My nickname sounds different this time. An insult instead of a tease.
I sort of hate it.
I also hate how I’m realizing my future mail will only be bills and junk mailers. No way will Wren write me again, not after I rejected her twice. She’ll go to her cousin’s fancy party—laugh and dance and drink and kiss another guy at midnight. Return to her penthouse. Takevacations to places I’ve only ever heard of. Have her pick of colleges. If I see her again, it’ll probably be from a distance, if she ever returns to the marina.
And … it sucks.
The door opens and closes, and I’m alone in a glorified pantry. Just me and the temper I inherited.
I’m a lost cause.
Everyone knows it.
About time Wren realized it too.
It shouldn’t bother me so much that she finally has.
13
There’s nothing fun about attending a party while holding back tears. If Kit hadn’t texted me earlier, asking where I was—or if I had anywhere else in this town to go—I wouldn’t be here. And to think, I’d considered driving separately from Rory because I thought I’d want to stay in the Hamptons forlongerthan my sister. If ditching Rory wouldn’t raise lots of questions in my family that I have no interest in answering, I’d be halfway back to Manhattan by now.
I glance at Gia, who’s happily chatting with some guy, then edge my way out of the living room. It’s packed in here, loud pop music and even louder voices reverberating off the walls. The kitchen is just as crowded. I don’t even stop; I just continue down the back hallway. There’s something intensely isolating about being surrounded by laughter and merriment while you’re secretly miserable. Especially when you have a reputation for being unbothered and outgoing and fun. I don’t sulk at parties; I flirtand dance.
Gia has asked me what’s wrong twice. I lied and said I had cramps. If she notices I left the living room, she’ll probably assume I had to use the restroom.
Finally, I find a room that is empty and likely to stay so. I flip on the light, shut the door, and press my forehead against it, forcing myself to take deep, even breaths. The stinging in my nose is getting worse, not better, and my feet are killing me.
I move away from the door, shoes wobbling on the slate floor, then step out of the heels. Take a seat, barefoot, on the cold ground, my back to the washing machine, half trying to avoid wrinkling my dress and half not really giving a shit anymore. I’ll never be able to wear this outfit again without thinking about how long I spent picking it out.
God, I was soexcitedabout tonight. I thought I’d be flirting and dancing with him right now, not sitting in my aunt and uncle’s laundry room, alone. I can’t even be mad at Sawyer. I mean, I can—I am—but he was right; he’d warned me. I was the one who got confused, who couldn’t keep it casual. Who showed up, unannounced, expecting him to act like a boyfriend.
The sobs start a few seconds later. And once they start, they’re impossible to stop.
I can’t recall the last time I cried. I’m overdue, I guess. I was numb after what happened with Third. Furious and scared once the shock wore off, but never sad.
Tears continue streaming down my cheeks in salty streaks. I swipe them away before they can drip onto my dress, wishing I had a tissue.
“… swore I saw her headed this way,” a male voice says, followed by one I immediately recognize.
“That’d be useful knowledge, if you were ever reliable.”
Rory.
The door opens a few seconds later, revealing my sister. Flynn Parks is right behind her. Flynn is Kit’s best friend, so I’m unsurprised he’s here.
I do wish he weren’t here, in this room, seeing this. Flynn is hot. In a perfect male-model sort of way, not in the rugged bad-boy way Sawyer is, but attractive enough that I care he’s seeing me crying on the floor. He also might mention this to my cousin, and I really don’t need Kit coming in here, all concerned. I want to grieve my stupidity alone.
“What happened, Wren?” My sister’s expression is creased with worry as she kneels down next to me. She doesn’t even hesitate to lower to the floor, appearing unconcerned about wrinkling her silk dress.
I tease Rory for being so straitlaced and proper, but I can’t imagine a better sister.
I shake my head, still crying. My eyes are like two leaky faucets, and I’m focused on figuring out how to shut them off. I don’t want to talk. I’m not sure what I’d say.
Retreating footsteps announce Flynn’s departure. No doubt I freaked him out, but I’m too depressed to really care.
I release a watery sigh. Sniff. “Ugh.”
Rory rubs my thigh reassuringly. She looks awfully concerned, which is the equivalent of freaking out for my poised sister.
