Chapter 5 – Lena #2
"Yeah, well." She bumped her shoulder against mine. "You deserved way better."
"I know. The fun part is my brain knows that.
My body apparently missed the memo." I tucked a braid behind my ear that the breeze had blown loose.
The wind was picking up, carrying the faint char-smoke of someone grilling on a balcony somewhere down the row.
"But there's something else I've never told anyone. "
"Oh God. What?"
"End of senior year. Party at Jason Meeks' house." I rubbed my arms, goosebumps prickling under my palms. "I was leaving and Trace was there. Drunk. Really drunk. The kind of drunk where whatever they've been holding back can't stay in anymore."
Kimmy grabbed my wrist, her fingers cold. "And?"
The memory hit me full force—late May, warm, crickets screaming in the hedges and the backyard smelling like chlorine and citronella candles. He'd grabbed my arm and his eyes were glassy but so focused on me it made my breath catch, like I was the only solid thing in a spinning room.
"He told me he'd always wanted me. That it was me, not any of the other girls he'd dated." My mouth went dry. "And then he leaned in."
I pulled my knees up to my chest and wrapped my arms around them, making myself small on the step.
I could feel it even now—the warmth of his breath, the way everything slowed, his mouth so close I could smell the beer on his breath and his hand coming up to my face, thumb brushing my cheekbone until every nerve in my body went yes.
All the times I'd lingered on his laugh, all the times his hand brushed mine and I told myself it meant nothing—it all made terrifying sense.
I'd wanted him. Maybe I'd always wanted him and hadn't let myself know it.
"And?" Kimmy whispered. She hadn't let go of my wrist.
"He pulled back. Said he couldn't do that to Trevor. And walked away."
I stared at the spot where the paint had come off the railing, nothing but bare wood underneath.
I remember driving home with the windows down, the warm air whipping my hair around my face, and crying so hard I had to pull over in a CVS parking lot.
I sat there for twenty minutes with my forehead on the steering wheel.
The fluorescent lights from the store sign turned everything a flat, ugly white, and a woman with a shopping bag knocked on my window to ask if I was okay.
I'd smiled and told her I was fine. Because that's what I did. I smiled and said I was fine.
Kimmy groaned and dropped her head back, staring at the sky. "Ugh, of course. Always about his brother. What is it with those two?"
"That's just it, Kimmy." I stood up from the steps and paced the sidewalk, my boots crunching on loose gravel.
"It's always about his brother. I was collateral damage in their stupid game.
Trace was supposed to be my best friend.
The one person I trusted when everything else was falling apart.
And he chose Trevor over me. Every single time. "
Losing your best friend isn't one loss. It's reaching for your phone when something funny happens and remembering you can't text them, every time, for years.
"Okay, but Lena—" Kimmy tilted her head, her eyes narrowing, that look she got when she was putting pieces together.
"Now that I know all of this? The way he was looking at you back there makes a lot more sense.
That wasn't a guy who's over it. And the way he was dancing with you—that was not casual.
I thought it was attraction. But it's more than that, isn't it? "
Trace holding me flashed through my mind—possessive, like he was staking a claim he had no right to make. And Kimmy had watched the whole thing, grinning like she had front-row seats to the best show on campus.
Don't. Don't read into something that isn't there.
I stiffened. "It doesn't matter how he looked at me. He had his chance. Several of them, actually."
"Really?" She raised an eyebrow. "Because the look on his face when you shoved him? That was a guy who got his heart ripped out through his chest."
"Good. Now he knows how it feels."
Sharper than I meant it. Because I didn't fully mean it, and that pissed me off more than anything.
"Kimmy, if he wanted to fix it, he would have done something by now. It's been years." Three years, two months, and sixteen days. Not that I was counting.
She studied my face. "Damn. So, what are you going to do now?"
"Same thing I always do. Handle my shit.
" Mom's next treatment was scheduled for next month, and I'd promised to be there.
Tuition was due soon, and my scholarship only covered 80%.
The tennis coach had emailed again about trying out, saying my old high school records qualified me, but how could I even think about that now?
I couldn't afford to waste time on a boy who'd made his choice years ago.
"Good." She gave me a firm nod and stood up, brushing off her jeans. She held out her hand and pulled me to my feet. "And just remember, no matter what he does, you've got me. I'll drag you out of every party, stalk his Instagram to make sure he's not up to anything, whatever it takes."
I laughed despite everything, shoving her shoulder. "Thanks, Kimmy."
She winked. "Anytime, babe. Now, how about we ditch this party and go get some greasy food? I feel like pizza might be the cure for this."
"Yeah, let's do that. Pizza sounds perfect."
As we walked away from the house, I glanced back once, half-expecting to see Trace lingering in the shadows, watching. But there was nothing. Just the distant glow of the party.
Was I looking for him to avoid him, or because I wanted to see him?