But burying it was easier. Safer.
“Night, Malibu,” he said softly.
“Night,” I whispered back, getting in my car and driving away before my heart could betray me any more than it already had.
Chapter Twelve
? Holly ?
The morning after prom should’ve come with a warning label.
May cause nausea, emotional instability, and a sudden desire to fake your own death.
I groaned into my pillow, which smelled faintly like expensive lavender detergent and the tears I absolutely did not cry last night. My head pounded. My eyes burned. And every time I blinked, I sawhim—a bruised cheekbone, a shattered expression, the way he’d said he was leaving like it didn’t rip something open in me.
Stupid.
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
I rolled onto my back, staring at the ceiling like it had personally wronged me. Honestly, it might have. The fan wobbled overhead in a way that suggested imminent decapitation. Maybe that wouldn’t be so bad. Quick. Clean. No emotions. Prom really said, “Let’s traumatize the entire friend group and ruin your sleep schedule.” I was mid-wallow when someone knocked once—no hesitation, no politeness—then shoved the door open.
Maria.
She looked like she’d run a marathon on zero sleep: messy bun, hoodie stretched over her growing bump, determinationradiating off her in waves. “We’re going to the lake,” she announced.
I stared. “What?”
She marched straight to my closet like she owned the place (she did not) and pulled out a duffel bag. “Pack.”
“Maria, what the hell are you talking about?”
She didn’t even look at me. “Hannah’s orders.”
That gave me pause. I had met Hannah Mills only briefly at the Saints’ winter get-to-together. Dalton spoke of her like she was a deity. Mac spoke of her like she was a drill sergeant. Maria spoke of her like she was a terrifying mix of both.
“Hannah?” I repeated. “Mac and Dalton’s mom?”
“Yes.” Stuff, stuff, stuff. Clothes flying everywhere. “She saw everybody this morning and said—and I quote—‘These children need Jesus, sunlight, and forty-eight hours away from drama before I lose my religion.’ Then she threw Mac the keys to the cabin and shoved us out the door.”
I blinked. “She…threw him keys?”
Maria paused only long enough to give me a wide-eyed, meaningful look. “Holly. She hit him in the face with them.”
Holy shit. I wasn’t prepared to meet a Southern hurricane disguised as a woman.
“So this is…a family trip?” I asked warily.
“More like court-ordered emotional rehab,” Maria muttered. “We’re going.”
“We?” I repeated. “Who’s ‘we’?”
“Me, you, Mac, Diego—” She hesitated. “—and Jackson.”
My soul left my body. “Aw, that’s sweet. Pass.”
“Holly, it’s happening.”
“I’m not spending an entire weekend in a confined wooden structure with thatboy.”
