The drive to the school to drop off Paige’s uniform is a blur and from there, I just keep going. No destination, no plan.
Two hours later, I’m still driving, my thoughts looping like a broken record.
I’m not angry that Erin slept with Pete. Not really. I don’t want him. I haven’t for a long time. What cuts me open isher—the betrayal, the bitterness, the envy that’s apparently been festering for years.
All this time, she’s smiled at me, laughed with me, pretended to have my back all while despising me. And now I see it. Every memory, every inside joke, every “you’ve got this” over a bottle of wine…tainted.
It’s not Pete I’ve lost.
It’s her.
And that loss hurts far more than I ever expected it would.
34
SAM
I’ve been sitting on Olivia’s front step for over an hour, elbows to my knees, head in my hands, my fingers gripping my hair so tight my scalp burns. She was supposed to meet me for breakfast. Hours ago. She hasn’t answered a single call or text.
Every dark thought possible has crossed my mind. An accident. Something with Paige or Drew. Something with her ex. I can’t take it anymore.
The sound of her car pulling into the driveway makes my heart lurch. Relief and anger collide like a punch to the gut. Before she even kills the engine, I’m at her door, yanking it open, unbuckling her seatbelt.
“Jesus Christ.” I flinch, not recognizing my rough scrape of my voice, most probably from too much worry. I pull her into my arms, crushing her against me. “Thank fuck you’re okay.”
She melts into me, her arms wrapping tight around my shoulders, her face pressing into my neck. The scent of her—warm, familiar, home—soothes me, even as my pulse still hammers.
“I’m okay. I’m so sorry.” Her lips brush my skin.
I exhale shakily, still gripping her. The fear’s fading, but in its place is frustration. I pull back, my hands cupping her face, scanning her expression for any sign of what the hell happened.
“Where were you, Liv? I called you a dozen times. I texted.”
Her eyes dart away. “I…”
The hesitation in that single word tells me whatever’s coming isn’t good.
All of it tumbles out of her. Paige’s last-minute stunt, running into Erin, then Pete. The words tumble out in pieces, but I catch enough to piece together the picture. I listen, silent, jaw tight, as she talks about the confrontation, her hurt, her anger, how she drove for hours after to clear her head.
Hours. Alone. Not answering.
When she finishes, I take a step back, crossing my arms over my chest. My voice comes out flat, clipped. “You were driving around for the past few hours.”
Her face softens, contrite, but before I can push further, my phone rings. Perfect timing. I glance at the screen, seeing it’s one of the suppliers. I answer anyway, needing something to ground me. “Beaulieu.” My voice is gruff, my French slipping in when I reply. “Oui…d’accord.”
The call lasts a few minutes but I keep it short. Ending the call, I slide my phone into my pocket and look at her. My pulse is still uneven, but now it’s not fear—it’s exhaustion.
“I have to go. I blew up my whole morning worried sick about you.” There’s more edge in my voice than I intend, but I can’t help it. The knot in my chest tightens when she flinches.
“Sam.” She inches closer. “I’m sorry. Can we talk about this over dinner?”
“What are you sorry for?” I shake my head, exhaling a bitter laugh. “You know what? Don’t bother answering. I have to go.”
Her face crumples a little, and it kills me. But I can’t stand here, pretending I’m okay. I’m not.
She calls after me as I head for my car. “Are you coming home tonight?”
Home. The word twists inside me like a knife cutting me wide open. For months, she’s been my home. And right now, I don’t know where that leaves me.
