I pull into Gianna’s driveway because I don’t know where else to go. My house would be as lonely as the cabin, and Astrid lives with Gray, so I can’t go there. I’m not going to be emotional about a guy at his best friend’s house.
I’d rather not be emotional about him at all, but it’s too late, too fake, and too fucked for that.
Driving back to Nashville was tricky, as it reminded me of the road trip Brooks and I took. At least this time, I didn’t have butterscotch wrappers strewn throughout the car. And I told myself that all that cereal he eats like popcorn was terrible for his teeth, and his music was awful. But then I found myself pulled over on the side of the road listening to his walkout song of choice and having a tiny meltdown.
My brain keeps telling me that I’m going to be fine. It is the abruptness of it all that bothers me. I didn’t see it coming, and in my quest to please people, I need to understand what I did to make him turn away from me so quickly. But I might never understand his reasons, and I need to be okay with that, too.
I just hope I stop associating things with him. It’s the randompow!of a memory that’s blindsiding.
Gianna painted the front door since the last time I was here. Her urinal sculpture, or whatever she created that I don’t question because I don’t want to hurt her feelings, now sits in a flower bed front and center.I bet Drake loves that.
The thought makes mekind ofsmile.
My knuckles rap against the door. I take a breath, proud of how well I’m holding things together, and fix my shirt. But when I look up, and Gianna flings the door open, and a myriad of emotions streak across her face, I lose it.
Tears. All of them. Everywhere.
She grabs me, pulling me into the house and wrapping her arms around me. “What did that good-looking sonofabitch do to you?” She shushes me, soothing my frazzled nerves. “Drake!”
“Yeah?” he calls from another room.
“My phone is on the easel in my art room. Will you get it and text Astrid EMERGENCY in all caps, please?”
“What kind of an …” He pokes his head around the corner, his sights landing on me. “Emergency. Never mind.” He winces. “Listen, I’m shit with a shovel. But I rolled a lot of things back in college, if you get my drift. So, if you need a body in a rug, just yell.”
I laugh, pulling away from my friend and wiping my eyes with the back of my hands. “Thanks, Drake.”
“Not a problem, Auddie.” He glances at Gianna. “You need anything?”
She shakes her head and wraps an arm around my shoulder, guiding me to the couch.
When Drake moved in with Gianna, they got rid of all of their own furniture and bought pieces that fit their new lives together—except this couch. Gianna refused to part with it, despite itsstains, rips, and a little hole that’s on the far right cushion from an unfortunate night with a sparkler.
This sofa has been our ride-or-die for the past six years. And now, it’s getting to feel my tears of heartbreak, too. I was the last woman standing.
I, too, have fallen.Hard.
Gianna brushes my hair out of my face. She spots a clip on the coffee table and uses it to hold my strands back.God, I love her.
“Give me a baseline,” she says. “Because I’m going to be more irrationally pissed than you by default. Are you mad, hurt, or do you hate him? I need to know what level we’re operating at.”
I swipe a couple of tissues off an end table and collapse back into the cushions.
“I don’t know,” I say, relieved to be here with my friend. I did the right thing driving back today.This is home. “I don’t know what happened. Everything was fine last night, and he was going to come over, and we were going to talk about it. But I had every indication—everyone, Gianna—that he was as into it as I was.Hecalledme.Hetextedme. And then he arrives a few hours ago at the cabin and is like, this won’t work. I’m so sorry.”
Her face grows sober. “I’ll tell you one other thing that won’t work if I get my hands on him.”
Despite my emotions, I can’t help but laugh.
The front door flies open, and Astrid barges through. She pauses a few steps in the doorway before racing over to me.
“I’ll fucking kill him,” she says, sitting beside me. Her tone has the same grit as Gianna’s just a moment ago. “A couple of the ranch hands owe me some cash from a Texas Hold ’Em tournament last fall. I might be able to trade them a little cash for a little slash.”
“Astrid!” I yelp.
“Tires. I’m talking about his tires.” She makes a face, saying without saying she was absolutelynottalking about tires.
I look at Astrid, then at Gianna, and realize how lucky I am to have them. They’d do anything for me—and I’d do anything for them. We have a special bond, the three of us, that no person, place, or thing can break.What would I do without them?
