“Yeah,” I say, and I detect the tremor in my voice, the way it threatens to crack wide open. “My dad had a stroke. He’s inthe hospital. Has been for two days. And neither of you knew because you’ve been too busy playing happy couples with your boyfriends to notice that I’ve been drowning.”
“That’s not fair,” Sam says, but her voice wavers, guilt already creeping into her eyes.
“Isn’t it?” I fire back. “When was the last time we hung out without your boyfriends? When was the last time you spoke to me at lunch? When was the last time either of you asked how I was doing and actually waited for an answer?”
Aubrey opens her mouth, then closes it. She can’t answer because we all know the truth.
They’ve been wrapped up in their happiness, and I’ve been on the outside looking in for weeks. Feeling myself fade into the background of their lives while they make plans that exclude me and forget I exist unless they need something.
And then when I pulled away, they still didn’t notice.
“We didn’t know,” Sam says weakly.
“Exactly,” I say, and the word tastes bitter. “You were unaware because you weren’t paying attention.”
I can sense Jace watching from the car, a silent witness to my life unraveling on the front lawn. Part of me wishes he’d leave to spare himself this mess, while the other part is grateful he’s stayed—that someone is here, even if he’s just watching it all go to shit.
Sam’s gaze shifts back to him, her eyes narrowing with that specific kind of suspicion.
“Lola, he’s not the guy you turn to when your life is falling apart.”
I feel something break inside me. The last thread keeping my composure intact.
“He was the only one there,” I say, louder now, my voice carrying across the yard. “When I couldn’t sit in this houseanymore, when the silence was suffocating, and I needed someone, he was the one who didn’t let me fall.”
“That doesn’t mean—” Aubrey says.
“It means he showed up,” I cut her off, my hands balling into fists at my sides. “Which is more than I can say for either of you.”
Sam’s eyes widen, hurt flashing across her face.
“You don’t even like him,” she says.
“No. I didn’t like the way he said those things about you,” I correct, and my voice drops, going quiet in a way that somehow sounds louder than shouting.
Aubrey’s expression hardens, her jaw setting in that way that means she’s about to go for blood.
“Have you slept with him?”
The question hits like a slap to the face.
I stare at her, disbelief and fury warring in my chest.
“Wow,” I say.
“That’s a yes,” she says, reading my silence as confirmation.
“It’s none of your business.”
“Lola—”
“No,” I snap, taking a step forward. “You don’t get to judge me. You don’t get to show up here after ignoring me for weeks and act like you have any right to an opinion about my choices.”
“We’re trying to look out for you,” Sam says, her voice pleading now.
“By what? Slut shaming me on my own front lawn?” The words taste acidic. “By making assumptions about someone you don’t even know?”
“We know enough,” Aubrey says coldly. “His reputation. What everyone says about him.”
