Page 68 of Pieces of Me

“Tell me everything,” she says, leading me toward a long concrete block. She sits down, and I park it right beside her.

Head in my hands, I mumble, “You’re going to be so mad at me.”

“I’m sure I’ll be mad, but I’ll never be disappointed in you,” she says, her tone soft, comforting. I lock my gaze on hers—her eyes clear and full of clarity—and I don’t know how she’s managed to get through everything she has and come out on top.

I blow out a breath, preparing myself. “You know how I told you Jamie was in town?”

“Yeah...”

My face pinches at my own disgust. “I wasn’t exactly… welcoming.” I tell Mia everything. From beginning to end. And I can tell the parts that hurt her, because truthfully, they hurt me too. By the time I’m done, there’s an ache in my chest so debilitating I can barely breathe, let alone speak. I open my hand, palm up, revealing the pendant I’ve carried since Jamie left. “She gave this back. It was kind of like a final farewell and fuck you at once.”

Mia takes the pendant from me, inspecting it with her brow bunched. “Someone should chop off your dick,” she says, her eyes going wide as she looks at me. “Sorry, that was reactionary.”

I shake my head. “Nah, you’re right.”

For the next few minutes, we sit in silence, neither of us knowing what to say. We’ve never really been in this situation before. I’m the fixer, and up until she reconnected with Benny’s dad, she’s always been the one needing repairing. Now things have switched and—

“Maybe I should reach out to her again.”

My eyes snap to hers. “What do you meanagain?”

She scrunches her nose, gaze shifting to anywhere but me. “I kind of maybe went to see her at the diner that time I visited you for Thanksgiving…”

“What?” My eyes narrow. “What the hell did you say?”

“Nothing bad, obviously. She took your sorry ass back, didn’t she?”

“That’s not the point.”

“I’m going to reach out to her,” she says, taking her phone from her pocket.

“Mia! Don’t!”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m a grown-ass man. I don’t need my best friend going to—”

“What’s her last name?”

When I try to take the phone from her, she holds it up in the air as if I’m not an entire foot taller than her. “I’m serious, Mia. Leave it alone.”

“Maybe that’s your problem,” she states, lowering her arm. “All you do isleave it alone. You know what the definition is insanity is?”

I roll my eyes.

“Doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result. What are her socials?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, we need to find out who she is now, not who she was five years ago.”

“Why?”

“Why?” she repeats, as if I’m dumb for even asking. “So you canwooher all over again.” She smacks her palm to my forehead. “Idiot.”

I heave out a sigh, my shoulders hunched. “Her last name is Taylor. Jameson Taylor.”

We spend the next half hour trying to social-stalk a girl who, evidently, wants to remain unsearchable. It made sense back when we were together and she was afraid of Beaker, but he’s gone now.

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