A cruel twist in the story where I finally got what I wanted, only to realize I never wanted it likethis.
He caught me staring. Just for a second. His eyes lingered, like he didn’t know whether to sneer or speak. But then his friend—some girl in a pale blue dress—said something to him, and he laughed and turned away.
I didn’t breathe for a full five seconds.
Charlotte clapped her hands when the song ended, eyes watery and shining as if she’d been dreaming of this day forever. “My boys,” she said, reaching for both of us. “I want a dance with my boys.”
She didn’t mean to make it hard. But it was.
Tru stepped forward first and offered her his hand, ever the gentleman. I let him lead her to the floor. Watched as she twirled under his arm, her laughter like music.
My chest burned in a way I couldn’t explain.
When it was my turn, she held out her hands to me, smiling with eyes that meantyou’re mine too.I took her in my arms likeI had when I was little and thought she hung the stars. And I wished—more than I wanted to admit—that this could be enough. Thatshecould be the one person I let love me. That it could be her and me, and no one else. No father. No Tru.
She doesn’t deserve to be stuck with my father. She’s so much better than him.
Charlotte smoothed the back of my hair. “You okay, baby?”
I nodded and looked over her shoulder, right at him. Of course, he was watching. I closed my eyes and led her around the dance floor as the music swirled. In my sixteen long and miserable years, she was the only person who ever made me feel like I wasn’t broken beyond repair.
The dance ended too soon. Charlotte kissed my cheek and whispered, “I’m proud of you,” before disappearing into a sea of relatives and wine glasses. The music changed to something fast and flirty. I backed away from the dance floor and slipped toward the hallway by the bathrooms, where the lights were dimmer, the noise softer.
I needed a minute. But fate never gives you minutes. It gives you him.
Tru rounded the corner at the same time I did. We both froze as if we’d been caught doing something wrong.
He looked good. Annoyingly good. Hair curled at the ends from sweat or water or whatever, cheeks pink, lips parted like he’d just said something he regretted. His tie was a little crooked, his collar wrinkled. I wanted to hate how right he looked in that stupid suit, how grown up he seemed all of a sudden. The version of him I’d missed had finally evolved into something I didn’t recognize.
“You following me now?” I asked.
“Don’t flatter yourself.”
“Not trying to.” I leaned against the wall, folding my arms, and tried to pretend my pulse wasn’t slamming against my throat. “You just always seem to show up when I least want to see you.”
His jaw flexed. “That makes two of us.”
We stood there, breathing too hard for two people doing absolutely nothing.
“Why do you always look at me like that?” he asked, voice low. “Like I did something unforgivable.”
“You did,” I said. “You turned me into someone I hate.”
His mouth parted, but no sound came out. A flicker of hurt crossed his face. It gutted me more than I’d admit. Then heels clicked on the floor.
Lauren.
She appeared like smoke. Perfect dress, perfect hair, perfect fucking timing.
“There you are,” she chirped, slipping her hand around my bicep. “I’ve been looking all over for you. They’re about to cut the cake.”
I didn’t look at Tru again. I couldn’t. Not with her right there, close enough to smell her perfume, close enough to feel the threat of what I wanted thudding through me, steady and relentless, a rhythm I couldn’t silence.
“Let’s go, babe,” I muttered, letting her pull me back toward the party.
But as we turned the corner, I swore I could feel his starebore through my back, and I’d carry the burn the rest of the night.
The ballroom noise swelled around me. I slipped into the chair beside my brother just as Dad launched into some long-winded spiel about partnerships and the “future of the firm.”
