Page 115 of A Little Broken

When I spot Rory sitting at a small booth near the back, I stride closer and slide into the seat across from her, practically choking on my apology in hopes of getting it over with as quickly as possible. “I’m a bitch,” I announce. “I’m sorry?—”

“I forgive you.”

Jerking back, my brows hitch. “That’s it? That’s all it took?”

She tucks her hair behind her ear while avoiding my gaze. “I think I know you better than to expect any other kind of response than the one you gave me after finding out about the wedding. And if I can cut you some slack, then you can cut me some, too.”

And there it is. Her reason for being so forgiving. Because she needs me to do the same.

Sneaky, Rory. Very sneaky.

“Why would I need to cut you slack?” I question.

Her lips press into a thin line before she looks down at her hands, clicking her short nails together.

“Squeaks,” I push.

“I called my mom.”

My stomach lurches as all the potential repercussions of a single phone call rush to the surface. Shit. That isn’t what I was expecting. Don’t get me wrong. It’s not like she never talks to her mom. Her relationship with her parents is as strong as mine. But calling her after a big, fat wedding announcement? That’s a different story. Add in the guilt wafting off Rory in waves, and I know I’m about to have my world rocked.

“Squeaks,” I repeat, though it’s more of a plea than a warning like before.

“Apparently, Lia didn’t want you to find out about the wedding through the grapevine, but after one too many ignored calls, she finally just texted you the announcement then called everyone else.”

“Yeah, I assumed as much.”

“I talked to Mav, too,” she adds carefully. “Anyway, my mom asked if we’re planning to come to the engagement party as well as the wedding, and I said…” Her gaze finally meets mine, already welling with tears as if her panic might swallow her whole.

“What did you say, Rore?”

“Don’t kill me.”

“Rore…”

“I said yes.”

Hunching into my seat, my head lolls forward in defeat. It’s not like I actually thought I could get away with missing the wedding or the engagement party, but surrendering this quickly feels like a low blow. I don’t want to go back. Not only because of Lia, but because I spent my teenage years torching every bridge and olive branch in existence. Facing everyone again? It feels about as comfortable as a punch to the boob.

Pinching the bridge of my nose, I mumble, “Guess it makes sense, since he’s your brother and all.”

“And Lia’s your sister,” Rory adds, as if she has to remind me.

“And that,” I mutter. I feel like I’ve been tossed into the deep end of a pool with my hands tied behind my back, and I hate it. I shouldn’t be surprised. I know I shouldn’t. Not by the engagement or the looming travel dates ahead of me thanks to said engagement. But it doesn’t make me feel any better.

Mav and Ophelia have been together for years. Honestly, it’s a shock they weren’t hitched before Archer’s body was in the ground, they were so obsessed with each other. Of course, they’d decide to tie the knot at some point. So why does it have to pissme off so much? It doesn’t matter. They don’t matter. Not when it comes to my grief. It’s like Pax said. I’m composing my own song. I’m living my own journey. And just because their song is a little different, it shouldn’t detract from my own.

Right?

Man, why is this so hard?

“Rory?” the barista calls from the front. My best friend stands and heads to the pick up counter before returning with two iced lattes.

As she hands me one of them, I ask, “What do I owe you?”

“You know I’ve got it.” She slips back into the booth across from me. “Anyway, if it helps, I’m not too happy about going back to Lockwood Heights, either.”

Duh.

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