Page 49 of In It to Win It

My parents give me pained looks and exchange a glance. “We’re not sure,” Mom finally says.

Now my heart cracks; it actually feels like it’s splitting into pieces with agonizing pain. I suck in a shaky breath. “We can’t . . . give him up.”

Mom sinks her teeth into her bottom lip. “I know you love him. But I can’t take him to Shirley’s.”

“And the apartment I found doesn’t allow pets,” Dad adds. “But eventually I hope to buy a smaller house . . .”

That doesn’t help right now. My chest constricts. I won’t be able to afford the kind of place that allows pets. And the apartments I’ve looked at online are way too small for him. I nod and turn away, tears sliding down my cheeks as I head outside with Byron.

The breeze off the ocean cools the moisture on my hot cheeks and I turn my face into it, eyes closed. Then I let Byron pull me along briskly, my feet sinking into the soft sand.

I walk mindlessly, for how long I don’t even know, staring out at the ocean, trying to process what is happening and what is going to happen. Mom and Dad seem like the perfect, happily married couple. It makes no sense. They don’t have fights. I don’t think either of them has cheated on the other. Of course, nobody really knows what happens in a marriage except the two people involved. Maybe I’ve just been blind.

I was away at college for two years, but I’ve been back for a while now. Surely I would have seen the signs if things were wrong. Am I that self-absorbed that I missed it all?

We meet another dog that Byron stops to greet, which means sniffing each other’s butts. I force a smile for the woman with the other dog and we make small talk for a few minutes, then continue on.

How can I live without Byron? He’s my best buddy. We’ve had him for eight years, since I was sixteen. I was the one who trained him to do his tricks, took him for walks on the beach. He sleeps in my bedroom. I mean, Mom and Dad love him too, but Byron and I have a special bond.

I guess I’m going to have to figure it out.

When I’m near home, I turn and walk toward Lacey and Théo’s place. She’s my closest friend right now, literally in terms of physical proximity, but also we’ve gotten close in the months she’s lived here. I need someone to talk to.

Luckily, she’s home, although I feel bad because I think I interrupted her and Théo having some afternoon fun.

“No, no, we were just napping,” she says, ruffling her hair.

“Uh-huh. That’s what my parents used to say when they went into the bedroom on Sunday afternoons.” And I burst into tears.

Horrified, Lacey wraps her arms around me. “What the . . . what’s wrong, Tay?”

Sobbing, I managed to choke out the words about what just happened. She leads me into the living room and sits me down on the couch. Byron pads after us, does a quick sniff around the room, then lies down on the rug, panting a bit from our long walk.

I tell Lacey what I know, how I feel, the questions I have. She listens, rubbing my back, being the best friend you could ever have, sympathy pouring off her.

Théo wanders in, sees me crying, and quickly starts to leave, which is fine, because I’m an embarrassed disaster. A pile of used tissues sits on the table in front of us, some of them smudged with my black mascara. I can only imagine what a horror I look like.

“Théo!” Lacey calls. “Could you get Byron some water?”

“Thank you,” I mumble, ashamed of not realizing he was thirsty.

Of course that’s when JP has to show up.

Fuck my life.

I bend my head, letting my hair fall forward as he greets us, trying to hide my face.

“Uh . . . everything okay?” he asks. He absently reaches down to rub Byron’s head when my dog joyfully prances up to him.

“Taylor just got some bad news,” Lacey says.

“Oh.” I sense his hesitation. “You okay, Taylor?”

Like he cares. He was such a jerk yesterday when we were all having lunch after the yoga class, being snarky about Anthony. “Fine,” I snap. “I just need to use the bathroom.” I jump up and try to escape before he sees my face.

I splash cold water on my swollen eyes and red cheeks, then stare at myself in the mirror. Yep, I look dreadful. I close my eyes on a wave of self-pity.

But this isn’t about me. Mom and Dad are hurting too. And I’m sure Amy’s devastated. I’ll have to call her tonight. And Byron . . . poor Byron has no idea what’s going on. An ache pulses behind my breastbone and I press the heel of my palm there.

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