“You look hot,” Liv says, giving me a once-over as she kicksthe door shut behind her. “I knew that dress was still in your closet somewhere.”
“You look incredible,” Sophia agrees, spinning me gently by the shoulders. “The boots are everything.”
“Thanks,” I say, tugging self-consciously at the hem of the dress. “I feel like I’m going to a honky-tonk funeral.”
“Perfect,” Liv grins. “Now, let me help you real quick. Your eyeliner’s tragic.”
We pile into the bathroom like Liv and I used to in high school—three girls now, one mirror, a tangle of laughter and makeup everywhere. Soph touches up my cheeks with a warm peach blush, and Liv fixes my eyeliner with a sharp precision, concentrating as if she’s performing surgery. I’m not sure how we manage to all fit in here, but we do. The bathroom is buzzing with energy, but I feel it tugging at the edges of something fragile inside me. The part of me that’s scared and unsure if I have enough in me to make it through the night without breaking apart.
Liv sees it. She can always tell when there is something going on in my head.
“You don’t have to be okay,” she murmurs, brushing a hand down my arm as she passes me the lipstick. “We can leave the second you don’t feel up for it anymore.”
I nod, swallowing the lump forming in my throat.
Once we’re done, I look at our reflections in the mirror. The history between Liv and I runs deeper than blood, and I’m starting to feel the same about Soph in the short time that I’ve known her. She fits so naturally with us that it feels like she’s always been here.
“Okay,” I say, grabbing my phone and slipping it into a small clutch decorated with silver sparkles that I found while unpacking boxes the night before. “Where are we even going?”
Liv hesitates, exchanging a glance with Sophia.
I narrow my eyes. “What was that look for?”
“Nothing.” Her response is too quick. “It’s just a place. With music. And lights. And good drinks.”
“And people,” Sophia adds, as if it helps narrow it down.
“Liv,” I warn.
“You’ll like it,” she insists, already pulling me toward the door. “I promise. Trust us.”
16
ALEX
The bar is packed tonight.
Clinking glasses, bursts of laughter, drunken singing, and the blur of conversation fill the space. All the noises mix with the scratchy echo of Black Sabbath spilling out from the old jukebox in the corner. The scent of whiskey and hops hangs thick in the air, cut only slightly by the greasy warmth of food drifting from the kitchen. Nights like this would usually make the hours disappear without notice.
But not tonight.
Tonight, I feel like I’ve got nails under my skin. Restless doesn't even begin to cover it.
It’s been a whole goddamn week since I last saw Emma. A week since that damn festival. A week since I should’ve kissed her, but didn’t because I’m nothing more than a coward.
Frankie and Cam have mentioned that she’s been around, keeping busy. Said she’s “fine.” and has “a lot going on.” But the vagueness tells me more than their words do. She’s not fine. I don’t know if it’s a result of what I did or not. But I hate that I know something’s wrong in my gut without even seeing her.
As I think about it more, I realize that Emma moving back toWindhaven out of the blue is weird as hell, considering she’d sworn up and down she was never setting foot here again. Her brothers said it was temporary, but now that she’s here something feels off. They were tight-lipped about her for months leading up to her return. I heard whispers and vague mentions of heart stuff, but nobody said much else. It’s not like I’m exactly on the list of people they would tell about something serious like that considering the only history between us that they are aware of involves us always fighting and avoiding each other.
Whatever it is, I don’t like not knowing.
The rag in my hand squeaks against the wood of the bartop as I wipe it. I tell myself I’ve gotta let it go and should focus on something else. Whatever I’m carrying for her needs to be buried so deep it never sees daylight again. Maybe that’s wishful thinking though since I haven’t been able to stop thinking about her for the last decade, what makes this time any different?
Just like that, the girl that consumes every one of my thoughts walks in that door and all of that inner monologue goes to hell.
As my eyes lock on the sight of her, my entire body goes still.
Emma steps through the doorframe like sin, in silk and a confidence she doesn’t believe in but wears beautifully nonetheless. Everything else fades. The clatter of the bar, the music, even the two drunk assholes arguing about fantasy football in the corner. It’s allgone. My grip tightens on the rag, jaw clenching as my eyes drag over her like I haven’t already memorized every curve of her body.
