1
SAVANNAH
Lizzy’s caris in my driveway.
I stare at the beat-up Honda Civic as I pull up to the curb, my freshly manicured nails tapping against the steering wheel. That’s weird. She wasn’t supposed to come over today. I specifically told her I needed tonight with Mason. Date night. An actual effort to feel like a functioning human being instead of the cave-dwelling hermit I’ve become.
The pedicure took two hours because my feet were basically horror movie material. The manicurist kept making these little concerned noises, and I wanted to explain that when your mother dies, personal grooming becomes surprisingly low on the priority list. But I just smiled and let her work.
My hair looks good, though. Really good. Soft waves that actually cooperate for once, and I even let them talk me into highlights. Mason’s going to lose his mind when he sees me.
I grab my purse and head inside, already planning what I’ll say when I find Lizzy here. Maybe she brought wine. Although that’sunlikely since she knows I don’t drink. Well,can’tdrink. There’s a difference.
The house is quiet.
“Mason?” I call out.
Nothing.
I drop my purse on the hall table and kick off my shoes. My toes look cute. Worth the money I probably shouldn’t have spent.
Then I hear it. A sound from upstairs. Low and breathy, followed by Lizzy’s unmistakable giggle.
My feet carry me up the stairs before my brain catches up. Each step feels surreal, like I’m watching myself in a movie. This isn’t happening. There’s a perfectly reasonable explanation for why my best friend is in my house making those kinds of noises.
The bedroom door is wide open.
Mason is on the bed. On his knees. His face buried between Lizzy’s legs, but not where I’d expect. No, he’s got her flipped over, and he’s eating her ass like it’s his last meal on earth.
I stand there in horror and watch my boyfriend do something he’s never once done for me in our entire two-year relationship.
Every time I even hinted at him going down on me, he’d wrinkle his nose and change the subject. “I’m not really into that,” he said once, like oral sex was some weird fetish instead of basic intimacy.
But here he is. Face-first in my best friend’s ass. In my mother’s house.
Lizzy spots me first. Her eyes go wide, and she makes this squeaking sound. Mason pulls back, and his face is flushed, his lips wet, and I’m going to be sick.
“Savannah.” He scrambles backward. “This isn’t what it looks like.”
The laugh that comes out of me sounds deranged.
“No? Because it looks like you’re tossing my best friend’s salad in my bedroom. The bedroom in my dead mother’s house. Is that not what’s happening?”
Lizzy grabs for the sheet, her face red. “Sav, I’m so sorry. We didn’t mean?—”
I cross the room in three strides and slap Mason across the face before she finishes the sentence.
The crack echoes in the quiet room, and my palm stings. He touches his cheek, stunned, and I head straight for the closet.
His stuff is shoved in the corner. A duffel bag. Some shirts on hangers. A pair of sneakers. That’s it. That’s all he has here after a month of “staying over to help me through this difficult time.”
I yank the duffel bag out and start throwing his clothes in. The shirts come off the hangers in one sweep.
“Savannah, please.” Mason is pulling on his jeans, hopping on one foot. “Let me explain.”
“Explain what?” I throw a shoe at him. It bounces off his bare chest. “That you accidentally tripped and fell face-first into her ass?”
“You’ve been different since Isabella died.” He gets his pants zipped. “You won’t talk to me. You barely let me touch you.”
