Page 87 of The Problem with Falling
But I didn’t feel alone.
“Willow?” I whispered.
“Yes?”
“Can you p-please do me a fa-favor?”
“Anything.”
“Stay with me? Please. Just…s-s-stay.”
She held me tighter, a simple sign that she wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon. I was thankful for that.
All I ever wanted was for someone to stay.
CHAPTER 28
Theo
Iwished I could say the night got better, but it didn’t. My mother stormed off after ruining the whole afternoon for me, and then I had to deal with walking past people and hearing them whisper about the latest gossip of Christina Langford’s return from the dead.
My annoyance with PaPa was still high, but hell, yelling at a ghost didn’t seem like it would do me any good. I walked through the crowded house, being stopped by individuals who truly didn’t give a damn about me, asking me how I was coping.
“Oh, sweetheart. It’s a shame,” Jane Forest said, tapping her hand against my forearm. “I cannot believe he’s really gone. He was a good man.”
“Wild that your mama popped back up, too, though,” her sister, Sarah, stated. “Have you two been in contact?”
I stared blankly at the two sisters before walking away without offering them a word. That continued, and people grewmore and more bold with their gossiping as more whiskey was poured.
The one who started speaking the most whiskey thoughts out loud, though?
Good ole Peter Langford.
My dumbasscousin.
He crossed my path in the dining room as I was collecting empty beer bottles. Peter patted my shoulder, the whiskey scent almost oozing from his pores. “Holy shit, Christina’s back, huh?”
I grumbled.
He was the last person I wanted to speak to about my mother’s arrival to Westin Lake.
“Not talking about it,” I muttered.
He took a swig from the whiskey bottle in his hand because that was the level of drunkenness he’d made it to—no glassware needed. Drinking straight from the bottle.Mr. Classy over here.
Peter tapped his temple. “I don’t know about you, but that would fuck with my mind, my mama coming back to town for two years and not wanting to see me at all.”
“Peter,” I scolded, “fuck off.”
He held his hands up in surrender with a chuckle. “Whoa, whoa. Don’t rage at me, Theo. I’m not the one who abandoned you. Just imagine,” he said, sliding an arm around my shoulders, “your mother hates you so much that she’d go out of her way not to see you. That’s almost comical. I betSaturday Night Livecould do a hilarious skit on it.”
I shrugged his arm off me. “I’m not in the fucking mood, Peter.”
“Well, then get in the mood, cuz. Gosh, you’re always so wound up. Relax.” He rubbed my shoulder with his hand. “Drink a little,” he said, tossing whiskey straight into my face.
The rage I felt in my soul was seconds from boiling over, yet I tried my best to keep it at bay. I knew that was what Peterwas looking for. He wanted me to snap. I couldn’t give him that satisfaction.
I wiped the alcohol from my face and took a few deep breaths. “You’re a fucking mess, Peter. Get help.”
