Page 76 of The Last Special Thing

“Get the fuck out of my car.”

Hurt covered Madisson’s face in a way Amelia hadn’t seen since their fight two years prior. She didn’t say anything else. Madisson let herself out as Amelia gritted her teeth.

As the door clicked closed, Amelia slammed her foot on the gas and sped out of Madisson’s driveway with a screech. She didn’t bother looking back.

Amelia’s thoughts tangled as she barreled home. Sure, he did drugs. He got them drugs. But selling? That was different. He had a job at the restaurant, which surely didn’t pay much, but he still went to work. That was his job. She knew everything about his life. They saw each other nearly every day and talked in between. If he were dealing drugs, she would have known about it.

She was still fuming when she returned home.

Amelia stormed into her room and paced. She picked up the television remote from her nightstand. Turning it over in her hand, she thought of what Madisson had said. How sure she was. How the entire perfect day they spent was tainted.

How had things gone so wrong? She threw the remote as hard as she could against the wall.

There were several dings in the once-pristine walls. But who cared? Who cared about a wall when your best friend accused your boyfriend of being a drug dealer?

She texted Art.

Amelia

Just got home, you at work?

He responded with a selfie of himself in the restaurant kitchen.

Art

Here till midnight. Have good dreams princess. Love you.

Amelia

Love you more.

Amelia placed her phone with the screen down. Madisson was crazy. Whatever she believed she saw, she was wrong.

Amelia was ready for the day to end. She went to her bathroom, pulled out a bottle of Tylenol PM, and took a dose more than the recommended amount. It didn’t take long. As she slipped into her bed, her eyelids grew heavy. She drifted off to sleep, away from the horrible accusations.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

The next day, Amelia stood on the sidewalk outside of Art’s apartment complex in nervous anticipation. Art had already confirmed that Madisson was over, and Amelia wasn’t ready to face her yet. She needed to hear the truth from Art first. She had been in a gunfight and not just without a knife; she had nothing to use at all. If this were an argument she was to have again, she would be armed with all the facts to counter Art’s character assassination.

Her body relaxed at the sight of him. Strolling toward her, his lanky arms swung at ease by his side. He didn’t look at all like a drug dealer.

He handed her a thermos filled with vodka, Sprite, and grenadine. She spent her childhood with Georgina drinking Shirley Temples—always with two cherries—at her parents’ functions. She unscrewed the top and took a big gulp.

She choked at the cough-syrup taste. “What the fuck?” she asked.

She expected it to taste sweet and nostalgic. Maybe Art had made it wrong, or maybe it was a disgusting drink.

“You need a chaser for your cocktail?” he teased.

“Keep up the sass, and I won’t give you your present.”

Amelia set the thermos on the sidewalk and reached into her purse for the white shirt. It featured two steak knives crossing each other with a red, green, and yellow color scheme. It read: WORLD PEACE BEGINS IN THE KITCHEN.

“It’s from Travis Barker’s restaurant,” she explained.

“This is so fucking sick!” He picked her up and spun her around. “Thank you so much!”

She laughed at the sky, filled with delight. He set her down, and she already missed where his hands were squeezing against her.