I feel duped in the worst way, and that’s what has me reeling.
I knew his reputation, but with us… it felt different. I know it was. Or maybe I only wanted to believe that.
Until now, he’s been nothing but honorable. This doesn’t fit. At all.
The strangest part? He’s been nothing but repulsed by Evelyn and her behavior. Hell, he called herEvilyn.
So why would he do this after the day we spent together?
None of it makes sense. It doesn’t add up. I can’t reconcile it.
And the more time I spend with a hand propped against the trailer, replaying every moment we’ve shared over the past months, the more I feel like this can’t possibly be true.
Maybe it’s cognitive dissonance. Maybe it’s the only way I can function through having my heart crushed like this—the devastation of what I saw. The lingering possibility that it actually happened.
“What the fuck?” I mutter, raising a hand to press at my temple.
“Julia?” Parker’s voice is full of concern, and when I turn to face her, so is her expression.
She drops her gaze to my vomit in the grass, then her eyes travel their way back up with that shrewd appraisal she’s so good at. There’s something incredibly bright about Parker. She’s emotionally intelligent, if not terribly outgoing, which is why it makes sense that she steps closer and holds her hand out.
“I would ask you if you’re okay, but you’re clearly not.”
I offer her a wobbly smile and stare at her hand. She tips her head and adds, “Come on, let’s go. I’ve got the perfect place for us right now.”
Not knowing what else to do with myself, I take her hand and follow.
“Here, have some of this.” She shoves a bottle of amber liquor toward me.
“Parker, I can’t have any of that.”
“Why not?” She furrows her brows, baffled that I wouldn’t want bourbon on an empty stomach at nine thirty in the morning while hiding out in her oma and opa’s dingy crawl space.
“Oh shit, are you pregnant?” Parker blurts, her eyes wide.
“No, I’m not pregnant, it’s just—”
She cuts me off by pressing the bottle against my chest. “Then, unfortunately for you, this is a rite of passage. It’s part of being a Brandt. When shit goes bad, we drink in the crawl space.”
When shit goes bad?
Shit is really, really bad.
“If it’s any consolation, in one of my less fine moments I lost my temper and told my political science professor that he has the personality of a pebble this morning.”
“Oof. How did that go over?”
“Well, I doubt it helped my case. And I’m going to be stuck taking a class with him in the fall again, soooo… I’m going to drink, whether you do or not.”
Parker looks as distraught as I feel.
“You know what?” I eye the bottle, then rip the top off. “Yeah.”
I lift it to my lips and take a long swig. Fire shoots down my throat, burns my stomach, and then it spreads a slow warmth through me in a way that I need right now.
“I’m not a Brandt, though.”
Parker scoffs like I’ve just announced I believe in unicorns. “Not yet. But I see things. I know things.”
