I find her across the room by the color of her dress alone. I’m already looking forward to tearing it off her. I start toward her with determination.
Pearl steps into my path.
“Can we talk?”
I glance past her. Rose catches my eye, a question forming on her lips.
“Fine.” I tip my head toward the back and she follows me past the bar, around the edge of the dance floor, and out through a rear door into the hallway. It’s empty and fairly quiet.
Pearl fidgets, worrying her lower lip.
“I feel like I’m losing you,” she starts. “A week ago you were my best friend. Now you won’t even look at me.”
I don’t even know where to start. How to encapsulate all that she’s done. Not to mention, I’m not the one she should be seeking reconciliation with.
There’s too much to untangle, but I’m not clean in this either. I take a deep breath. Brace myself. Then say, “Tell me about The Resilience Project.”
She goes still. The same look she had standing in line at the aisle—caught, recalibrating, already searching for the version of this that costs her the least. “Why are you asking me about that?” Her voice comes out thin.
“Don’t. Just, don’t. You know exactly why I’m asking.”
“What do you want to know?”
WhatdoI want to know? I want to know everything. I want to know nothing, to bury my head in the sand and pretend it isn’t real. “Did you sabotage her on purpose?”
She lifts her chin in defiance. “I would never do that.”
“You came to me with a story about someone pretending to be a doctor. A dangerous wellness center. Investors at risk. You needed me to shut it down.” The words come out clipped, each one landing like an accusation I’m leveling at myself as much as her. Every time I replay the story, it sounds worse. The shame roots deeper. My jaw tightens, my anger a hot, burning coal in my throat. “You needed me to shut it down, so I did. Do you even care how much that hurt her? What you’ve cost her?”
“WhatI’vecost her?” Pearl’s smile twists. I have never seen this look on her before. “You mean whatyoucost her? My name meant nothing to those people. Yours did. Your father’s did.”
“You lied to me,” I defend, though it’s weak.
“You didn’t do your due diligence. You asked me nothing. You just fucking signed it!”
“I trusted you!” The words tear out of me. “What the fuck, Pearl? I’ve known you since we were eighteen years old. We’ve been through everything together. How could you—I don’t understand how you could just—”
“Well, I got tired of waiting!” she screams back at me.
“Waiting for what?”
“You!” she shouts, slapping me on the chest. “I love you.” She throws the words like a gauntlet. A challenge. It’s not a declaration of love, though. Not with the dark expression on her face, the way she’s panting like she’s just released a bomb, something long-compressed finally imploding.
“Pearl—”
“I have always loved you.” She’s pacing now, hands in her hair. “Always. And you just—you never—God, you are so fucking blind!”
“Pearl, stop—”
Her hands find my shoulders, gripping hard, fingers tight like I’m a life raft and the floor has dropped out beneath her. Maybe it has. I’ve never questioned her like I have in the last couple of days. She looks like she’s unraveling.
“You know why I sent that picture to you, Logan.” Her voice is barely above a whisper, stripped and desperate. “You know why I’ve tried to hold us all together. Why I’m always there for you when you need me, why I call and show up. You’ve always known how I felt about you.” Her eyes are wet, searching mine with a ferocity that feels borderline toxic. “You hold me when I’m sad. You’re the one I call when I need help or just someone to talk to. You’ve always known exactly what to say, exactly how to show up for me. That’s not nothing, Logan. That’s not just friendship.”
She lifts onto her tiptoes, her face tilting up toward mine, and for a half-second, I’m frozen in shock. Before her lips can brush mine, I step back.
The confusion hits first, but then there’s something ugly underneath it.
She is beautiful. We have always gotten along. Everything she’s saying is technically true. I have always been there for her. When she calls, I do my absolute best to show up. And yet, standing here with her hands still half-reaching for me, watery tears in her eyes, I feel nothing except the specific, clarifying ache of wanting to be somewhere else entirely. With someone else.
