“Whoa, that was so creative.” I hope she can hear the sarcasm in my voice. “Must have taken you a lot of brainstorming to come up with that one. Bitch.”
“Dick,” she says too quickly before erupting into a fit of laughter.
Most days, I want to strangle her, but she watched me shatter when my parents died, picked up the pieces, and didn’t care how long it took to glue me back together.
I place my phone on the counter once the kettle starts whistling. “How about we stay single for the rest of our lives and adopt a kid together?”
Just as she sighs, a knock on my door sends me temporarily into shock.
“Are you outside my house? Stop fucking with me,” I scold, anxiously running my hand through my hair.
“Has anyone brought to your attention that you’re extremely moody?”
Tiptoeing through the kitchen, I peek into the hallway and stare at the door.
I choose to ignore her last comment. “So, you didn’t just knock on my front door?” I whisper, biting my lip.
Static silence is all I hear.
A yelp flies out of my mouth when another knock sounds at my door, but this one is a little louder. Almost like they know I’m hiding from them in my home.
“Lily, are you okay? Why did you scream?” my best friend stresses over the line.
“They knocked again.” I place a hand to my chest.
“Is the door locked?” she says slowly, like she thinks I’m dumb.
“Yes.”
“Then what are you afraid of?”
I huff, glancing over my shoulder. “What if they break in? I can’t defend myself. Do you know me? I call you sometimes to kill spiders.” My stomach twists in knots.
Reason number five hundred of why I hate living alone: when someone knocks on my door at night whentheyshould be home.
Thea sighs, “Are you just standing there?”
I glare down at my phone, picturing pinching her. I flinch and pout when my doorbell rings. The sound waves bounce along every wall.
“I’m not telling you to open the door. Just go and spy.”
Being a big girl, I watch the door like it might fly open and hit me as I walk down the hallway. Bending down slightly, I squint one eye and peer out the peephole.
Oh.
My.
God.
Oh my God.
My phone drops, and I’m not thinking as my sweaty hands fumble to get the door unlocked. I forget all the hurt and all the unanswered questions when I see his conflicted face.
SEVEN
LILY
PAST
