Chapter 3
DOOR NUMBER TWO WAS A ZONK
Sera
The sun streaming through my childhood bedroom window wakes me before my alarm.
I stretch, grab my phone from the nightstand, and squint at the time.
We don’t have to leave for the airport for a few more hours, so I roll out of bed, lazily shower, and get dressed.
I don my coziest black leggings, anticipating the discomfort I’ll have to endure being crammed in coach—thank you, Thane—and pull a loose tank over my head.
Although my hair is on day two of being dirty, I decide to wait until tomorrow to wash it.
After all, Amethyst Lake will be beckoning the moment I arrive, and jumping off the dock fully clothed is tradition.
I lean on the bathroom counter and meticulously paint on a subtle shade of purple eye shadow that brings out the minuscule amount of green in my deep brown eyes, followed by eyeliner and one coat of waterproof mascara.
I run a brush through my dark hair and smooth it into a perfect Tinkerbell bun.
I apply my signature red lipstick, step back, and smile in satisfaction.
The excitement of the trip washes over me—until I remember the weight this week holds.
It has been a few years since the Donnellys and the Spencers have all been together for our annual Independence Day trip to South Carolina.
After Sebastian left for Secret Service training and Thane left town in the middle of the night, things haven’t been the same at Amethyst Lake.
Two of the Three Musketeers had moved on to greener pastures, and because I was about to start my senior year of high school, I stayed behind. Alone.
The memory of that first summer without Thane and Bash hung thick in the air around me like steam from a long, hot shower.
I had done my best to stay busy and find friends on the beach, but the loneliness that filled the quiet spaces rested heavy on my heart.
I spent a lot of time reading books in the hammock, trying to distract myself from their absence, but the best novels in the world would never have been enough.
After that year, I never went back. I graduated high school, went to culinary school, and moved to the city. It wasn’t that I was too busy to take a week off and go, but the reminders of what had been were too much.
The only reason I agreed to come this year, though, was for closure.
I couldn’t move on from one chapter of my life without turning the page on this one, but I convinced myself it was to get over Bradley.
For whatever reason, my mom was more insistent about me coming, and after my run-in with Thane, now I know why.
He’s back in town—for how long, I don’t know.
But there’s one thing for certain: I will lock my heart up like Fort Knox before I’ll let him hurt me again.
I heave my suitcase down the stairs and into a strangely quiet house. The luggage I expect to see by the front door is missing, and the faint smell of coffee lingers in the air, but it doesn’t smell freshly brewed. I set my suitcase by the door and wander toward the kitchen.
“Mom? Dad?” I yell through the house, only to have my voice echo off the marble countertops without reply. “Mama?” I shout again for good measure.
Out of the corner of my eye, a note on my mom’s pink stationery catches my attention. I pick it up and begin reading aloud.
Serafina,
After a long talk with Vivian, she and I decided that neither of you would be getting the first-class seat.
Instead of putting you both in coach, we found a more suitable solution.
On the counter is a set of keys. We have rented you and Thane a car to drive to South Carolina this year, and expect that the twelve-hour trip should give you plenty of time to work out whatever issues you two have between you.
You need to be amiable to each other for the next ten days, and we will not have this vacation ruined by your petty fights and bickering.
Vivian and I are tired of seeing our children not getting along, and felt like this would be a great opportunity for you to talk things over.
Life is short; use this time wisely. See you in South Carolina.
Love, Mama
I’m frozen in place. I reread the note again and again, just to make sure I’m not dreaming—no, living a nightmare.
It’s bad enough that I’m going to have to exist under the same roof with him for the next ten days, but being forced to sit in an enclosed car next to Thane for twelve hours?
A wave of panic crashes over me, and I tear the letter into a thousand pieces before dropping them in the trash.
Tears sting my eyes as the hurt he gave me years ago rips open the scarred seams of my heart.
This can’t be happening, I think to myself as I grab the keys from the countertop and run outside. Sitting in the driveway is the most ridiculous rental car I have ever seen.
“A Fiat? Really, Mom?” I hiss as I wander over to inspect the tiny red car. It looks more like a Coke can than an automobile. I walk around it in about three seconds, taking in the amount of cargo space and seating. I shake my head and laugh in disbelief. “Might as well have been a clown car.”
