It’s a given the triplets will be there.
I don’t need their glaring on top of everything else I’m dealing with.
But I know Brandon. If I saynohe’ll be here in a heartbeat and won’t leave until I sayyes. A little white lie is in order.
“Okay, we’ll talk more when I see you,” I say, driving the point home with, “You better have ordered more than one bottle.”
“Three sound good?”
“Perfect.”
“Perfect,” he echoes with a drown-out sigh. “I’ll swing by soon.” With that, he hangs up.
The movers are gone, and my new condo is filled with boxes waiting to be unpacked. Not one person ready to help. Unlike across the hall, where I’m sure half the Hayes family is helping Cody.
Must be nice.
THREE
Blair
LIFE HAS A CRUEL WAY OF STEALING HAPPINESS at the least appropriate moment. Fridays used to be my favorite day of the week. I loved hanging out with my girls, trailing from one boutique to another, coffee in hand, chatting, laughing, and gossiping about boys.
Now, as I haul two shopping bags from my car, I feel like an impostor. Gone is the easy air. Gone is the carefree vibe and joy I felt surrounded by friends.
Maybe because they’re not my friends anymore. They’ve let me back into their close-knit circle, but it feels like I’m on probation. Like my every move and word is scrutinized, judged...
They’re on guard, always coming up with some excuse to stop me joining them for drinks.
Last week Kelly-Ann excused herself from the group, then came back saying drinks were canceled because her grandmother surprised them with a visit. This week Mikaela got a call from her brother, Toby, begging her to babysit his son.
It’s been happening for months. At first, I believed the stories, but one evening Kelly-Ann’s excuse didn’t quite add up. So, after parting ways, I drove past the cocktail bar we love most, and sure enough, there they were, at a window table, laughing and drinking margaritas.
I couldn’t hold back the tears trailing down my cheeks the whole ride back home. I almost skipped our shopping spree the following week, but... I hate feeling so lonely.
This past year was the worst of my life. I locked myself in my father’s mansion for weeks on end, drowning in tears, regret, and fear.
There is an upside: I grew as a person. I grew as a woman. But I’m only human and I join the girls every Friday, craving any form of interaction.
So what if I’m not sipping margaritas with them right now? At least I wasn’t locked in my condo all day, like every evening since I moved here.
It’s already been a week. Seven whole days of living across from Mr. Hayes. After the conversation with Brandon, I spent the rest of the evening unpacking and pondering how to navigate the Cody situation. The following day, heart in my mouth, I saidheywhen we bumped into each other in the hallway.
His shoulders tensed, jaw clamped shut, and my greeting flew over his head, not a word in return.
I expected a rude comment out of his mouth, so the silent treatment felt like a small victory. But after five more days of no reaction, no words, not even a glance, I started feeling stupid.
All the more so because, every day, I left my condo as soon as I heard his door open, hoping he might finally bark outheyif I was persistent enough.
Wrong thinking.
I was forced to admit defeat and stoppedaccidentallycrossing his path yesterday.
The lock on my red Porsche—an eighteenth birthday gift from my dad—clicks as I make my way toward the building, two bags swinging from my wrist. My brows furrow when I spot a girl on her phone, propped against the wall next to the main entrance.
I haven’t seen her around here before. I would’ve remembered the blonde pixie cut and tiny, pierced nose. Her large silver hoop earrings sway as she shakes her head, rubbing a hand down her patchwork jeans.
I’m about ten steps from the door when her face crumbles and she closes her eyes as though holding back tears.
