Page 33 of Faking It With the Small-Town Bad Boy

bold and stand up for ourselves.

My father raised us to be givers and generous with our kindness and

our time.

It was a constant tension that—even though I do love and miss them

both so much—I’m happy I don’t have to deal with anymore.

“I’m sorry,” I gust at last. “If I were in your shoes, I wouldn’t go. Tell

the band they will just play without you.”

“I’m the lead guitarist and the singer,” he grunts. “I don’t want to

affect their paycheck, either. The governor is going to pay us enough

money to put towards a van, and then we can get out of this fucking

place once and for all.”

I shrug. “If you came by about three weeks ago, I’d ask why you

would want to leave, but now I’m not so sure. Rally was a calm and

easy place to live if you could dodge the public eye for gossip. I don’t

think I’m ever going to leave that focal point now that Ryan is getting

married in this big, grandeur event.”

“So would you say, it would be nice if the heat was taken off of you

for the sake of this wedding?”

“I guess so, but that’s not possible. Everyone is going to be watching

us if we go, which is why I’m sorry you are—because I am not.

Besides, he invited me to go before our big fight. I’m sure if we spoke

after the blowout, he would rescind his invite.”

Reaching into his back pocket, he holds up a little notecard with

printed photos of the happy couple, the date of the wedding in a few

short months, and the place of reception. I hold my breath at the

sight of the card. It’s different to hear it from his lips than it is to see

it being so real and in my face.

“I found this taped to the front door of the house. I poked my head

inside, but you weren’t there. Figured I would find you in here.

Sounded like a lot of cuss words were coming out of here.”

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