“My thoughts exactly,” Thane replies behind me, tossing his duffle bag onto the cement by the trunk.
I startle. “Make some noise when you approach someone! You’re lucky I didn’t punch your lights out!”
His low laugh perks up my insides and grates on my last nerve. “You’re a lot of things, Pigeon, but a boxer isn’t one of them.”
I glare at him, hands on hips, staring him down until one of us breaks eye contact.
“Don’t call me ‘Pigeon.’”
“Your middle name literally means pigeon in Spanish. Paloma…” he drags out the syllables.
“So does that mean I get to call you ‘Jimmy,’ then? James…” I over-emphasize his middle name right back at him, though the effect falls flat.
He raises an eyebrow at my terrible comeback. “You can call me whatever you want.”
“Oh, I’ve got several things I’d like to call you.”
A cocky smile spreads across his face, and it stirs a whole slew of ingredients inside me.
Most of them create a recipe for disaster, but one or two of them—the most dangerous of them—bubble up from deep down.
I don’t like it. At all. I have to keep him farther than arm’s length, so I set a hard boundary right out the gate.
“And don’t call me ‘Fina’ either.”
“But I’ve always called you that,” he argues.
“Back when we were close, sure. But not anymore.”
He frowns as he studies my face. The stubborn will to win any competition we have between us fades, and something real forces its way into the conversation.
“I’m not sure I can break that habit,” he says softly as his eyes burrow into mine.
My heart stumbles off its normal rhythm, and I hold my breath to reset it.
My feet grow heavy and begin to melt into a puddle of goo, and I worry my legs and arms will follow suit.
I straighten my shoulders to counteract the gooey feet.
I will not allow Thane to get to me. Yet, if I’m being completely honest with myself, he has just dusted off the old space inside where he’s lived all these years.
Everything is still in its place—the furniture under canvas drapes and the piano gathering cobwebs—but it’s there, just the way he left it.
In the months after he disappeared from my life, I never left that space.
I wallowed on the settee like a damsel with a case of melancholy.
I wandered from window to window, staring for hours at nothing.
I sat at the piano, too hurt to play anything but songs dripping with sadness.
But as time rolled forward, I forced myself to block out the sunshine that lit up those windows.
I forced myself to cover everything that reminded me of him—the settee, the piano—then I roped off that part of my heart and refused to walk past it again.
I wanted to set the whole thing on fire, destroying my feelings for him once and for all, but I could never bring myself to do it.
I stood on the edge of that decision with a lit match in my hand more than once, but the only thing I ever had to show for it was burnt fingers.
Thane will always have a place in my heart, but I’ll go to my stubborn grave before I admit it to anyone.
As quickly as his vulnerability appears, it’s gone, his mask set firmly back in place. “Besides, I live to irritate you, Pigeon, so the nicknames stay.”
I exhale loudly, forcing away old feelings. “You’re exasperating, you know that?”
“Only to you,” he replies.
I turn my focus to the tin can car in the driveway.
“Apparently our moms have a vendetta against us.”
Thane holds up his mom’s handwritten note. “I even got a very strongly worded letter,” he says with a laugh.
“I got one of those too, but it’s shredded in the trash.”
“You’re madder about this than I am, it seems,” he says, leaning against the car.
“Of course I’m mad! This is all your fault!” His stupid grin does nothing but piss me off further. “And you think this is funny? I wasn’t even going to come this week, but my parents acted like it was life or death. Had I known it was because you were coming, I’d have stayed in the city.”
“Ouch,” he says, feigning a wounded chest. “I thought we were friends.”
“We were, once. And now I’m stuck driving in a pocket-sized death trap with The Master of Disaster for the next twelve hours!” My heart morphs from its clumsy stumble to a full-on gallop, and my chest heaves to keep up with it.
He laughs. “Master of Disaster? Really?” He circles the passenger side and peers through the windshield. “Besides, it’s not ‘pocket-sized,’ it’s… fun-sized. Like you!” He punctuates his insult by booping my nose, and I want to tear off his arm and beat him with it.
“It’s smaller than a seat in coach would’ve been,” I mumble.
“Then maybe you should’ve taken the deal. Door number two was a Zonk.”