Chapter Twenty-Two
On Thursday afternoon, my father stopped me as I was headed out the door—I had gone home to change into a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, and hadn’t expected my parents to be home. “I didn’t hear Andy pull in,” he said from his spot on the sunken sofa.
“He’s not here,” I said quickly. He leaned forward, eyes narrowing. “I have other friends I hang out with, Dad.” He lifted an eyebrow in question, but seemed to let it go.
When I rolled into August’s driveway, he was already waiting outside. Before I even cut the engine, he’d swung the door open. His hand brushed mine as I climbed out, and I felt a warmth spread through my chest.
“Hi.” I beamed at him.
“Hi,” he echoed, drawing me close. He buried his nose in my long hair and inhaled deeply. His arms wound tighter around me, pressing me against his lean form. My heartbeat thumped against his in tandem.
August always smelled clean in a way that was distinctly masculine, but today his hair and clothes still carried the scent of the rain that had been pouring all week. I wanted to drown in it.
“I’ve missed you.” His words were muffled against my head but drilled right into my heart.
“I missed you,” I breathed, my arms tightening around his waist.
“Everyone’s inside.” He leaned around me to pull my bag from the passenger seat, then looped his heavily ringed fingers through mine to lead me toward the house, his thumb stroking the back of my hand.
As soon as we crossed the threshold, he dropped the contact, and a chill rushed through me at the sudden gap between us. Penelope, Angelica, and Morgan sat on the couch, braiding colorful cords together. Ben and Wyatt were on the floor, game controllers in hand as Wyatt shouted at the TV.
“Do you want something to eat?” August asked, nodding at the coffee table, strewn with pizza boxes and soda bottles.
I shook my head and offered a polite smile.
He gave my shoulder a quick squeeze, then patted the empty chair beside the sofa.
I sat, and he sank to the floor in front of me, leaning back against my knees then looked up at me with a grin so soft it made my heart skip.
I spread my legs to make room and pressed my thighs around his shoulders.
The feeling of his fingers wrapping around my ankle nearly startled me.
“That cardigan is killer,” Penelope admired from the far end of the couch.
I glanced down at the dark green knit trimmed with brown fur. “Thanks. I added the collar myself,” I admitted, surprise dancing in my throat. Only Emily knew my thrift-store sewing habit.
“That’s so cool! I always struggle with fur. My machine is a wimp,” Penelope said, her attention still focused on the green and gold bracelet she was weaving.
“I use an upholstery needle by hand. I can show you,” I offered before I could second-guess myself.
An image of Emily tracing delicate fingers over my mother’s sewing machine flashes through my mind, and the offer suddenly feels like Judas’s kiss, but Penelope was already nodding enthusiastically before I could take it back.
“Pen’s going to school for fashion,” August informed me over his shoulder.
My brows raised, impressed. “Where at?”
“State,” she said enthusiastically.
“That’s where Jack wants to go,” I said, feeling that guilt turn in my stomach again.
Penelope’s smile dipped. “Great,” she said flatly.
“He’s taking a gap year, so you probably won’t see him much,” I added. I felt bad for Jack having to stay home an extra year while his father died, but I was selfishly grateful I wouldn’t have to hear Emily talk about the two of them going to school together.
“Did you bring a record?” August asked, pulling the vinyl sleeve from my tote.
“Oh, yeah. I saw you had a player the other day. I thought we could listen to it. Seems sacrilegious that Stevie Nicks is one of my favorite artists and I’ve never heard her on vinyl.”
Angelica leaned over, plucked the case from his hands, and carried it to the credenza holding the turntable.
“I knew you were a badass when you crashed our DND night with your Barbie, but you really sealed the deal for me when you bought this the other day.” She dropped the record on the spinner, set the needle, and a fuzzy static crackled through the speaker before the music bloomed.
Angelica nodded her perfect ringlets in time to the beat.
Penelope bent over Ben’s controller and paused their game with a tap.
“Hey!” Wyatt protested.
“Dance with me,” Penelope ordered, dragging Ben up. He looked surprised but didn’t resist. Morgan leapt to her feet and bumped hips with Angelica, laughter tumbling from her.
I tapped August’s shoulder and he leaned forward so I could stand. I crossed the room and offered my hand to Wyatt, who glared up at me with beady eyes.
“You can’t hate me forever,” I teased.
“Not forever, just long enough for you to get bored of the attention August gives you so I don’t have to see you anymore.”
I leaned close, the tip of my nose almost touching his. “Well, I’m always going to be a slut for attention, Wyatt, so you might as well dance with me. I’ll even take my heels off so we’re the same height.”
He glanced at August, terrified, but August just shrugged and smiled at him. “I find it’s usually worth it if you just do what she wants.”
Wyatt was stiff at first, but by the second track, he had managed to stop stepping on my toes, though his hands never touched anything but my own.
A few minutes later, my lace-trimmed socks slid across the hardwood as Wyatt spun me outward.
Under his breath, he laughed despite himself.
I stumbled forward and August caught me at the waist, steadying me with gentle strength.
His palm settled over mine, his other hand landing on the small of my back.
He rocked us back and forth, as we stepped in a circle, his smile so bright I wanted to stay there in the light of it until I’d memorized the shape of each of his teeth.
“I wish I could take you to formal,” he murmured so only I could hear.
“You’d get dressed up for me?” I asked, fighting the small ache in my chest.
His brows drew together. “Have I not been clear in my intentions to do whatever you ask of me?”
“Maybe not clear enough,” I challenged, lifting my chin.
He leaned in close, his breath warm against my ear. “Are you going to command me to go, or are you expecting that I ask you with roses and everything?”
