Chapter Twelve
? Holly ?
The morning after prom should’ve come with a warning label.
May cause nausea, emotional instability, and a sudden desire to fake your own death.
I groaned into my pillow, which smelled faintly like expensive lavender detergent and the tears I absolutely did not cry last night.
My head pounded. My eyes burned. And every time I blinked, I saw him—a bruised cheekbone, a shattered expression, the way he’d said he was leaving like it didn’t rip something open in me.
Stupid.
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
I rolled onto my back, staring at the ceiling like it had personally wronged me.
Honestly, it might have. The fan wobbled overhead in a way that suggested imminent decapitation.
Maybe that wouldn’t be so bad. Quick. Clean.
No emotions. Prom really said, “Let’s traumatize the entire friend group and ruin your sleep schedule.
” I was mid-wallow when someone knocked once—no hesitation, no politeness—then shoved the door open.
Maria.
She looked like she’d run a marathon on zero sleep: messy bun, hoodie stretched over her growing bump, determination radiating off her in waves. “We’re going to the lake,” she announced.
I stared. “What?”
She marched straight to my closet like she owned the place (she did not) and pulled out a duffel bag. “Pack.”
“Maria, what the hell are you talking about?”
She didn’t even look at me. “Hannah’s orders.”
That gave me pause. I had met Hannah Mills only briefly at the Saints’ winter get-to-together. Dalton spoke of her like she was a deity. Mac spoke of her like she was a drill sergeant. Maria spoke of her like she was a terrifying mix of both.
“Hannah?” I repeated. “Mac and Dalton’s mom?”
“Yes.” Stuff, stuff, stuff. Clothes flying everywhere. “She saw everybody this morning and said—and I quote—‘These children need Jesus, sunlight, and forty-eight hours away from drama before I lose my religion.’ Then she threw Mac the keys to the cabin and shoved us out the door.”
I blinked. “She…threw him keys?”
Maria paused only long enough to give me a wide-eyed, meaningful look. “Holly. She hit him in the face with them.”
Holy shit. I wasn’t prepared to meet a Southern hurricane disguised as a woman.
“So this is…a family trip?” I asked warily.
“More like court-ordered emotional rehab,” Maria muttered. “We’re going.”
“We?” I repeated. “Who’s ‘we’?”
“Me, you, Mac, Diego—” She hesitated. “—and Jackson.”
My soul left my body. “Aw, that’s sweet. Pass.”
“Holly, it’s happening.”
“I’m not spending an entire weekend in a confined wooden structure with that boy.”
Maria dropped a stack of shorts into the bag, unimpressed. “He’s going.”
“I’ll stay home.”
“You can’t.”
“Watch me.”
She planted both hands on her hips. “Listen to me very carefully. You met the woman. This isn’t a suggestion. This is Hannah Mills. Mac looked her in the eye and said ‘Yes ma’am’ like she was the president.”
I choked. “What does that have to do with me?”
“She said you’re going too.”
“By name?”
Maria leveled me with a look. “Holly,” she said slowly. “She said—and again, I quote—‘Bring the blonde one too. The sharp-tongued one. That child needs rest.’”
My mouth fell open. “My tongue is not—”
Maria slowly raised her eyebrows.
“Ok,” I muttered. “Maybe a little sharp.”
“Like a machete,” she said.
I threw a sock at her. Missed. Then groaned and flopped back onto the bed.
This was a nightmare. A sun-soaked, mosquito-infested, Jackson-filled nightmare.
And the worst part? A tiny, traitorous piece of me wanted to go.
Wanted to see him. Wanted to figure out why last night felt like the ground shifting under my feet.
I looked up to find Maria stuffing my bright red bikini into my bag and groaned again.
She glanced at me, offered a cheery wink, before zipping it shut and heading for the door.
“You’ve got like, fifteen minutes. Hurry up and get ready.”
“This is a cruel and unusual punishment.”
She didn’t answer, just hummed as she shut the door behind her.
In my bathroom a few minutes later, I reapplied my mascara for the third time, then immediately scrubbed it off because I looked like someone trying too hard, then reapplied it again because I looked dead, then wiped half of it away because it clumped, then dropped the tube and said several unladylike words that would’ve made my mother faint.
Every few seconds I told myself, “You don’t care if Jackson’s there. ”
Which was hilarious, because the second I said his name—even internally—my pulse jumped like it was training for a marathon.
By the time I grabbed my duffel bag and stomped downstairs, I’d made peace with the fact that I looked…
fine. I was aiming for fine. Fine was safe.
