Page 10 of The Fight

“Can you come get me? Like, now.”

“Um, okay. Where are you?”

“Clear View Country Club. Do you know where it’s at?”

“Everyone does. I’ll be there in fifteen.”

I end the call before any more words spill from her mouth. I don’t want to deal with the questions yet. Instead, I slip out the front doors and start walking down the ridiculously long drive. Once I make it to the end, I cross through the wrought iron gate and wait.

Hannah didn’t lie.Within fifteen minutes, her old, white Impala was pulling up, blasting Ari Abdul. When I got into the car, I held up my hand, telling her not to even ask. Not yet anyway, and she didn’t. Ten minutes later, we were pulling into a parking spot on the beach.

Putting the car in park, she leans back in her seat and raises her hand to flip down her visor. A lone, tightly rolled joint falls down and lands in her lap. Picking it up, she hands it to me, then digs in the console for a lighter.

I bring it to my lips and spark it. I inhale deeply, letting the smoke fill my lungs. When I blow it out, I let all of my frustrations go with it and close my eyes.

“Can I ask now?”

I take another hit and nod.

“Where are your shoes?”

Opening my eyes, I look down and realize I didn’t grab my heels when I left. It makes me laugh. “That’s it? You want to know where my shoes went?”

She shrugs and pulls her feet into her seat, crisscrossing her legs. Extending her hand toward me, she reaches for the joint. “I mean, you just look kind of trashy leaving such a fancy place with no shoes. I don’t really care, I was just curious and figured I’d give the weed a little more time to work into your system before I started really grilling you.”

I roll my eyes and push further into the seat. “You’re not going to believe me.”

“Try me.” She takes another pull from the joint, then hands it back to me.

“My mom is getting married.”

“To who?” She raises a brow.

Hannah is the only person in Saint Bipal I’ve told about my dad. It’s not for the fact I don’t want to—I love to remember his memory—but how do you bring up a dead parent? On top of that, how do you bring them up when the wound is still so fresh? Twelve months isn’t long enough to forget someone. Which brings me back to the bullshit at hand…

I shake my head. I don’t even think I can say the words out loud. “I left my shoes in the bathroom.”

“I thought we were past the shoes, Blair. Fuck the shoes. Tell me who momma is shacking up with.”

I let the silence hang between us for a moment. “Henry.”

The corner of her mouth tips up. “He got money? Sounds like a guy who has money.”

“Cornell.”

Her jaw falls open. “You’re fucking lying.”

I shake my head again. “Wish I was.”

“Henry Cornell, as inShayCornell’s dad?”

“That’s the one.” I point to nothing in particular.

“Oh my God.”

“I know.”

“No. I don’t think you do. This means Shay will be your brother…”

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