“No,” she murmurs. “To being friends.”
Nineteen
Harper
I’m exhausted.
So exhausted I’m trying to summon the energy to crawl out of bed and slip into the bath I ran.
For now, all I’ve managed is to toe off my shoes and collapse onto the mattress.
When I went back inside, the promise of friendship lingering between Leo and me, it was to find my stuff packed up and the guys almost finished loading my car.
Smitty wasn’t happy about not being in the loop, nor about everyone else helping me to get out of there as quickly as possible so he couldn’t wriggle his way into it, but a whispered word from Kailey and he tabled his protests.
Though, they still lingered in his eyes when he hugged me goodbye.
I know his patience at being shut out won’t last?—
And maybe that should piss me off—the way these people seem to think they have a right to know what’s going on with my life.
I haven’t known them long.
But…it feels like I have.
They’re my friends. No, truthfully, they’re my family—more family than I’ve had in years.
My mom is gone. My dad has never been in the picture.
For too long I was on my own.
Now it’s really nice to just have people.
So, no, Smitty and his nosiness, and Luna and her practically salivating to know everything Leo and I said to each other in the back yard after Shannon left aren’t making me crazy—not yet, anyway. Mostly because Smitty didn’t demand anything from me when it was clear I wasn’t up to talking, and because Luna wanted to ask those questions but didn’t, just hugged me tightly and walked me to my car.
They care and they have my back. They all do.
Even Leo?
Weeks ago, I would have said no, absolutely not.
But ginger candies and food and our eyes connecting over an ultrasound.
A onesie with the Grizzlies logo on the front…and his number on the back.
And wanting something different, something more.
Something that he seems unable to give—not just to me, but to any woman in his life. That brutal conversation in my kitchen, letting Shannon walk away with barely a conversation. How many other women has he cut off without a second thought?
Like we’re disposable.
Like I am.
Like my dad thought my mom and I were—trading us in for a new family. Like my exes had—breaking my heart then quickly moving on to someone else.
Groaning, I throw my arm over my face. Why has my life gotten so complicated?
“I know exactly why,” I mutter grumpily.
