She opens her mouth to speak when someone calls my name.
“Max!” We both instantly freeze, gazes darting to the open door.
“Was that…” Gemma breathes, dread written all over her face.
“I think so,” I whisper, my throat suddenly dry.
Loud footsteps fall down the hall. With every approaching step, my heartbeat thunders in my ears. We both jolt upright. My arm tightens around Gemma protectively.
Gemma stills in my hold as Anna strides past the doorway. She takes three steps before she falters. She steps back and does a double take when she surveys the scene before her.
Gemma and me, naked in the bath together, my arms around her.
“I tried to call,” Anna says. Then she says nothing. She just glares through both of us, betrayal etched in her eyes, the color drained from her face.
The silence is worse than any shouting could be.
“Anna,” Gemma says, her voice breaking.
“Fuck this,” Anna finally says, turning and stomping toward the front door.
A sob tears from Gemma’s throat.
“Anna, wait!” I say, quickly standing and reaching for a towel.
I don’t even bother to dry myself, bubbles cascading down my body and dripping onto the floor.
My sole focus is on stopping her so I have the chance to explain. Explain what Gemma means to me—that IloveGemma.
I chase after Anna, feet slapping against the hardwood. Water sloshes behind me as, I assume, Gemma gets out of the bath.
“Anna!” I call again, catching her just before she reaches the foyer. “Please. Don’t go! Just let me explain.”
I run a hand through my damp hair, pushing it out of my eyes.
Anna whirls around, her expression stony. Hurt. Eyes red, her cheeks tear-streaked.
She looks fucking devastated.
It feels like I’ve torn stitches. My little sister—who I’ve protected her whole life—is staring at me like I’ve committed the worst betrayal.
“Explainwhat?” she spits. “That you’re screwing mybest friend!? AGAIN!”
“Anna, please,” Gemma says, rushing after us. My dressing gown is cinched at her small waist and damp patches seep through the woolen fabric.
“This isn’t—” she starts, then stops herself. “We didn’t mean for you to find out like this.” She reaches toward Anna.
“Don’t even think about touching me,” Anna says.
Gemma’s hand falls limply to her side. Her lip trembles as she pulls in a shuddering breath.
Anna’s eyes bounce between us. “How long?”
We stand, frozen.
“HOW LONG?” Her voice ricochets through the room like a slingshot. Gemma startles.
“Five weeks,” I say, keeping my voice as steady as possible.
