I shouldn’t have spent the night in the first damn place. But she was Frankie. She was mine… I kept half hoping she’d remember —whatever the hell I thought she was supposed to remember. How much I cared? How long I’d waited?
Now, maybe I just wanted her to hurt like I did.
Which was bullshit. That wasn’t me. That wasn’t who I wanted to be, especially not with her.
But lately? It was easier to be angry than admit I’d screwed up.
Easier to hate Frenchy and his smug little smile and perfect pronunciation than admit I was the problem.
That I let her drift and didn’t fight hard enough to keep her close.
God, I was a cliché. A walking, talking teenage cliché with clenched fists and a bad mood.
I’d barely said two words since we got here. Bubba had taken point, as usual. Coop was trying to keep the peace. Archie was… being Archie. Smug and ridiculous and half a second from getting punched if he smirked at the wrong time.
People swam in and out of my line of sight. Party sounds blurred into each other—laughter, music, the soft splash of the pool, someone screaming about flip cup. But none of it settled.
I was too aware of the gap .
She wasn’t here yet.
That space where she would be had its own gravity, pulling all my thoughts in like a black hole. She was going to walk in, her hand in his, and I was going to feel like I had when we moved to Germany. Cut off and alone.
"Earth to Jake."
Coop’s voice dragged me back, annoyingly chipper.
“What?”
He was holding out a plate with two slices of pizza like it was a peace offering. “You’ve been glaring at the pool like it owes you money.”
I took the plate and muttered a “thanks.”
He settled beside me at the table under the awning, biting into his slice like we were just two dudes enjoying the party.
“This is good pizza,” he said, chewing. “Jeremy probably ordered from that bougie place with the wood-fired oven.”
“Pizza’s pizza.”
“That’s not true. Some pizzas are cardboard lies.”
I glanced at him. “Are you trying to distract me?”
Coop gave me a look. “Yes. Am I failing?”
A pause.
“Yeah,” I admitted.