Page 143 of Lotus

“Not sure, but I’m requesting a redo. I came over to grab the beer for the party tonight and stumbled into some perverted level of Hell I can’t unsee. And do youeverwear pants?”

A huff. “Beer is in the kitchen. My grave is out back, dug and ready to go.”

“I might just join you,” he laughs.

We share an amused grin, heads shaking with a collective sigh.

My repaired friendship with Gabe has been another blessing to come out of the rubble and ruin. I still feel horrible about my ridiculous accusations against him, and I know it’s something I’ll never truly forgive myself for. But if we’ve learned anything at all, it’s that life is far too fleeting, too precious, to take a single second for granted—weare too precious.

Travis had a wicked hold on every single one of us. He was a master of manipulation, bearer of destruction. None of us came out unscathed, but we all came out better.Stronger.

Together.

Gabe slings an arm around me—the same arm that has healed remarkably well over the past six months, despite leaving behind scar tissue and harrowing memories that will always be a physical reminder of that night. He calls it his epic battle wound.

I call it love.

Gabe smiles, sensing my momentary drift in thought. “Anywhere I want to be?”

Leaning into my friend, head dropping to the side of his chest, I smile back, exhaling a thankful breath. “Nah. We’re good right here.”

Our traditional Fourth of July party rages around us, while Clementine and I slurp Jell-O out of tiny plastic shot glasses with our tongues. She giggles through a blue smile that matches her hair. “These are the moments I love having a bartender for a sister,” she states with a wink.

Clem looks amazing, healthy and glowing, having made incredible healing strides over the last few months. She’s been in extensive therapy, as well as speaking out at local schools and functions, and has even been featured in various media broadcasts. I know my sister will never completely recover from the trauma she endured, a trauma that stemmed from six years of sexual abuse and manifested into a decades-long domino effect of subsequent grief, but her progress is already inspiring. She’s my hero.

I have a lot of heroes in my life.

Speaking of one of them, Gabe slips into our Jell-O shot bonding session and clinks his beer bottle to my plastic cup. He gives Clem a wink and a fist-bump, and I smile at the gesture. I’m glad they have managed to rekindle their friendship after the tension between them.

It all makes sense now—why my sister panicked and bolted at the “babygirl” nickname and why she wasn’t able to progress any further with Gabe, despite her feelings for him. While Gabe is nothing,nothing, like his sorry excuse for a father, that correlation will never wane.

Besides, it all worked out. Gabe and Tabitha are happier than ever, and Clementine is content with the single mom life for now. She’s focusing on herself, her journey to healing, and her incredible daughter.

“Where’s your wifey?” I ask Gabe, stealing his beer and taking a sip. I call Tabitha his wife, even though they aren’t at that level of commitment yet. But it’s one-hundred percent happening.

He snags the beer back, swatting at me. “She couldn’t find a sitter for Hope, but we’re meeting up later.”

Hope. Dear Lord, if my ovaries weren’t already kicking into overdrive with Oliver’s sweet kisses, words of adoration, and the magic that dwells inside his pants, watching Gabe go from an eternal bachelor to a doting father figure to little Hope will most certainly get me pregnant.

The baby fever is real.

“By the way, your better half is looking for you,” Gabe adds, his eyebrows dancing over the spout of the bottle.

“Betterhalf?” I glare at him before my shoulders sag with defeat. “True and fair.”

Clem slings back another alcohol-infused gelatin concoction and stands from her chair. “Oliver’s been MIA for a while,” she breezes. “I think I saw him leave with a sexy mystery girl.”

I blanche. “What?”

“Jeez, kidding,” she snorts. “The man wouldn’t notice another woman if she fell from Heaven, butt-naked, face-first into his lap. He’s in the guest room drawing.”

Slugging her in the arm, my heart rate returns to a less concerning pace. “Skank.”

“Hoochy.” She blows me a kiss and disappears into the kitchen.

Rude.

I issue Gabe a quick goodbye and make my way down the hallway to Oliver’s old bedroom. He’s looking mighty scrumptious in his red and white striped collared shirt, and I debate locking us in the room for the remainder of the evening for…reasons.

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