18. Scarlett
Scarlett
T he upstairs bathroom smelled like curling irons and perfume.
Feminine. Familiar. The kind of smell that made you feel like something was about to happen—even if you didn’t know what.
Sloane stood in front of the mirror in her satin slip, applying mascara with the intense focus that could shatter worlds.
I watched her like I always had half in awe, half wondering how she never broke.
Lena, already in a sage green dress was curled up on the edge of the bed with a mason jar of wine.
The satin tie of my robe tangled in my fingers. I kept twisting it tighter. Like that would keep me from unraveling. Realizing the fact that my twenty-second birthday felt less like a celebration and more like a spotlight on everything I hadn’t figured out.
The music played low from Lena’s phone—some indie-folk song about youth slipping through your fingers—and I let myself pretend, just for a minute, that things were okay.
That tonight was just a dinner. That Trace wasn’t watching me like I might shatter.
That Alden wasn’t carrying pieces of me I don’t remember giving him.
“Wear the black one,” Sloane said, not even looking at me. “The sheer sleeves make you look like you don’t give a fuck. In a good way.”
I rolled my eyes but stood. The black one it was.
When I came out of the bathroom, the girls looked up.
“Okay, damn,” Lena said, grinning. “We love a revenge dress moment.”
I let out a little chuckle, barely, then we headed down, because what else was I going to do. Candlelight flickered in the windows like the house was holding its breath.
Lena and Sloane had gone all out—strung lights draped across the porch, wildflowers scattered down the middle of the long table, candles tucked in between mismatched plates like some Pinterest board dream. They’d whispered about it for weeks and kept brushing it off when I asked. I should’ve known.
And the boys… they showed up in the way that mattered.
Rhett poured the drinks, Kane tested the cake “for poison,” and Trace stood quiet at the end of the table like he might catch fire if he looked directly at me.
Alden, a few seats closer, one arm stretched along the back of his chair, casual in the way that always felt practiced.
But his eyes—god, his hazel eyes—kept sliding back to me.
It was beautiful.
Painfully so.
I kept my smile on as we walked down, Lena on one side, Sloane on the other, flanking me like bodyguards. Like sisters. Like pieces of a girl, I used to be.
The boys clapped as I came down, Kane whistling dramatically as I took the wine glass Rhett offered me and drank before I could second-guess it.
Dinner was perfect. Laughter rolled easy, drinks kept coming, sweet and cold, and too strong.
And beneath it all, I could feel it. The way Trace watched me from the opposite end of the table. The way Alden’s arm brushed mine when he passed the wine bottle. The way Sloane gave a little birthday toast that made me tear up without warning.
I was glowing on the outside.
And cracking underneath it.
So I drank more.
Sloane stood first, raising her glass. “Okay, I know she hates attention, but too bad.” Her voice was light, eyes glassy.
“Scarlett Monroe, you’ve been my best friend since sixth grade.
Who once made me fake cry to get out of gym class and still holds the record for most detentions in the group.
You’ve always been loyal, wild, and ten seconds from disaster— and we wouldn’t change a damn thing about you.
So happy birthday. You’re the glue. You’re the chaos.
You’re the reason this group is still this group. ”
She smiled. “Also, I’d die for you, but you already knew that.”
I blinked hard, trying not to cry. “Shut up.”
Everyone laughed—and then Lena stood. She didn’t raise her glass right away, just looked at me for a beat too long.
“I didn’t plan anything poetic,” she said with a smile.
“But I’ve watched you walk through hell and come out of it with your head high.
I think that deserves something.” Then she lifted her glass.
“To Scarlett, the most stubborn, stunning, reckless force of nature I know. May you never learn to play it safe.” We clinked glasses, and I smiled, even as something in Lenas voice lingered too long in my head.
Alden nudged my wine glass closer. “You’re glowing, Love,” he said low enough that only I could hear. “You always do that when you’re with your people.” I smiled, cheeks flushed.
And then—somewhere in the middle of a joke about Kane nearly burning down the kitchen, I caught Trace’s eyes across the table. He held my gaze for a second too long, then winked. It was casual, but I was already burning inside.