Page 87 of 6 Clues Your Nemesis Loves You

She jumps into action, rushing to her jacket at the front door, with me on her heels.

“Mags. What is it? What happened?”

“One of the seniors isn’t on the bus. They thought they counted everyone and drove back to the retirement home, but one of the men is missing.” She yanks her jacket from the hook and jams her hand through the arm. “What if he’s hurt? What if something happened to him?”

When she starts shaking, I pull her against me. “We’ll find him. We’ll have the whole town searching. Or just Sandra. She’s basically a clairvoyant private eye.”

Maybe she can see the future. Maybe that’s why she told me she’s good at sourcing information. She foresaw that a senior would wander off.

“This isn’t funny.” Maggie shakes me off with an aggressive shrug. “Not everything is a fucking joke!”

“No. It’s not. I’m sorry.” I mean, honestly. What the hell is wrong with me? When will I quit falling back on stilted humor when I’m stressed? Now Maggie’s avoiding my eyes, worse than in the living room. She’s blocking me out so hard a gnawing unease floods my gut.

“We’ll find him,” I tell her again, grabbing my jacket. “This isn’t your fault.”

“Not my fault?” She rounds on me, fury staining her cheeks. “I shouldn’t have left. I knew it. I should’ve stayed, made sure they all got on the buses, but I did what I wanted instead of doing my job. I did what you wanted. So, thanks for that, and I don’t want you coming.”

“I didn’t force you here at gunpoint.”

“No. You guilted me here, because that’s your thing, isn’t it? You push and push for what you want, no matter how other people feel, and I can’t take it anymore.”

She yanks the front door open, still struggling to get her jacket on as she runs out. She doesn’t glance back at me or wish me well for the rest of my family meeting. She doesn’t turn and tell me she’s having one of her freak-outs and needs space. She dashes to her Jeep and peels off in a screech of tires, leaving me with an ache in my chest and a growing hollow in my stomach.

chapter thirty

I’m not sure how long I stare at the street where Maggie’s Jeep used to be. I can’t shake the pain in my chest or the dread in my bones. I never should’ve told her I loved her. I shouldn’t have asked her to come here with me. The seniors event was important for her career and her confidence. Now both are in jeopardy, and I’m pretty sure she just broke up with me.

I finally close the door and force myself to turn. Delilah’s there, her big blue eyes filled with compassion. “She didn’t mean what she said.”

“Yeah, she did.”

And she wasn’t wrong.

When I pushed Maggie to give me a chance and coaxed her to date me, wooing her with paint fights and redacted love notes, I knew she had commitment issues. Delilah blatantly told me Maggie breaks up with guys who get too serious. Regardless of her fears, I steamrolled forward, blurting out my feelings, reaching for what I wanted—her—even though she needed me to move slower.

I rub my stinging eyes. “She’s so hard on herself. With her mom and everything. I get it, but I also don’t. Nobody’s perfect. Her parents don’t expect her to be a Nobel Peace Prize recipient, but I see it in her face when things go wrong, this irrational fear. Like she’s destined to hurt others, and I know she’s worried she’ll get hurt if she gets too close to people.”

As though loving someone will always end with her standing at a gas station, left behind and discarded.

I drop my head forward and massage my chest. “Don’t think I ever stood a chance with her.”

Delilah wraps me in a hug. “Maggie and you are meant to be. You made her realize so much about herself, including that she deserves to be happy. After they find the missing man, she’ll decompress. But you need to explain how much her actions hurt you too. She needs to understand it’s not just about her.”

I nod as I hug Delilah, mainly to cut off her pep talk. Sniping at Maggie would only make her feel worse about herself, and it wouldn’t accomplish anything. She refused to acknowledge me in public as teens and refuses to acknowledge her true feelings for me now. Sure, I might have pushed too hard, too fast with her, but I don’t think she ever planned to give me a real chance.

“Mom would like to get on with her grenade launch,” E says, waving at us from the end of the hallway. “Also, quit trying to make out with my girlfriend. You don’t stand a chance.”

I sigh but don’t release Delilah. “Delilah is Team Lennon now. She realized I’m packing bigger heat.” I gesture at my crotch.

Delilah pinches my side until I let her go. “Why do guys always revert to penis jokes?”

“Are there other kinds of jokes?” I ask, rubbing my side.

“Child,” Delilah mutters. It’s the same type of cute comment Maggie would make, gutting me all over again. “And there’s only one Bower for me,” she adds. “Even if he sucks at charades.”

“Babe.” E becomes a study in indignation. “We’ve talked about this. I’m great at charades. You’re just shit at guessing my clues.”

I follow them and their sickeningly cute banter, feeling worse by the second.