Page 71 of The Wrong Heart

An aggravated groan escapes me as I push myself up from the couch cushions and storm away, already knowing she’s going to follow.Relentless. “Wishful thinking, Bree. I’m still the same old joyless curmudgeon you’ve come to know, and for some unknown reason, love.”

Bree trails me into the kitchen, her never-ending optimism trailing with her. She coils her fingers around my wrist to stop my intentional avoidance. “Hey. Stop for a second.”

Closing my eyes, my jaw tight, I slowly spin to face her.

“Parker.”

“Bree,” I drawl.

“Will you look at me, please?”

Fucking hell.I appease her request, but make sure I do it as miserably as possible—eyebrows pinched, lips pressed together, glare indignant. Bree’s gaze slides over me like she’s studying for a final exam, soaking up each line and crease, memorizing every detail. She’s in research mode. Her little nose scrunches up, making it look like the freckles peppering her high cheekbones scatter and spread. Her thick, dark eyebrows wrinkle with curiosity. I let out something that falls between a sigh and a huff, laced with exasperation, and fold my arms over my chest. “Are you done?”

Bree’s taupe-tinged lips curl up. “Who is she?”

“I’m not sleeping with anyone.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

I open my mouth to speak, then clamp it shut. My teeth grind and grate, the muscles in my arms twitching. I’m not planning on indulging Bree because it means nothing—shemeans nothing—but it slips out anyway. “She’s just someone I met at those dumb fucking meetings you forced me into.”

“Oh, my God…”

I’m appalled when she starts to cry. “What are you doing? Don’t fucking do that. Why are you doing that?”

Bree throws herself at me with a strained whimper, wrapping me up in a bone-crushing hug and weeping into the front of my shirt. Her hair smells like it did when we were kids, something like baby powder and wild orchids, and I can’t help but deflate a little as the crimpy curls tickle my nose. “It’s nothing… and it’s not going anywhere.”

“It’s not nothing, Parker. It’snot.” She pulls her cheek from my chest, wiping away tearstains with the back of her wrist, then she presses her palm up against my heart. “One year ago, I thought I was going to lose you, but you were given a second chance. A chance I never thought you’d ever learn to appreciate.”

I stiffen, glancing away and blowing out a hard breath. “You’re making this a bigger deal than it is.”

“Your happinessisa big deal, little brother. It’s a huge freakin’ deal.” Bree gifts me with a watery smile, sniffling as she takes a step back. “I won’t hound you for details. I don’t think you’re ready for that yet.”

“Good. There are no details, and also, I’d rather jump into a pit of ravenous beavers than have that conversation with you.”

She knocks me on the shoulder with a playful fist. “I’ll break you down eventually,” she says, traipsing towards the box of assorted doughnuts and plucking a glazed blueberry from the mix. Bree takes a big bite and mumbles through the crumbs, “Just stay away from beaver pits until then.”

Evening falls, and I make my way over to my rolling chair when my cell phone pings with a message notification:Magnolia.

It’s been a few days since the tornado touched down in Delavan—when Melody and I cleaned up the debris littering her neighborhood street, mostly in silence, not sure what to say to one another after what transpired between us in that darkened den. But I caught her staring at me from time to time, lost in her thoughts with a somewhat dreamy look in her eyes. Pensive, yet whimsical. It was unnerving. That whole goddamn day was unnerving, so I haven’t spoken to her since, and I’m dreading our next meeting together.

I’ve talked to Magnolia, though.

She’s my outlet. She’s an anonymous stranger I can vent to, joke with, and even get vulnerable with—all things I can’t do in my day-to-day life.

I can be myself with her. I can be the person I would likely be right now if life hadn’t completely fucked me over.

Pulling up my Gmail account, I click on her little message box.

Magnolia:Tell me a confession.

Me:The pink Starburst is by far the worst flavor.

Magnolia:We’re no longer friends.

Friends.Is that what we are?

I’m pretty sure I have no friends—except maybe Owen, but I don’t think an eight-year-old boy I just met really counts.

---