Page 143 of A Little Broken

Part of me wonders if she does get it. If she understands why I’m so hot and cold. So unpredictable. Why I’ve spent years distancing myself from her and Mav and…everyone, even if it isn’t fair to them.

“I want you to know I’m excited for you,” I add. “I think you and Mav are…are really great together.”

“Thanks, Tate.” The sadness in her voice tugs at my heart. “That means a lot.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Listen, I’ve been meaning to ask you something.” She hesitates. “And you can say no, okay? Like, genuinely, I totally understand if you want to say no, but?—”

“Spit it out, Ophelia.”

Silence greets me, and I squeeze the edge of my cell, praying for patience.

“Would you…would you be my maid of honor?” she asks.

What?

I pull my phone away from my ear, convinced I’ve heard her wrong. Did she really just ask me this? After all the bullshit we’ve been through? After my lack of support for years, not to mention the way I totally threw her under the bus with Archer beforeandafter he passed?

“Y-you want me to be your maid of honor?” I ask.

“Is that weird for you?” She hesitates again. “If it is, I totally get it, I just…”

Twisting the blanket in my lap, I admit, “I kind of figured you would’ve already asked Fin or Dylan or Raine or…”Anyone else but me, I silently finish.

“You’re my little sister, Tate,” she returns. “You mean more to me than almost anyone else in the world.”

My mouth ticks up, catching me by surprise. “Almost?”

She laughs. “You know what I mean, smartass.”

And I do. I know what it’s like to love someone. To put them above everyone else. Even my big sister. Shame and regret twist inside of me at the reminder of how much time has passed since we really spoke. Since I refused to hear her out or let my hate go. Too long.

Cotton fills my mouth, but I force out, “I’d be honored, Lia.”

It’s only half a lie. Honored? Yes. Absolutely losing my shit about all the situations that are guaranteed to be a mind fuck throughout the process? Also, yes. And sometimes it sucks how two opposing feelings can be on the same coin like this one. Even so, Paxton’s right. Carrying the hate I’ve carried for someone I’m supposed to love—my own flesh and blood—is exhausting. And I’m tired of lugging it around day in and day out, knowing it doesn’t do me, or anyone else, for that matter, a single fucking speck of good.

“You’re the best, Tatum,” Ophelia breathes out. “You really are. Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.” I pause, caught between ending the call on a good note and opening the puss-filled sore refusing to heal, no matter how much time I’ve given it. “Can I…can I ask you something?”

“Yeah, of course.”

Just say it, Tatum.

“Do you ever…” A lump clogs my throat, and I force it back, well aware if I don’t say it now, I never will. “Do you ever think about him anymore?”

Him.

I don’t need to say his name. Ophelia already knows.

“I think about Archer every day,” she whispers. “Every. Fucking. Day.”

Me, too.The words are on the tip of my tongue, but I swallow them, replacing the admission with another question. “Do you miss him?” My voice cracks, and I rub at the corner of my eye, willing the pressure behind them to go away. But it’s too much. All of it. Ophelia. Archer. His absence. My pulling away. It’s killing me.

“I miss Archer more than I will ever be able to describe,” Ophelia promises.

“Yeah?”

---