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“I know it’s hard, but if he wanted to be here, he would be.”

I take in a breath and blow out the emotion. But I’m still cracked open. I don’t think I’ll ever fully heal. “You’re right.” We grab the drinks and head to our table where Jaz, Darcy and Collin are screaming the lyrics to a Paramore song at the top of their lungs.

I hope that, wherever Jonathan is, he’s happy. If he can’t be with us, I want him to be with people who make him smile, laugh, and dare him to be the best version of himself.

That’s bullshit.

I can try to be all, I hope he’s happy wherever he is. But the truth is, I want him here with me. And I hope that he wakes up soon and realizes that’s where he’s meant to be.

I’m being a creepy fuck, and I own it. But I couldn’t sleep all night, and it had nothing to do with the recurring nightmare. All I keep thinking about is whatever Emma saw when she came home yesterday. It’s fucking with me, big time.

I had every intention of ending this twisted relationship with Rachel when I arrived. When I walked in the door, she was wearing one of my button-down shirts I must’ve accidentally left behind.

“We can't keep doing this. I think it's best if we end this before it gets ugly,” I say, knowing it’s already crossed that line.

“We can make it fun again.” She’s leaning on her elbow with her bare legs curled up on the couch in what I can only assume she considers a sexy pose.”

“Drinking isn't the answer.”

That woman plays serious head games. I’ve never been manipulated or deceived like this in my entire life. As much of a dick as my father was, he didn’t mess with my mind like she does. He beat me. Told me I was worthless. Tried to break me down. But the psychological fuckery of Rachel Walace is an entirely new level of fucked up.

She pouts, peering up at me from beneath her long lashes. “I know. I'm not myself when I drink. I'm sorry about that. I've been relying on it too much lately as a break from my reality.”

“I get that. And I'm sorry you're hurting. Really.” I don’t doubt she’s emotionally broken. But I also know she’s determined to bring everyone into her hellscape with her.

“Then be there for me. Be my friend, Jonathan. Isn’t that what you promised?”

I waited around the corner until I saw Rachel leave for work before pulling in and making it appear like I stayed the night, so when Emma came downstairs, I could talk to her. Tell her… some sort of truth. Because I’m honestly not sure how to phrase this. Especially if Emma hasn’t seen through her mother’s games yet.

“You're there for Emily. Be there for me. Unless she's really who you're interested in.”

“Why do you think that?” I ask, fed up with the accusation.

“How can I not? You spend hours together on this couch in the middle of the night whispering and laughing.”

“We can't sleep.” This isn’t going the way I intended.

If Emma honestly believes everything that's wrong with Rachel started the day her father died, or the day she was born, I won’t be able to make her see her mother for who she truly is. I have a feeling Rachel was messed up long before she met Derek Thomas. Wouldn’t I like to know how he got mixed up with her to begin with? Doubtful there’s someone alive who knows that truth.

“Why is that? I think you wait up for her. You're always finding ways to be alone together. She's a girl. Don't take advantage of her. She doesn't know any better. You should.”

“It's not like that.” I can feel my patience unraveling.

Rachel stands and saunters across the room until she’s standing in front of me. “Then what is it you want, Jonathan? You want something fun and easy; we can do that. My daughter is off limits.”

As soon as Emma realizes I’m in the kitchen, she makes a direct path out the door.

“Emma!”

She’s pissed. Not that I blame her. I’m not going to run after her. I’ll try again. Maybe I’ll text her instead.

She unbuttons the shirt down to the center of her chest.

“Do you want this to end? Because it ends with her too. I'll make sure she never speaks to you. She believes you pursued me. Led me on. Used me. Broke me. Hurt me.”

We make eye contact for a split second before she ducks into her car parked at the curb. I let out a breath and give up, getting into my truck.

Emma’s still in her car when I back down the driveway. She slams her hands on the steering wheel.