“Okay?”
“Okay, we’re leaving.” She links her arm through mine, pulling me toward the driveway.
“Cordia, you can’t leave,” I protest, though I cling to her arm. “It’s your family dinner. Your parents are in there.”
“My parents can survive one meal without me. If my brother is going to be an idiot, he can entertain the She-Devil by himself.”She squeezes my arm, hard. “You are my family, Dove. And I am not letting you drive that death trap of a car while you’re crying. We’re going to get burgers. Greasy ones. And milkshakes. And we are going to talk about exactly how much hell I’m going to rain down on Shane Archer.”
I start to walk with her, but then stop mid-step. She’s always been my safe space, and I appreciate that, but I want to be alone right now. The thought of eating burgers and having someone witness my tears makes my chest hurt even worse.
For just a day, I want to wallow. It’s the second time Shane has rejected me so thoroughly and cruelly, that I need to lick my wounds and start to heal on my own.
“Actually, I want to be alone for a bit.”
“Are you sure? I don’t want to leave you in a time of need.”
“I’m sure. Let’s take a rain check on the burgers. Give me a day to justbe. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
She nods, understanding. “Okay, tomorrow, then. I’ll hold you to it, no take backs!”
“Agreed.”
“And,” she continues. “Promise me to take a few deep breaths before you leave. Can’t have you crashing the car because you’re too upset.”
“Also agreed,” I promise. It’ll take me a few minutes to get my car to start anyway.
Just before we go our separate ways, I whisper, “I love you, Cord.”
“I know, and I love you too.”
Chapter Eight
Shane
Dove is gone.
I fucked up.
She’s right. I let Emily get to me, and in an effort to push Dove away, I hurt her. And while I may be six years older, she’s more mature than I could ever imagine.
Needing to make sure she’s okay, I rush out from the parlor to find her. She’s not in the kitchen, or the bathroom. Jogging to the front door, I’m about to open it when it swings open and smacks me in the nose.
“Fuck!” I shout.
Pain shoots through my nose.
A warm, wet drop hits the back of my hand. Then another, splashing bright red against the white cuff of my shirt. I touch my upper lip. My fingers come away slick with crimson.
“Shane!” My mother’s voice is a high-pitched shriek.
I turn back toward the dining room. The silence that had fallen over the table shatters.
“Good God, son.” My father stands up, his chair scraping violently against the floor. “You’re bleeding.”
“I’m fine,” I rasp, though the metallic taste of copper is coating my tongue. I grab a napkin from the foyer table and press it to my face, the white linen turning red instantly.
“You’re not fine,” Theo says, his eyes wide. “You look like you went twelve rounds in a boxing ring.”
“What is going on?” My mother demands, rushing forward but stopping short of touching me, as if my unraveling is contagious. “First Dove runs out in tears, now this?”
