Page 8 of The Second Deal

“BecauseI’vebeen the one reaching out,” she responds curtly. “Thecouple timesItried letting it go, we didn’t talk for months.Literalmonths.”

Asmuch asIwant to argue about it,Ikeep my trap shut.

Iescaped toAtlantafor a reason: to get away, start fresh, and keep myself busy.IletDirtyPeachmusicians keep me as busy as they would let me soIdidn’t have to call or text home often—Ididn’t want to answer questions about whyIleft, whenIwas going to come visit, ifI’dcome back home soon.

Comingclean would’ve made me a lot more enemies than quittingTimelessand leaving town the wayIdid.

Afterpouring and setting the pitcher aside,Brandyturns to face me.She’sa tiny little thing, but she’s been my best girl friend for ever—Iknow when there’s a rage brewing inside.

“Ithought we were best friends,Steph,” she finally says. “Youwere my sister from another mister.Myfuture sister-in-law whenRobgrows the balls to ask me.”

“You’restill my best friend,”Iinterrupt quickly.

Agrimace forms on her face, and she slowly shakes her head. “No,I’mnot.Bestfriends get onFaceTimejust to hang out, no talking necessary.Bestfriends are there for each other when shit hits the fan and we feel like we can’t get out of bed anymore.Wedon’t just let them figure it all out on their own—”

Ithrow my arms around her, hugging her closely and trying my best to blink back tears.Ihaven’t even been back in town but for a couple of hours—Ican’t let the waterworks start now.

Atear slips down my nose.

Fuck.

Isnivel against her shoulder. “I’mreally sorry.”

Shepushes me away, refusing to even look at me as she hands me a glass and scoots the pitcher in my direction. “Imissed you a lot,Steph.ButI’mreally fucking hurt.”

Anextra tear follows the strayIjust wiped away. “Imissed you, too.Maybewe can start up our girls’ puzzle night again.”

“Huh, right.BecauseKristotally isn’t ready to rip your head off, either.”

Myhead droops in defeat.Igrab the pitcher and shuffle back outside.

Ijust have to face it:Ibroke more than one relationship, and nowI’mpaying for it.

MaybeTywas right when we were saying goodbye atWaffleHouseearly this morning.

“Youbelong here,” he murmured as his brown eyes searched mine under a glaring light in the parking lot.Itilluminated the red undertone of his curly brown hair swept to the side and allowed me to count the number of freckles dotting his nose and cheeks, made the half-inch gold plugs in his earlobes glint. “Youbelong at the studio.”

Hisarms were firmly around my waist; every timeItried to finally get in my car, he would cinch me tighter and nuzzle my neck.

“Don’tgo.Movein with me.”

Ichoke on a swallow of margarita, coughing enough to garner the attention ofMomand the twins sitting at the table.

Icompletely ignore the most tatted-up twin, whose black hair sits in a bun on top of his head, and head straight for the waterfall with my own personal pitcher of “sadaritas” in hand.

Butthe dim string lights overhead cast shadows over his tattooed arm with a gold watch and shiny rings adorning his fingers, emphasizing how much he’s hit the gym.

Mybreath trembles on an exhale.

Hairraises on the back of my neck, andImeetZak’sgaze again.

Isuck in an audible gasp before swallowing the ball of knives trying to make my throat bleed out.

“Allthis turned out really nice,Dad,”Icomment, unsure of whereIshould sit.Ilike facing everyone with my back to the wall.ButIdon’t want to see them.ButIdon’t trust to turn my back, either.

“Thanks,” he says as he tosses aside a big weed he pulls from around the waterfall fixture. “Surecoulda used your help wrangling your mother in with—” he gestures widely, “—all this.Butit’s nice having this setup.Nowshe’s talkin’ about building a barn out back for weddings.”Hescoffs. “Likewe don’t got enough goin’ on withNYB.”

Ifeign a lighthearted chuckle. “Yeah.Thatkeeps us busy almost year-round, anyway.”

---