Page 81 of Deliverance

Sky grimaces and pulls me in for a hug.

“Luck be with you.”

I laugh at that, waving goodbye as I slip out of the room and down the stairs. Liam calls out goodbye, waving to me while Ronan and Asher ignore me before I’m out of the house and in my car. It’s decided. I’m done with Bridgette. I can’t let her be in my life any more than I have to.

The easiest part is admitting you have a problem. Actually following through…yeah, we’ll see how that goes.

Chapter Twenty Nine

Maggie

I’m standing in Harry’s formal living room, a pleasant smile on my face that couldn’t be faker. Miles has been talking about his boat, I shit you not, his boat, for the last forty-five minutes. As if I really give a fuck how many knots it can go per hour or the new decking he had put in. It’s a goddamn boat.

I knew from the moment I told him I was not, nor will I ever be, attracted to men and he tried to turn it into his one and only chance to have a threesome, that I was well and truly fucked in this arrangement. There would be no friendship, no life where we lived platonically and had separate romantic lives. There would be no kindness and understanding with one another, and there sure as shit was no making the best out of this situation. I could have been matched with someone a lot worse, but on the same hand, I could have been matched with someone a hell of a lot better.

It's Christmas Eve tonight, and apparently, the Brentons have an annual party that most of the elites of the Brethren attend, apart from the Elders, of course. My family has never been invited before this year, but like I said, it’s for the elites. Or at least those who identify as an elite. If the Elders knew what they called each other and thought of each other, they’d laugh in their faces, maybe slit their throats as well.

My eyes move through the room before landing on Bridgette. She is smiling up at Thomas Booth like he hung the moon, stars, and the whole goddamn galaxy. Thomas grins as he pulls her tightly into his side. It seems like Bridgette is officially well and truly over Asher. Which is good, especially for Skyla’s sake. My god, I don’t think my best friend could have handled much more of the possessive bullshit Bridgette was pulling. I also don’t think Bridgette could have handled much more because Vincent has been ready to kill her for months.

I never asked Skyla not to let him. That just would have been…wrong. She could see my desperation, though, my silent pleas. She’s a much better friend than I. I’m not afraid to admit it. She called off her guard dogs, and with Bridgette all but disappearing from existence, things have settled enough.

At least now I know why she hasn’t been at school as much lately. Why she’s given up on someone she’s wanted for so long. She moved on. And with him? I’m not judging but…oh wait, yes, I am. He is her father’s age, and it fucking shows. He’s not one of those good looking older men. He’s just old, honestly older looking than Harry. The man looks like shit with a slimy smile that makes you crave a shower after a single look.

He steps away from her for a moment, pulled into another conversation. The moment his attention is no longer on her, Bridgette’s smile drops, and she throws back her champagne glass, downing it in one gulp before grabbing two more from a passing waiter. I frown as I walk away from Miles, not giving a shit that he’s still yammering about that damn boat. By the time I get to Bridgette, she has already polished off one of her glasses and is starting the other.

“You should go easy,” I say as I come up behind her.

She startles for a moment, her gaze guarded and meek. Not at all like the Bridgette I know and…yeah, not at all like Bridgette.

“I’m fine,” she says before downing the next drink.

“The doctor said no alcohol, especially not with your pain meds,” I say as I look at her casted wrist.

It’s been about seven weeks since the whole fork thing. She should be able to get the cast off between eight to twelve weeks, so she’s almost free from it. Clearly, she’s fighting with something else now. A wound on the inside.

“Not on those anymore,” she says as she grabs another two glasses from a server.

She can barely grip a glass with her cast, but somehow, she manages as she lifts her other glass to her mouth. I reach out, holding her wrist as I stop her movement.

“Doesn’t matter. You shouldn’t be getting drunk. Especially not with…certain people around,” I say as I nod subtly to Thomas. God knows what he’d love to do with a vulnerable and gorgeous woman like Bridgette.

She laughs bitterly before looking at me.

“Walk away, Maggie. We know it’s what you do best.”

Hurt stabs through me as my face scrunches up in confusion. Bridgette shakes her head like she’s disappointed before pushing past me, stumbling towards the bathroom. What the fuck? She thinks I walk away? From her?

Yeah, I walked away when I found her fucking around with someone else. I walked away when she tried to come onto me high as a kite, telling me things I only wished I could hear, making promises I knew she wouldn’t keep when the next sun rose. I walked away, but it wasn’t because I wanted to, either time. It was because Ihadto. How can she not see that?

Shaking my head, I storm off, needing some fresh air. Pushing the patio doors open, I step outside when a sharp chill rips through me. Fuck, it’s cold out here. New England winters are not for the weak. At least I know that I’ll be left alone out here, though.

At least, I thought so.

“Maggie?” A familiar voice calls from my left.

Glancing over, I see Maryia wearing a white as snow dress with a fur wrap. She looks every bit the pure and demure daughter her parents dress her up to be. Her hair is wrapped up on the top of her head in a complicated updo and she has teardrop diamond earrings on that could probably feed all of Salem for a month, at least.

“Hi,” I say, not really having much else to say.

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