My cheeks flamed. He’d heard the conversation I’d had with Andy in the cafeteria. “Does it matter?” I whispered.
He pulled back just enough to flash a smirk. “No. I’d comply either way, but one is more realistic than the other.”
“Which one?” I asked dryly.
He smiled again, long canines catching the light. “The roses, of course.”
“It’s a month away. You might get bored of me by then,” I joked, softening my voice. August stilled, his expression turning serious.
“Don’t say that.” His tone was pleading. “We don’t have to…do what we did the other night again. You can draw boundaries anywhere you want with me, Sin. But please don’t say there’s some version of us that aren’t friends.”
“August…” I breathed.
“I know we graduate in a few months and we’ll both head off to college, but you promised we’d stay honest no matter how long we went without speaking. I want to always think of you as my friend, Lola.”
The way he said my name, strained and serious, sent a thrill through me, and I pressed my hips tighter to his. “Me too.”
His smile returned, but he looked away, scanning the room.
“My sister’s been in the bathroom a while. Would you mind checking on her?” he asked quietly. I hadn’t even noticed she’d slipped away. “It’s upstairs, to the left.” His fingers brushed mine, and I climbed the stairs, the soft echo of Stevie Nicks following me through the house.
I heard Morgan heaving before I even reached the top of the stairs. I knocked softly, the sound muted in the narrow hallway. “Morgan? Are you okay?” I asked, voice low.
“I’m fine.” Her words trembled through the door, edged with panic over the abrupt flushing of the toilet.
I leaned against the wall, listening to the frantic rattling of a toothbrush in her haste.
After a moment, the door creaked open. She stood there, blonde strands plastered to her cheeks with sweat, eyes wide like I wasn’t the person she was expecting.
“You okay?” I repeated, stepping into the bathroom. The strong scent of floral air freshener mingled with minty toothpaste.
She forced a bright smile and nodded. “Just had a bit too much pizza.” Her cheeks glowed pink under the harsh overhead light.
She turned to leave, but froze mid-step when I asked quietly, “How many is too many?”
Her back stiffened. Slowly she swung around, the glossy surface of the mirror reflecting her too-bright expression. “What do you mean?” she laughed, though the sound trembled.
“Your brother seems to think we have something in common. I’m guessing that’s why he sent me up here.” I gestured toward the door, heart pounding in my throat.
Her lips parted in a little “O,” and her eyes flicked between me and the hallway.
Silence stretched so long I could hear my own pulse.
Finally I said, “You want to show me your room? If I don’t spend at least a few minutes up there, he’s going to think I’m lying for you—and we kind of have a thing about not lying to each other. ”
Her shoulders sagged. She led me down the narrow corridor, the carpet soft underfoot, until she reached a door plastered with glittery animal stickers—tiny giraffes and zebras that caught the light. “These are from when I was little,” she murmured, her cheeks flushing.
“Cute,” I said, following her through the doorway.
A faint smell of fabric softener drifted out.
Inside, the walls were painted robin’s-egg blue.
A white wooden bed stood against one wall, its duvet covered in pastel butterflies.
A giant purple beanbag chair slumped in the corner, its plush cover slightly faded.
It looked lived-in—clothes draped over the dresser, a half-open jewelry box, headphones tangled in a messy knot.
She stood at the foot of the bed, arms wrapped around her ribs, as I walked around, fingertips grazing the smooth surface of her dresser.
Random tubes of makeup lay scattered: lip gloss, mascara, a broken eyeshadow palette.
Too much makeup for a girl I’d never seen wear any.
I picked up a bottle of pale pink nail polish and held it up to her reflection in the oval mirror.
“You should start using this,” I said softly.
“Being malnourished turns your nails yellow.”
She blinked as if I’d just handed her a winning lottery ticket. “Is that why you always have yours done?” she asked, voice small.
I shook my head without looking away from the mirror. “I don’t have an eating disorder.”
Her head tilted sideways, and for a moment she looked exactly like her brother. “August just assumes I do, because…” I trailed off, gesturing toward my boney frame.
“How do you stay so thin?” she whispered, and it sounded painful.
“My parents forget to feed me.” I shrugged and resumed rifling through her makeup, the plastic tubes cool and slick under my fingertips.
“Oh.” She swallowed, then hesitated. “What do you mean they forget?”
I didn’t look up, remaining calm as if I were describing the weather. “They’re regulars at The Grill. I’m rarely home, so they don’t buy a lot of groceries. My dad gives me money for school lunches, but I’ve been saving it for college.”
She stared at me, silence weighing between us. I picked up a stick of concealer—too warm a shade—and tapped it against my palm before holding it out. “You’ll want one with a cooler under tone to hide the yellow in your face.”
Her gaze drifted to her own reflection. I pointed to the corners of my mouth, then to the inner rims of my eyes. “Here,” I said. “And here.” My voice was gentle.
She nodded, lips pressed together.
“Ready to go back down?” I asked, turning to her.
She exhaled, a soft whoosh. “Yeah,” she breathed, still looking dazed.
“Do me a favor?” I said as we stepped into the hallway. She paused. “Don’t tell your brother what I told you.”
“I thought you had a thing about being honest.” Her eyes narrowed.
I kept my tone even. “I’m not lying to him. We just haven’t talked about it yet.”
Her brow furrowed. “Do you care about him?”
The question twisted something inside me. “More than anything,” I admitted.
“What about your boyfriend?” Her voice sharpened with sisterly protectiveness.
“I don’t care about them in the same way, Morgan.” The words felt strange on my tongue.
She nodded as if she accepted the answer, though her eyes remained wary. We walked down the stairs, each step creaking under our weight.
All the way, a dark little voice hissed in my mind: Liar. Liar. Liar.