Page 122 of Friends Don't Kiss

Maya’s cold rage drips with contempt. She turns to David. “See? I told you. Effing heart of stone.”

I shiver.

“Hey,” Colton’s deep voice interrupts her. “Tone it down, will ya.”

“I’m not talking to you,” she snaps back loud enough for the din of the pub to go down several notches as people take notice.

I feel Colt rear back, but he stays quiet. I’ve never seen him get into an argument. He won’t start one here, at Lazy’s. He just growls softly while rubbing my shoulder, tugging me closer into him. “You’re talking to your sister, and that’s no way to talk to her,” he answers softly. “If I’m not mistaken, she’s the only one you got. Whole lotta sweet you’re missin’ out on, too. Whatever’s going on between you two—”

“I said, I’m not talking to you,” she yells, her eyes still locked on mine.

Our booth is darkened by Justin leaning over. “Ma’am,” he says under his breath, then turns his gaze to David. “Outta here. Now.”

David hesitates for a beat. Then he tugs on Maya.

Justin moves just enough to let them come through, his gaze following them until they exit Lazy’s, then looks at us, frowning. With a sigh, he sits in front of us, occupying the whole booth with his arms spread across on both sides.

Then he clicks his tongue and picks at a slip of paper on the table. “Looks like they stuck you with their tab.” He smiles real big and looks at Colton. “In-laws, man. Get used to it.”

I snap the tab from him and push on Colton to let me go through. “What d’you think you’re doing, sweetness?” he says, not budging an inch.

“Teaching her a lesson,” I answer in gritted teeth.

“She’s not worth it.”

“I was kidding, Kiara,” Justin says. “Tab’s on me. What are you guys having?”

“You wanna stay here?” Colton asks with so much softness I wonder if I look sick or something. I don’tfeelsick. “Or you wanna go home. You wanna call Eloise?”Why is he…?

Then the realization of why he’s being so careful around me hits me, and so does the piece of news. My chin wobbles, my eyes sting.

The definiteness of it all. There’s no fixing things now. No mending bridges. No breaking walls. No one to forgive.

My father’s dead, and my hatred for him doesn’t even protect me from the immense pain I feel. Feeling my face contort in an awful grimace, I bury it in Colton’s chest.

“Let it out,” he murmurs softly, rubbing my back as silent sobs shake me. “Let it out,” he repeats. I keep my sobs quiet, and from the shield of his hug, overhear him saying, “Her dad just passed away,” and some muffled explanations. Then, “There… there. That’s it… better?” he whispers as my breathing evens and my soul calms down.

“You have a tissue?” he asks, and a feminine voice answers, “here.”

I lift my face from Colton’s protective shield and grab the tissue Willow is handing me, blow my nose, grab the second tissue she’s holding out, dab my eyes, and put my brave little face on while I tuck the rolled tissues in my pocket. “Okay,” I breathe. “Sorry ’bout that.”

“Sorry?!” Colton, Willow, and Justin say.

“Pff, honey,” Willow says, taking my hand, “you just lost—”

I raise a hand between us. “I don’t want to talk about it. Guys, sorry, really. I need-I need...” I don’t know what I need right now. I know for sure I don’t want my friends’ pity. I feel a million feelings—guilt, and anger, and the feeling that life is way too short.

Coming out of nowhere, Shane, Justin’s chef, sets a charcuterie board in the middle of the table. “Here,” he says. “Eat.”

“I’m really not hungry right now, but thanks. You guys go ahead.”

Shane puts his hands on his hips, tilts his head like a puppy, and says, “The cuts are from the Henderson farm, the cheddar and butter from the King’s farm, and the baguette is obviously from Chris’s bakery, but it’s also this afternoon’s bake, still warm from the oven. It’s guaranteed to feed your soul. You know it will.”

While he was talking, Colton buttered the bread and topped it with prosciutto. The way he hands it to me now, mimicking the puppy look, I can’t say no. Lifting my gaze, I take in Willow on the other side of the booth. She ducks under the table to sit next to me, silently pressing her head against my shoulder in support as I chew the food, fighting the feeling of cardboard in my mouth. I swallow with difficulty.

Grace slides in front of me, followed by Ethan. “Get her something to drink, please, honey,” she asks Haley who’s standing at the top of the table, looking helpless. “Wine.” Then, to me, she says, “We’re so sorry. We came as soon as we heard.”

Alex appears, her hair dotted with white flakes.

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