“—but if I were, it wouldn’t be yours.”
I stare at her. “Annie, what the hell is going on?”
Before she can answer, Analise disappears. In her place is my mother, her face grim as she stares at me like she’s trying to set me on fire with her mind.
“You’ve got a lot of nerve, Braxton Newport.”
“Here.”My mother drops a gel ice pack onto the table in front of me, her glare still just as dangerous as it was when she let me in the door. “Put this on your face. We’ll switch to hot compresses later, see if that doesn’t get the swelling down.”
She sniffs unsympathetically, stomping around the kitchen, slamming open cabinets as she pulls out everything she needs to make sandwiches.
I do as she says, tracking her as she moves around the room. “You’re not gonna ask me about it?” I point at my face when she looks over at the question.
She presses her lips into such a thin line, they practically disappear. “I’m guessing it has something to do with the woman you kissed last night.”
My head spins, and I canfeelthe color draining from my face. I stare across the room at her, everything suddenly too hot.
“How do you know about that?” I croak.
Mom opens her mouth to answer, but then Analise appears, singing out, “You’re famous.” She heads for the fridge, pulling out two cans of soda and setting one in front of me.
“I don’t know what that means,” I say numbly.
Analise takes the seat next to me and digs her phone out of the side pocket of her exercise leggings, pulling up a social media app with deft fingers. “You should really start using these,” she says conversationally, but it’s muffled, like she’s speaking from far away. “Otherwise, you’re the last to know everything.”
Mom is stiffly chopping tomatoes, keeping her head turned away from us, and dread settles into my bones. I drop the ice pack onto the table. “Last to know what?”
Analise doesn’t answer, but she doesn’t have to. She’s pulled up a photo that tells a whole awful fucking story on its own.
I stare down at the tiny screen, my mouth gaping open and heart racing so fast in my chest that a distant voice in my head wonders if this is what a heart attack might feel like. Each breath saws in and out of my lungs, the sound the loudest thing in the room. Analise is watching me, her brow knitted, and Mom has whirled around, her expression creased with worry.
“Braxton?” she asks.
“I didn’t…She—” I shake my head, the room spinning faster and making it impossible for my eyes to focus. I clear my throat, trying to force the words out past the lump that seems lodged there. “Please tell me…Don’t tell me Gracie saw it.” Mom’s eyes fill, and I shake my head again. “No. Mom,no. Tell me she didn’t see it. That she doesn’t think…”
Mom sets her knife down, coming around the table and dragging a chair closer so that when she sits down, her knee bumps against mine. She reaches out to grab one of my hands, wrapping both hers around it.
“Braxton,” she breathes. “What on earth is going on?” Her mood has flipped like a switch, the anger draining away like it was never there, leaving her apprehensive.
“Gracie saw it,” I repeat, hammering the horrible truth home for myself. “Gracie saw it, and she’s not home. I need to talk to her.” My head swivels, searching the kitchen wildly like my girl is going to jump out at me. “Where is she?” Analise and Mom share a long look, and my heart actually skips a beat. “Mom,” I plead desperately. “Just tell me. Where’s Gracie?”
My mother drags in a deep breath, her nostrils flaring. “Gracie’s gone away for a little while,” she finally says. “Idon’t know for how long, but she needed some time. To heal.”
“To heal,” I echo dumbly. “From me.”
Mom dips her head, mouth trembling. “Yes, Braxton. From you.”
Analise’s phone is lying forgotten on the kitchen island. The screen is still lit up with the photo, pulling my attention back to it again and again—Paisley’s arms locked around my neck, her mouth on mine, my hands on her shoulders.
It looks like I’m kissing her back.
A low sound leaves me, bile climbing up my throat. “Turn it off.”
“Analise, give us some time, please,” Mom requests. “I’ll call you when lunch is ready.”
My sister doesn’t argue, grabbing her phone and drink, heading out of the kitchen without another word. Mom grabs the ice pack from where I dropped it, holding it gently against my nose, apologizing when I wince.
“Keep it on,” she says gently. “And tell me what happened.”
