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I ignore them both, ascending the stairs in a sprint before navigating my way to the east wing of the house. I text Tyler as I go, firing off a quick message.
ME: HAD TO TEND TO SOMETHING. AS LONG AS THE GIRLS ARE GAME, YOU’RE WELCOME TO THEM. BLONDE ONE COULD SUCK A TENNIS BALL THROUGH A STRAW. CONSIDER YOURSELF ON BREAK.
His response comes through in seconds.
TYLER: I HOPE YOU KNOW I WOULD FUCKING DIE FOR YOU.
Any other day, his pussy-fueled loyalty would earn a chuckle, but right now I can’t even manage the faintest of smiles. Entering the master suite, I slam the door behind me with considerable force before engaging the lock.
Striding over to the corner bar, I pour some whiskey into a crystal tumbler and take a sip. It does little to calm my nerves, evident by the slight shake of my hand. Downing the last of the amber liquid, I hurl the glass toward the opposite side of the room, watching it shatter when it collides with the wall. I sink down onto the foot of my bed, my head dropping into my hands as I attempt to steady myself against the slow tremors currently threatening to overtake me.
The eyes, their unforgiving stare followed me all the way up here, only right now it’s not Jada’s I see… it’s hers.
“Count it down,” I whisper to myself.
Three things I can hear: Not her voice, because she and I don’t talk anymore. Not her laugh, because all I ever did was hurt her. Not her smartass remarks, because I’m not even worth her time to insult.
Two things I can smell: Not her perfume, because she won’t come within a hundred feet of me. Not her morning coffee, because she doesn’t wake up in my bed.
Jesus, Nicky. Focus.
One thing I can see…
My body drops back against my pristine white down comforter on a resigned sigh.
Her.
Even in her absence.
Even in my dreams.
Even when I’m trying to lose myself in someone else…
There’s always only one face I see.
CHAPTER 4
THEN
DAPHNE – Age 9
“Daphne!” My mother shouts, pulling my gaze to hers in the rearview mirror. “Are you even listening to me?”
I want to tell her no since I’m not big on lying. By now, she knows I try to block her out as much as possible. But today’s different. Today I’m scared if I give her an attitude, she’ll change her mind and take me back home. And I desperately want to hang out with my new friend.
Joanna Hunter—or Jonsie, as I learned she likes to be called—joined my class this year, and she’s freakin’ amazing. She was in public school before, but her mom got married, and her new stepdad wanted her to transfer to Queen City Primary. I guess he wanted her to make the change last year, but Jonsie said her mom wouldn’t let her switch in the middle of the year.
A part of me feels bad for her. If she was lucky, her mom would’ve convinced her stepdad to let her stay in public school. Parents think our private schools are so great just ‘cause they cost a buttload of money. Truth is, they suck. Well, at least Queen City Primary does. I don’t know what the middle or high schools are like, but if the kids I’ve been stuck with since kindergarten are this mean now, it’s hard to imagine they get better as they get older.
Everyone at QC Primary is just as stuck up as their parents. I once watched a kid make their friend cry just because their parents had a newer model Mercedes than the other. Jonsie’s different, though. I could tell the very first day when she didn’t let Stephanie Fink tell her where to sit in the lunchroom. The idiot waved Jonsie over and said she was letting her sit with her, like she was winning a contest or something. I’ll never forget the look on Jonsie’s face. She just stared at Stephanie like she was insane before turning away from her and sliding into the seat next to me.
“Hey, I’m Joanna.” She waved. “But everyone calls me Jonsie.”
I stared for a minute in shock, eyes pinging between Jonsie’s smile and Stephanie’s reddening face in the background. The awkward pause only lasted a minute before I pulled it together, my smile spreading wide to match her own.
“Hi,” I said with maybe a bit too much excitement. “I’m Daphne.”
“Nice to meet you, Daph.” She opened her lunchbox and began pulling out her juice and containers while asking me questions about why other fourth graders thought they could assign lunch seats. But I wasn’t catching most of what she said. I was still stuck on one word—Daph.
