My heart falters, and I feel like I can’t breathe. With clammy hands, I pick up the phone, peering at the screen, convinced I’ve got it wrong.
But I haven’t.
K.S
You have to be fucking kidding me.
There’s no doubt in my mind who the contact stands for.
Kevin Slater.
I hold up another knitted sweatshirt, and Cam shakes his head at me.
“Mae, Florida has highs of about eighty-eight degrees. I doubt you’re going to need a case full of sweaters.”
I’m not leaving yet, but like the good big brother Cam is, he’s helping me sort through my clothes while our mom is out with some friends.
I wasn’t even aware she had friends, to be honest.
“Ew,” he squeals like a little girl, throwing an item of clothing onto my lap. “What the hell arethey?”
“They’re hot pants, Cam.” I ping them onto his face, and he leaps up as if I’ve thrown a snake at him.
“I never ever want to imagine you wearing them. That’s disgusting.”
Cam and I don’t get to spend too much time together, and I’m definitely going to miss him when I move. He’s promised to come and visit, but I know how busy he is.
He did specify he’s never been with a woman from Florida, though, and that the idea tempts him. He was kidding, but there was a kernel of truth to his words.
We laugh, but again, I’m holding back. It’s a facade because, deep down, I don’t feel like laughing at all. I don’t feel like packing my suitcase. And I certainly don’t feel like pretending everything is okay right now. Because it’s far from it.
Sophia… it was her. I trusted her. I thought we were friends. I don’t trust easily, and this is a massive reminder of why. People will often chew you up and spit you out, keeping you around until it no longer benefits them.
I keep thinking this isn’t real. That it’s some big misunderstanding.
But I’m not stupid. I saw the texts. This was premeditated. Planned. Sophia’s a fake, and I wasted so much time with her.
My phoney smile fades when Cam reaches into my drawer and pulls out an item of clothing. His face immediately drops. He holds it up, his white fingers gripping the red and white fabric.
My throat constricts.
The jersey.
The jersey with Nathan’s name on the back.
My heart sinks, and I know I’ve gone as white as a ghost.
“Mae,” Cam says slowly, teeth gritted. “What is this?”
I don’t know what to say. My mouth is opening and closing like a fish gasping for breath. I’d completely forgotten the jersey was even in there.
My brother looks at me with betrayal, eyebrows tugging together. He drops the jersey, pushing it away from him as if it’s poisonous. His fingers are running through his hair, gripping at the brunette strands. “No, no, no. Tell me you’re not fucking Nathan Slater, Mae. Please.”
I stay silent, my face blank.
“You can’t, can you?” Cam growls, standing. “Oh my God, you’re fucking him. What the hell, Mae? What the fuck is wrong with you?”
“Nothing is wrong with me.” I also clamber to my feet. “It’s over between him and I anyway.”
