Page 120 of The Route to You

“No, I’m serious. What? Did you cheat on him? Not that I give cheating a pass, because I really don’t, but even if you did, you do really stupid things when they’re eighteen.”

“I didn’t cheat on him.” Sloan turned her back to the sink, amazed that Delilah was so good at getting her to talk about this. Maybe because they’d been friends once but, Sloan felt a kinship with her. “My mom died . . . and I spiraled.”

Delilah raised her brows. “And you’re holding yourself at the level of don’t deserve him because of that?” She frowned, deeply. “It sounds like you haven’t forgiven yourself, not like you don’t deserve him.”

“Yeah, well”—Sloan shifted, feeling defensive, but she tamped it back down—“he helped me over the winter. Ended up in news. It ruined his career.”

Heading toward the front of the shop, Delilah shrugged. “So, help him fix it. I’m not trying to make light of it, but if he knew the potential consequences and helped you anyway—and he clearly is over it, or he wouldn’t have been here tonight—then just do what you can to help him fix what he lost.”

If only it were that easy. Sloan went to the cubby where she’d stored her things, her heart heavy. This time she didn’t answer Delilah right away, because the nerve she’d hit was far more raw. Kyle hadn’t known about the potential consequences. Neither had Sloan, really. She’d never imagined Evan would be such a heinous jerk.

And the truth was, she and Kyle hadn’t talked about the consequences for him . If Kyle hadn’t left—if he hadn’t been in the hospital getting his body sewn back together—maybe they would have been able to confront it together. He’d been arrested . . . but his accident recovery had obviously taken priority . . . and Evan just got away with inflicting maximum damage without consequences.

But she hated that she’d caused him hurt.

Sloan slung her purse over her shoulder.

“Hey, did Kyle’s niece leave this here?” Delilah held up a small purple backpack from the floor. “I bet she did. It was under a smock and close to where she was sitting.” She unzipped it and pulled out a well-loved stuffed unicorn.

She should call Kyle and ask about the backpack, but after the conversation she’d been having with Delilah, she needed a moment before she talked to him. And he was probably still dropping off Tara anyway. Crossing the room, Sloan took the backpack from Delilah. “I can take it and ask him. And if not, I’ll just bring it back tomorrow.”

“Sounds good. Great job tonight,” Delilah said, then held out an envelope. “Here are your tips for the evening.”

Tips? Sloan grinned and took the envelope. A simple thing, but it made her giddy.

See? I can do this. I can earn money on my own.

She left and hurried out to the car, which unlocked as she neared it. As she started the car, a mixture of emotions washed over her. Tonight had been oddly . . . freeing. Affirming in a way that she hadn’t expected. And Delilah was awesome. How many other people were out there, like her, could Sloan have been friends with? Even if she’d never given them a second thought.

And Kyle . . .

Kyle had shown up.

She hadn’t asked him to, and he’d come anyway. To be honest, she’d been a little embarrassed when she first saw him in the paint shop, but he was so easy to be around that her hesitation had faded quickly.

Because that was Kyle. Warm, steady—a real friend.

Someone she could be herself around.

Who accepted her as she was, flaws and all.

And even though she didn’t want to keep comparing the two, she couldn’t imagine what Evan would have said if she’d come home and told him she was getting a job at a local paint and sip in Bozeman.

He would have said absolutely not.

And if you’d gone through with it—which you wouldn’t have—he definitely wouldn’t have come to the first class armed with chocolate milkshakes.

Evan had been so arrogant. So elitest. Everything for him was about image and he’d wanted Sloan to fit into that picture-perfect, journalist-ready facade.

And when he was busy pulling her into his world, she’d felt like a princess. Grateful to be chosen.

So fucking pathetic.

She pushed Evan out of her mind, thinking about the blue-eyed boy who’d never demanded anything of her instead. Who’d never minded, even in high school, if she absorbed his time or hung out with him and his friends. Who had made her feel like a real part of his family.

But now . . . what did he want from her?

Friendship?