June
“Okay, be honest.” I glance around Brooklyn’s kitchen table at the girl gang. “Did I overreact?”
I’ve been half-listening to the girls’ chatter while staring at my phone, willing it to light up with a message from Journey, but of course that’s stupid. I told him we were done. Why would he even want to speak to me again?
A sharp pain pierces through my heart when I remember the look on his face when I walked away. The last seven days, sixteen hours, and—I glance at the time on my phone—twenty-two minutes have been pure hell.
“Uh…”
“Well…” The girls exchange glances, and suddenly nobody knows where to look.
“What?” My brows go up.
Brooklyn presses her lips together, Stella studies the ceiling, and Madison and Leslie are communicating telepathically right in front of me.
Brooklyn blows out a heavy breath and blurts, “Yeah, babe. You did.”
I blink, not at all expecting her to be so blunt about it.
“But we’re not dismissing your fear,” Stella quickly jumps in, widening her eyes at Brooklyn. “Everything you went through was terrifying.”
“Very terrifying,” Madison stresses, nodding emphatically.
“And valid,” Brooklyn adds, her tone gentler now. “But running away from the man who literally stepped in front of a bullet for you? That’s not protecting yourself. That’s you running away.”
My throat tightens. I glance down at my hands, at what’s left of the red nail polish on my thumb, where I’ve been nervously picking at it all week.
“Sometimes you have to trust people to stick around,” Madison continues, leaning forward on her elbows. “Not everyone will leave.”
I swallow hard, my eyes stinging. “It’s not about?—”
“He’s not your dad, sweetie.” Leslie’s soft voice cuts through my protest.
The words ricochet through me.He’s not my dad.I suck in a sharp breath. “Oh god.”
She’s right. Journey isn’t my dad. How could I be so stupid?
I did the exact thing I’ve always been afraid of someone doing to me. I abandoned him.
“I’ve ruined everything.” My voice breaks. “He probably hates me now. I wouldn’t blame him if he never wanted to see me again.”
Stella’s eyes soften. “I’m pretty sure he’d give anything to hear from you, babe. When I saw him a few days ago, he was a mess. You need to talk to him.”
“But what if?—”
A loud knock at the door cuts off my panicked thoughts.
“Seriously?” Brooklyn growls. “If they wake up my son, there’s going to be hell to pay.”
Running on fumes and caffeine, Brookie pushes back from the table.
She’s been amazing this week, letting me cry on her shoulder, making sure I eat, and never once complaining about the extra body in her tiny house.
She pads down the hallway, and I hear the door open. There’s a low murmur of voices that I can’t quite make out, then footsteps headed back towards the kitchen.
“June.” I glance up to Brooke standing in the doorway.
“Yeah?”
