“Bye, Nico.”
I end the call with him to answer my mother’s as I continue packing. She talks more and faster than usual, clearly dealing with her grief by overcommunicating. She rattles off the names of everyone she’s spoken to this morning and each person who has stopped by the house, also the details of the funeral service, and that I should bring something appropriate to wear, not like that “tarty thing” I wore to the party.
Because even at a time like this, she needs to remind me I don’t fit in.
Made even more obvious when I touch down in West Virginia for the second time in the last three months. Without Nico with me, I’m not as confident being here. My skin crawls with nerves. My stomach twists with the backhanded insults I know will be thrown my way. No escaping my reputation as the outcast.
I’ve barely set foot inside the door when Lizzie corners me in the hall. “Where’s Nico?”
I roll my eyes. “Can I at least put my bag down?”
She follows me into the bedroom we used to share, the one that’s only hers now. It used to have bunk beds. Now it’s one bed with a sleeping bag on the floor for me. Like a stepsister.
Cinderella.
Except I don’t have a fairy godmother or a bunch of singing mice.
But I do have something that makes my sister brim with jealousy. “So,” she tries again. “Where is your fiancé? Shouldn’t he be here in your hour of need?”
“The team’s in Edmonton. He said he’d come as soon as he can.”
“Oh yeah?” She sits back on her bed, smirking at me. “As soon as he can? The gorgeousprofessionalathlete is going to rearrange his schedule to come here? For you?”
I ignore the dig. Ignore her attempts to put me down. Because I know the truth. The promises he’s made me. As the text message on my phone with his flight information says.
“Leave her alone, Liz.”
I glance over my shoulder to find Waylon in the doorway, dressed casually, off duty. He dips his chin at me in greeting. We didn’t leave off on the best of terms at the party, and I’m not sure I’m ready to accept any kind of peace offering, especially if it involves my sister.
“You know what?” I pick up my bag. “I think I’d rather sleep on the couch.”
Lizzie snorts at my back, taking my escape for what it is—running away. I squeeze past Waylon at the door and scoot downstairs, volunteering to set the table for dinner, a reheated casserole dropped off by someone this morning. Mamaw arrives to eat with us, eyes rimmed red, but still she’s dressed to the nines, refusing to let herself go even during this time.
Mom lifts her eyebrows at me, as if I should be the same way, clearly hating my Iron sweats. While we eat, Lizzie mostly scrolls on her phone. Dad finishes eating as fast as possible, and Waylon sends me looks across the table like he wants to chat, but I don’t care about what he has to say. As soon as we’re done eating, I head outside, not interested in looking at pictures of Danny’s baby or hearing Mamaw tell another story about Granny.
Instead, I take a walk in the woods behind the house for a while, only returning once it’s too dark to see the path in front of me, but my sister is waiting at the back door, cell phone in hand.
“Thought you might want to see this,” she says with a shit-eating grin.
“What?”
“Look.” She shoves the screen in my face. “I’m not sure he’s going to be making it for the funeral.”
I finally focus on her cell phone, lit up in the dark night. On it are fuzzy snapshots, showing Nico walking down the street, with this signature easygoing smile plastered across his face, his arm wrapped around a pretty woman I’ve never seen before.
“There’s more.”
I reluctantly—stupidly—take her phone when she offers it to me. I scroll through three more photos, including one of Nico kissing her head. The same way he kisses mine.
“Looks awfully cozy,” Lizzie singsongs, and I feel like I want to throw up. I push her phone back into her hands, stumbling past her, my eyes stinging with tears, smudging my view of the victorious light in her eyes.
“He’s allowed to have friends,” I manage, the words rough against my throat, but I’m not sure she even heard them as I rush to the bathroom, sinking to the cool tile floor.
I believe him to be loyal to me. There is no other evidence he hasn’t been, but I truly don’t know. I can’t be positive he hasn’t been with other women behind my back this whole time when he’s on the road. He earned his reputation for a reason.
After all, no one ever really believed he would love and marry me—Josephine Atkins.
Not even me.
