Page 83 of American Beauty

Magnolia’s lips press into a thin line, her chest rising and falling in fast breaths. Her hands tremble, but she squares her shoulders, meeting my gaze head-on with defiance burning in her eyes. “Sure. Might as well clear the air so you can move on guilt-free with your life.”

The guy steps between us, his posture rigid, blocking me from her like I’m a threat. “You okay?”

Magnolia’s expression softens for him. “I’m fine, Colton.”

Colton doesn’t seem to be convinced of that. And neither am I.

“Are you sure? Because you don’t seem fine.”

His gaze flickers to me, his posture stiffening like he’s ready to do something about it if necessary.

As if.

I size him up with a glance. Next to him, I look like I was built for war, and he looks like he got lost on the way to yoga class.

He’s pretty. And blond. Not her type.

But maybe her type has changed.

Her eyes flick to me, sharp as glass. “He won’t hurt me…physically, at least.”

His eyes sweep over me again, lingering a second too long on my frame. It’s clear he’s weighing his odds—and not liking them. Still, he gives a tight nod.

“You’ve got my number if you need me.”

She gives him a fucking smile. “Thanks, Colton.”

It pisses me off, watching them talk about me like I’m some threat she needs guarding against. Like I’m the villain skulking in the shadows, ready to hurt her. Once, I was the one she trusted to keep her safe. Once, she looked at me like I was her shelter from every storm.

Now I’m the threat she needs saving from?

Magnolia jerks her chin toward the parked cars. “Let’s get this over with.”

I brace myself for a drive thick with silence and tension, already steeling my nerves for it. But no. The second she shifts into gear, her phone connects to the speakers, and music fills the car almost instantly.

Of course there’s music. This is Magnolia. She’s never been one to sit in silence.

The opening notes of “How Could an Angel Break My Heart” float through the car. Her hands tighten around the wheel, spine stiffening, before she reaches over and kills the volume. Without thinking, I reach for the knob and turn it right back up.

“I like this one.”

“Since when?”

“Since the first time I heard it on theThinking About Big Guyplaylist.”

She doesn’t look at me, doesn’t say a word.

But when the streetlights wash over her face, I see it—the rapid blinking, the tight mouth, the tears she tries so hard to hide.

And it guts me. Because I realize what those tears mean.

She’s not okay.

And neither am I.

Chapter 25

Alex Sebring

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