Chapter 20
Twenty
S ometime in February, I laugh.
I don’t mean to, but Kit lobbed me one of her stupidly clever observations about frat boys.
A group of them proudly wearing Greek symbols sits at a table near us in the university’s cafeteria, where we’re sipping coffees in between morning classes.
They’re loud and belligerent in a way that screams assholes .
My cackle happens naturally, and the sound is so foreign to my ears that I nearly clap a hand over my mouth.
Kit’s eyes beam satisfaction. “There she is,” she says softly.
My eyes water and I swallow the emotion. “I’m in here somewhere. At least hopefully I still am. Actually…fuck that. I’m never hoping again. Hope is dangerous.”
Kit looks like she wants to argue, but doesn’t, instead giving my hand a squeeze. “I know you’re hurting, but you’re absolutely in there. No one can take that from you. Especially not men. It’s time to rise like a motherfucking Phoenix from the ashes, babycakes.”
I blink hard; her tender words have landed right where she meant them .
She glances at the Greeks again when their guffaws echo in the space. “And torch those smug dipshits on the way up, will you? Except for that guy on the end. He’s cute .”
My lips turn up again.
Maybe I am going to get through this.