Fine didn’t feel anything. Outside, the Mills’ massive truck took up most of our driveway.
It was one of those vehicles you could probably tow a barn with. Or an entire town.
Dalton sat in the truck bed eating Doritos and waving them around like he was conducting an orchestra.
He shoved them into a cooler that was strapped down before hopping off the tailgate when he saw me.
Mac leaned against the hood with the air of a man who had been ready to leave ten years ago.
Diego was talking to Maria in low, sweet tones. And Jackson—
He was leaning against the passenger door, arms crossed, jaw shadowed with last night’s bruises.
He looked like someone who wished he was anywhere else.
But he also smiled a little when he glanced over at Maria and Diego.
His eyes flicked over my way when he heard me.
They swept over me so quickly I almost convinced myself I’d imagined it.
“About time,” he said, pushing off the door.
“Could say the same,” I shot back. “You look like you slept in a ditch.”
Dalton hooted from the truck bed. “He basically did! Their AC broke again last night.”
Jackson flipped him off without breaking eye contact with me. Typical.
Maria tugged on my sleeve. “You ready?”
“As I’ll ever be,” I muttered.
Mac jerked a thumb toward the truck. “Let’s go. Mom said if we weren’t out of the driveway by nine, she’d ‘light a fire under all our asses.’ I don’t want to find out what that means.”
We piled in. Or tried to. The truck was not meant for four football players, a pregnant girl, and me with my stress aura taking up half the available oxygen.
Dalton slid into the back seat behind Mac, who was driving.
Diego shoved himself into the middle of the front seat, that tiny little part every truck seemed to have that they definitely shouldn’t.
Maria climbed in next and sat half on Diego, half on thin air.
That left me smashed against the right door in the back, Jackson trapped between me and Dalton, his forearm brushing my arm every time we hit a bump. Perfect. Amazing. Love that for me.
“Move,” Jackson muttered.
“I can’t,” I hissed. “I have no leg room.”
“Maybe try having smaller thighs.”
I glared at him. “Maybe try having less of an ego.”
Dalton cackled so loudly, Mac turned the radio up to drown him out.
Maria reached back and squeezed my hand like she was telling me to behave.
As if that ever worked. The drive took forever.
Trees blurred past in a green smear, the early summer sunlight slanting through the windshield.
Diego kept up a steady stream of chatter with Maria, trying not to stare at her too obviously.
Dalton was halfway out the window yelling at cows.
Mac was muttering under his breath about “damn kids” like he was forty-seven and not twenty.
And Jackson just stared out the window, jaw tight, tapping his thumb against his knee like he was trying not to feel the way our arms kept brushing.
Every time it happened, the air between us tensed—sharp, bright, almost painful. Like a spark without a flame. Yet.
I hated it. I hated him. I hated how I didn’t hate any of it.
We turned down the long gravel road that led to the Mills’ cabin. I didn’t know what to expect, but it definitely wasn’t the stunning two-story lake house tucked under towering pines, the water shimmering like glass behind it.
I stopped when I got out the truck, staring. “Holy shit,” I breathed.
Dalton walked past me. “Right? Told you it was awesome.”
“I didn’t know you had…this,” I said.
“Correction,” he said. “Mom has this. And by extension, we have this. Which means now you have this too, temporarily. As in, don’t get too attached.”
I rolled my eyes and dragged my bag inside.
Maria froze halfway through the doorway, blinking rapidly. “It’s so…clean.”
Mac snorted. “It’s a cabin, not a hospital. Relax.”
“Cabins can be dirty,” Maria whispered like she was confessing a felony.
“Everything’s dirty to you, you germ goblin,” Dalton said.
Maria ignored him and walked straight toward the glass doors overlooking the lake. I could practically see the thought form in her head before she said it. “We should go swimming.”
Diego perked up immediately. “Now?”
“Yes,” she said with complete conviction.
“But we just got here,” Mac said.
Maria didn’t blink. “And?”
I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Maria, honey, you’re pregnant. Maybe just let’s get settled first—”
She turned, hands on her hips, looking absolutely ready to fight me. “I am pregnant, not made of porcelain. It’s a lake. I want to swim before the boys turn it into testosterone soup.”
Dalton threw his shirt at her. “You wound me.”
“You deserve it,” she fired back.
Jackson had wandered out onto the deck, leaning on the railing, staring at the water with a look I couldn’t place. Something soft. Something tired. My stomach tightened.
Maria nudged me. “Let’s go get changed.”
“I don’t want to—” I trailed off because even I didn’t know how to finish that sentence. Also, because I was still staring at Jackson and multi-tasking had never been a skill of mine.