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So perfect. So clean.
The lights in the trees and the servers in their white waistcoats. The crystal-blue pool adorned with floating candles. The glittering jewels of the ladies’ rings and necklaces that caught the light.
Everything was so polished, and when I looked around at all the adults and families I grew up with, their money and designer clothes, I often saw a coat of paint that you apply when you’re trying to cover up rotting wood. There were dark deeds and bad seeds, but who cared if the house was falling apart as long as it was pretty, right?
The scent of the food lingered in the air accompanied by the soft music of the string quartet, and I wondered if I should find Mrs. Crist and let her know I’d arrived or find Trevor, since the party was in his honor, after all.
But instead I tightened my fingers around my glass, my pulse quickening as I tried to resist the urge to do what I really wanted to do. What I always wanted to do.
To look for him.
But no, he wouldn’t be here. He probably wouldn’t be here.
He might be here.
My heart started thumping, and my neck heated. And, against my own will, my eyes started to drift. Around the party and over the faces, searching…
Michael.
I hadn’t seen him in months, but the pull was everywhere, especially in Thunder Bay. In the pictures his mother kept around this house, in his scent that drifted into the hallway from his old bedroom…
He might be here.
“Rika.”
I blinked, jerking my head to the left, hearing Trevor call my name.
He walked out of the crowd, his blond hair freshly cut close to the scalp, his dark blue eyes looking impatient, and his stride determined. “Hey, baby. I was starting to think you weren’t coming.”
I hesitated, feeling my stomach tighten. But then I forced a smile as he stepped up to me in the doorway of the solarium.
Twelve hours.
He slipped a hand around the right side of my neck—never the left side—and rubbed his thumb across my cheek, his body flush with mine.
I turned my head, shifting uncomfortably. “Trevor—”
“I didn’t know what I was going to do if you didn’t show up tonight,” he cut in. “Throw rocks at your window, serenade you, maybe bring you flowers, candy, a new car…”
“I have a new car.”
“I mean a real car.” He finally grinned.
I rolled my eyes and pulled out of his hold. At least he was joking with me again, even if it was just to dis my brand new Tesla. Apparently electric cars weren’t real cars, but hey, I could take the dig if it meant h
e was finally over making me feel like shit about everything else.
Trevor Crist and I had been friends since birth, gone to school with each other our entire lives, and were always thrown together by our parents as if a relationship were inevitable. And last year, I finally gave in to it.
We dated almost our entire first year in college, attending Brown together—or actually, I applied to Brown, and he followed—but it ended in May.
Or I ended it in May.
It was my fault I didn’t love him. It was my fault I didn’t want to give it more time. It was my fault I decided to transfer schools to a city where he wouldn’t follow.
It was also my fault he gave in to his father’s demand to transfer, as well, and finally attend Annapolis, and it was my fault I was disrupting our families.
It was my fault I needed space.
