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Cary Pierce is dead.
A heart attack in his sleep. There was nothing anyone could do.
No messages from Connor. I haven’t heard from him since yesterday morning. Since we…
I sit up in bed with a sigh.
Since me and my stupid virginity screwed everything up.
I throw a sweater on over my tank top and head downstairs. Saturday morning. Dad always makes breakfast on Saturday mornings. From the smell of bacon wafting up the stairs, I can tell that this morning is no exception.
The moment I enter the kitchen, the voices go quiet. My father stands at the stove with his back to the rest of us as he cooks. My brothers silently stand up from their stools at the island counter next to my mother. Plates in hand, they leave, taking wide steps around me and angling toward the stairs.
“Ben, wait,” I say.
He pauses as Alex continues upstairs.
“Talk to me.” I step closer, forcing him to lift his eyes. “No matter what, we’ve always… talked to each other.”
“What would you like me to say, Dana?” he asks.
“Anything. You’re mad at Connor, so be mad. But don’t shut me out.”
He shrugs. “I’m not mad at Connor.”
“Disappointed. Whatever. I get it.”
“No, you don’t get it.” He exhales hard through his nose. “We had a deal, Dana. You and me.”
“I know.”
“Forget about Connor. You reneged on me. That’s not cool.”
“I’m sorry.”
“We’ve always been close. Closer than me and Alex in some ways. But… I don’t know, since this summer, you’ve changed. Like you’re trying to be someone you’re not.”
I wince. “I’m still your sister, Ben.”
“My sister wouldn’t have slept with my best friend behind my back,” he says, turning away. “And you know it.”
He leaves, following Alex up the stairs.
Well, that didn’t feel great.
Unfortunately, my morning of pain has only just begun.
I continue toward the kitchen.
“Good morning, sweetie,” Mom says from her stool as she puts down her phone and picks up her coffee mug.
I smile a greeting before sliding onto the stool next to hers.
My father doesn’t even look at me, his focus locked on the few slices of turkey bacon sizzling on the skillet.
“Any plans for today?” my mother asks, her phone vibrating next to her plate.
“Not really, no,” I answer.
