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The words hang there in the air between us as all five girls stare at me with vicious satisfaction before bursting into laughter and continuing their stroll down the hallway.

Silent tears roll down my face as I watch them take their victory lap.

I’m falling apart. And still, all I get are curious glances from the students passing by, some even laughing at my expense. Taking a sick thrill in my pain.

The Fairhope Reds have just killed me, and no one seems to notice the blood staining the hallway floor. Or care.

My chest tightens as my throat closes up. I try to take in a breath, but it feels like all the oxygen has left the building.

I try again. Nothing.

I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe.

Just as I feel like I’m close to taking my final breath, my mind splintering with memories of my mother and those awful mug shots, a warm body slides down beside me and pulls me into an embrace.

I don’t have to look to know who it is. I know these arms. This warmth. The familiar scent of honeysuckle that wraps around me as he pulls me tighter against his chest.

I bury my face in the crook of Milo’s neck and break.

He doesn’t say my name. He doesn’t even ask me what’s wrong or tell me to stop crying. He just holds me while I shatter in his arms.

Most guys would tell me everything is going to be okay. Maybe even promise revenge or swear to beat the hell out of anyone who ever hurts me.

But not Milo.

He just holds me. Holds me so tightly that, for a little while, I can’t see the students walking past. I can’t see their stares. I can’t hear their whispers.

There’s only Milo. Silently promising never to let go.

And somehow… I manage to breathe again.

Chapter 11

Sunday

Some say you can never go home. My answer to that would be, why would you even want to?

This is the thought running through my head as I stand in the Alder B&B garden, surrounded by people I either barely spoke two words to in high school or would have rather not known at all.

“Are you sure you don’t want something stronger than orange juice?” Sienna asks, eyeing the drink in my hands.

I watch everyone get reacquainted after all this time, looking cheerful and happy to be here. I wish I could say the same. I’m two seconds away from busting out in hives. Not that I’ll show anyone here.

“I’m fine with orange juice. That swig of your mimosa earlier was enough alcohol for me. Why add more to the mix of an already trying morning?”

“That’s the spirit,” Sienna retorts, raising her flute in a mock toast before taking a healthy sip.

However, all her sarcasm vanishes when her gaze shifts over the rim of her glass, landing on the real guests of honor—The Fairhope Reds. I mean, who are we kidding? This brunch isn’t so much about everyone rekindling old friendships as it is about the Reds showing off just how well life has treated them. And from what I can tell, it’s treated them just fine.

Already in attendance are Sydney Trask and Amber Cyr, two of the Reds who loved to give me a hard time whenever they got the chance. But for some reason, they’ve decided I’m not worthy of their time today since they haven’t so much as bothered to look in my direction.

Not that I’m complaining. I’m not sure I’d welcome a greeting from either of them unless it came with an I’m sorry for being such an asshole to you in high school.

I tear my attention away from the Reds when Sienna garbles something under her breath.

“Easy there, tiger,” I say, nodding toward the flute clenched in her murderous grip. “You’re going to shatter that thing.”

“I hate that bitch,” she says through gritted teeth.