Page 43 of Trapped and Tackled

And so much fucking shame.

It pours out, tracks down my cheeks, drops onto my bare thighs.

It’s ugly and messy. Honest and heartbreaking.

I don’t know how long I cry. Only that my cell phone lights up several times in the cupholder it sits in. I can’t bear to read any more messages I’ll most likely ignore so I don’t bother checking.

Instead, I sit on the side of the road until I’m calm enough to lift my head. The blood rushes there, leaving me dizzy. I wipe my fingers over my cheeks and take a deep, cleansing breath.

God, what the hell is wrong with me?

Flipping down the sun visor, I wince at my reflection. I really do look ill. I snap it shut and lean back, pressing my head into the headrest as my breathing regulates.

And the exhaustion hits.

By the time I park in my parents’ driveway, I’m drained. I grip my purse and phone but don’t have the bandwidth to read the messages on screen. Instead, I make it to my room, drop my purse, strip out of my clothes and tug on comfy pajamas, and collapse on my bed.

Pulling the covers over my shoulders, I drift into a weightless sleep that clears my mind, numbs my emotions, and allows my muscles to unclench and my body to relax.

I sleep hard.

“Wake up, sleepyhead,” Marlowe says, shaking my shoulder gently.

I stir, blinking slowly as her expression comes into view. “Mar?”

“Hey,” my best friend says, leaning against the pillows propped up along my headboard. “You were out cold.”

“Yeah,” I agree, stretching silently. Marlowe’s had a key to Mom and Dad’s house since the fourth grade. It’s not uncommon for her to pop by unannounced, but it’s been a long time since she’s done so since I’ve been away for two years. “What’s going on?” I frown, noting the uncertainty in her expression.

Marlowe sighs and shakes her head as I pull myself into a seated position.

“Marlowe?” I press. Did something else happen with Grandpa McIntyre?

My best friend sighs. “Something’s going on with my family.”

I inch closer to her, laying my head on her shoulder. “I heard about your grandfather.”

She shakes her head. “It’s more than that, Leni. Adi is so stressed about the debutante ball; my grandfather is awful. Poor Samantha. But my parents…”

“What?” I whisper, nervous. Marlowe’s parents aren’t as involved in her life the way my parents are in mine, but they’re present.

“I don’t know,” she admits. “Something is going on. They’ve both been acting differently…around me, around each other. Whenever I ask, they say it’s just the stress of dealing with Grandpa, but I think it’s something else.”

“Oh, Marlowe. Why didn’t you tell me?” I ask, wincing as soon as the words are out of my mouth.

Marlowe shifts and looks at me. “Don’t take this the wrong way, Len, but you haven’t really been around lately. And I don’t mean physically. When you first moved to New York, we still talked all the time but after you moved in with Craig…”

“Things changed,” I fill in the blank. Of course, she’s right. The more controlling Craig became, the more I tried to mold myself to be the woman he wanted, the more I pulled away from my family and friends. The more distance I put between myself and Marlowe. “But you have Toby,” I add, trying to diffuse my guilt.

“It’s not the same thing,” Marlowe says, her green eyes glinting. “And you know it.”

I sigh and nod. “I’m sorry.”

“I am too. Besides, things with Toby are…”

I wait for her to continue. When she doesn’t, I press my shoulder lightly against hers.

“Rocky,” she finally says. “Whenever we’re together, we drink. Usually, I drink too much and…things are different with him too.”

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