They laughed so much.
I feel a fresh wave of anxiety washing over me, and I take in a sharp breath, trying to stop myself from crying again.
“Come on,” Lyss says quietly, helping me out of the car. “Let's get you inside and out of that costume.”
I take her hand and let her guide me. The pebbles on the path dig into my bare feet, sharp little stings, but I welcome it. Pain is easier than whatever is happening inside my chest.
We walk up the porch steps, past the broken swing.
Last night I kissed Scotty there. The memory, which had been so sweet, now feels tainted, poisoned by tonight's humiliation.
“I'm going to get Aiden to get rid of that,” Lyss mutters. “He's been talking about burning it down for months. I'll just let him.”
I swallow down the pain. I know I should tell her not to. It's her grandmother's swing, and this house is all she has left of her, but I can't. I'm not big enough to push past my grief and tell her she needs to keep it to protect her memories, because in doing that, it sustains mine.
Memories I want burned.
I don't remember how I got up the stairs and into my room, but Lyss is right there by my side, offering me clean clothes.
She helps me unzip the dress, runs a brush through my tangled hair, and then wipes away the remains of the glitter smearing my cheeks.
All the while, she doesn't press for details. She just mutters about how hockey sucks and how she’s going to “accidentally” break the rink coolers if anyone comes near me. Yep, destroying property is a habit she’s learned from Aiden.
She doesn't even know what they did. She doesn't have to—I guess that’s what best friends do.
It's only when I'm wrapped in my oldest, most comfortable sweater and leggings that I finally feel human enough to speak.
“They tricked me,” I say quietly.
I sit on the edge of my bed, glaring at the leather-bound book Scotty gave me. Three weeks of late-night reading. Three weeks of letting his thoughts seep into mine. Three weeks of thinking I was getting to know him.
“The hockey team,” I go on, my voice feeling weak. “I was told it was a kid’s birthday party, but it was actually for Scotty.”
Lyss's eyes go wide. “What?”
I nod, humiliation creeping up my throat again like it’s trying to choke me. “They had him handcuffed to a chair, while the cameras were rolling for his stupid TV show. I walked in, completely unaware, and started singing 'Happy Birthday.' Then the lights came up, and—”
The words die at the back of my throat. Even remembering it makes my stomach twist.
“They were laughing. It was all a big joke to them.Iwas a joke to them.”
Lyss inhales sharply. “They're fucking assholes. Actual, legitimate assholes, and I'm going to break every single one of their hockey sticks before shoving the broken edge up their asses.”
Despite myself, I smile. “Please don't do that. We already have enough issues with the football players next door. We don't need to add the hockey team to our list of problems.”
“You sure?” she asks, raising a brow. “Because I'm ready to ride at dawn for you.”
“I know.” I stand, pulling her into a hug. “Thank you, but please, I don't want to give those idiots any more of my time.”
“How did it even get to the point that you were out there singing happy birthday? Didn't you meet anyone before starting?”
“Yeah,” I sigh out. “Neanderthal One. You know, one of the naked idiots, but I don't know, I thought he looked familiar—I just couldn't place him.”
“Not surprised. Scotty's donkey dick was flying across your face. Anyone would’ve blacked out from trauma.” She shakes her head. “But do you think he was actually in on it? Because I've—”
I lift my hand to stop her. “It doesn't matter if he was in on it or not. He told them about my job, which is something he promised he’d never do. Even if he didn't plan it, he's still part of a team that thinks it's hilarious to humiliate someone. To trick me into doing my job like it's some kind of strip-o-gram.”
Lyss winces at the comparison but doesn't argue. “Oof. Yeah, that sucks.”
