I hate that my parents’ relationship with the Hunts was another casualty of this mess, but it was predictable. My parentsare furious with Callan, and while the Hunts aren’t supposedly happy with the situation either, they are still going to defend their son. The girls are still friends, but they don’t hang out as often as they used to. Freja and Erin are at an age where they know what’s going on, but Alma is younger, and it’s largely gone over her head.
Callan didn’t just blow up our relationship; he ruined plenty of others too. Thor and Riley refuse to speak to him, and most everyone in town is on my side. Gwen isn’t popular—on that, she was telling the truth. Travis is the only one who has stood by Callan, ostracizing himself from the rest of our friend group in the process.
Nikki and Renee are waiting in Renee’s car at the curb outside Joe’s house when I arrive.
We all climb out and congregate on the sidewalk.
“Hey.” I lean in and hug them, and pleasant surprise splays across their faces. I realize how much I’ve been hurting my family and friends, but I can’t help how I’ve been feeling, and I’ve been doing the best I can. Honestly, being able to get up out of bed and function like a semi-human feels like a win most days.
“It’s still strange to see you with dark hair.” Nikki cocks her head to the side. “Don’t get me wrong, you’re as beautiful as ever, but you look so different.”
“That’s the point,” Renee says.
“I couldn’t stomach looking at myself in the mirror. That bitch has modeled her look on me, and I want to look nothing like her. Plus, it helps me to keep a lower profile on campus.”
“I’m not criticizing.” Nikki loops her arm through mine. “Do what you need to do, babe. But I hope one day you’ll reconsider the blonde. Don’t let that man-stealing ho change you.”
“Karma is going to get them,” Renee says, leading the way. “I fully believe that.”
“What is this about?” I ask as we approach the house. “What exactly did Joe say?”
“That it’s important he speaks with you because there are things you need to know.” Renee pauses at the top step and turns to face me. “It’s got to be something to do with cuntface.”
Maybe it’s petty, but none of us use their names unless we have to. Renee has a colorful list of words she uses to refer to them.
“I was thinking it was more likely to be abouthimor maybe about that night.” What happened at Thor’s the night I got drunk and ended up in the guest bedroom with Joe feels like it happened eons ago. I had put it out of my mind until Renee told me Joe wanted to speak to me. I’m glad she only told me about her call with him last night because I was up all night trying to figure out what it could be, torturing my traumatized brain more.
“We’ll find out soon,” Nikki says, removing her arm from mine when the door suddenly opens.
52
ASTRID
“Girls.” Mrs. Hemsworth smiles at us as she opens the door wide. “We’ve been expecting you. Come in.”
I’m so glad Renee and Nikki insisted on coming with me. I’m not sure I’d have been brave enough to come here alone.
“Astrid. Goodness. I almost didn’t recognize you.” Joe’s mom pulls me into a hug. “It’s lovely to see you again. I was devastated when you and Joe broke up.” Sympathy splays across her face. “I’m sorry for what happened with Gwen. I always thought there was something not quite right about that girl.”
“Thanks, Helen.” I force out a tight smile, hoping she’ll let it drop.
“You’ll bounce back from this.” She pats my hand, and I want the ground to open and swallow me. This is one of the reasons I didn’t want to stay in Ryemont this past summer. I can’t stand all the pitying looks and platitudes. I know they mean well, and I’m grateful people have taken my side, but there is only so much a person can deal with. I’d rather people said nothing and just minded their own business, but that’s small towns for you.
“Where do we go, Mrs. Hemsworth?” Nikki asks, and I shoot her a grateful look.
“Follow me.” She leads us out to the informal living space at the back of the house, looking out over the vast gardens at the rear.
Joe is sitting in a wheelchair, facing the window with his back to us.
“Joe, your guests are here,” his mom says. “Can I get you some coffee? Tea for you, Astrid?”
Nikki and Renee decline.
“I’m good, Helen, but thank you,” I add, watching as Joe turns around.
His mom slips out of the room, closing the door behind her.
A piercing blue gaze finds mine and locks on. I hope the shock I’m feeling is not written all over my face. Joe’s blond hair is darker and longer, curling around his ears. Gone is the muscular build of an athlete, replaced with the shrunken frame of a guy who has been through the wringer. His face is gaunt, and his eyes are haunted, as he comes toward us in his electric chair. One side of his face is littered with thin scars from the accident, and his nose is misshapen with a bump along the bridge that wasn’t there before.
