Chapter 34
It’s Sunday morning and the house is quiet except for the sound of the treadmill beneath my feet. I’m down in the basement gym, pounding out my second mile. Everyone else is still asleep.
Good. I don’t want to see her. Not after last night.
She cried again. And yeah, it was my fault, again, but this time she deserved it. At least, that’s what I tell myself.
The treadmill slows beneath me as I come down from the run, sweat clinging to my skin like guilt. I hop off and grab a towel, trying to cool the fire still smoldering in my chest.
I head upstairs and when I walk into the kitchen, Morella’s pulling a bottle of orange juice from the fridge. Her back is to me.
“Morning, Pongo,” she says flatly. Her voice is stiff but the jab lands. She’s mad. But she joked, so maybe not that mad.
“Where’s your little friend?” I ask, venom on my tongue before I can stop it.
She doesn’t look at me. “She’s at home. She didn’t want to spend the night.”
“Good. I—”
“No.”
Her voice slams into me like a whip crack.
“Not good, Rafe.”
She spins around and slams the orange juice onto the counter so hard the bottle shakes and foams over. Her hands are trembling.
Silas appears in the doorway, poking his head into the room to find the source of the shouting.
“You have no idea what you were talking about last night,” Morella says, her voice barely holding itself together.
“I saw the messages!” I shout. “She’s been stringing Silas along this whole time!”
Archer joins the threshold now, arms folded, face composed.
“Is that what you read?” Morella asks. Her voice is sharp. “Did she admit to stringing him along?”
“No, but she didn’t have to. I saw everything!”
“You have no idea what you saw, Rafe!” she yells. Her hands fly into the air and then she turns and hurls her glass at me. It shatters into pieces, the sound ripping through the kitchen like a warning shot.
The guys flinch and so do I.
She’s shaking. Not a little but violently. “You know nothing.”
She starts walking toward me. Her robe sways behind her. Her eyes don’t leave mine. She's smaller than me by more than a foot, but I feel like prey. My stomach drops.
“Evan,” she spits. “Yeah, Evan’s her best friend. From California. And Monday? That was their birthday.”
She’s chest to chest with me now, and I feel every word like a blade slipping beneath my ribs. I open my mouth, desperate to say something, but she lifts her hand to silence me. I shut my mouth.
“She hasn’t spent a birthday without him in almost eighteen years. They always celebrate together. He called her at 9 to celebrate midnight her time. They stayed on the phone so she could celebrate him at midnight his time.”
Her voice breaks, but she keeps going.
“They were grieving the distance. They were doing the best they could. And you—” she jabs her finger into my chest, “you made her feel like absolute shit for being a good friend.”
She’s crying now, furious and broken.
“And why? Because Maddison told you to? Of all people, Rafe—Maddison? That’s who you chose to believe?”
I can't look at her. I feel myself shrink, like I’ve just done something unspeakable and realized it too late.
“I am done with this conversation. And I am done with you,” she spits, “until you apologize. Because how dare you.”
She spins on her heel, robe billowing like a curtain closing over the wreckage she’s left behind, and disappears without another word.
The silence that follows is unbearable. I run a hand through my damp hair, heart pounding. Her words echo in my head on repeat: It was her birthday.
Behind me, Silas sinks down against the wall, sliding until he’s sitting on the floor. His face is pale. His voice cracks when he speaks.
“No wonder she was so off,” he whispers. “It was her birthday… and we did nothing.”
I turn to look at him. He’s staring at the floor, his face crumpled in defeat. He looks seconds from crying.
Archer’s still standing there, arms crossed. Watching me. His expression is disappointment rather than anger. I can tell his thoughts mirror my own.
God help me… I think I owe Liv an apology.