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“I’m so sorry, Soph,” she whispers into my ear. “I wish you would’ve told me about Jude before now.”
“I know. I should have.”
“Man, I can’t believe my bachelorette party was a catalyst for this,” she mutters. “But I can definitely understand the draw. Pretty sure any woman would understand. The man is like an irresistible Greek god with a smile that could light panties on fire. Although, I’m currently struggling with the urge to go track his ass down and straight up kill him for hurting you like this.”
Her mere mention of panties threatens to send me spiraling again, but I dig deep to push the unwanted emotion back down into my belly.
Belle runs her fingers through my hair, rooting me in comfort I really needed to feel, and we both just stay in her bed, staring up at the ceiling of her bedroom.
“I don’t want to ask you this, but I have to, Soph. Do you really think there’s no hope?”
I shake my head and swallow around the thick ball of emotion lodged in my throat. “It’s done.”
“God, I’m so sorry.” Belle frowns, and all I can do is shrug. But then she surprises me with her next line of questions. “Can I put in a request? No more secrets between us, okay?”
My therapy sessions with Dr. Winters pop into my brain, and I cringe.
Unfortunately, Belle doesn’t miss it. “What? What is it, Soph? Is there something else?”
I shake my head. Sigh. I even almost lie and tell her I’ve told her everything, but I realize that all of my lies and secrets played a role in leading me to this desolate state. “I’m not ready to say yet, but just know it’s not something you need to freak out about, all right?”
She searches my face, like she’s trying to figure it out anyway, but ultimately, she gives up and agrees, “Okay.”
A few minutes later, Belle gets out of bed, but I just lie there, mostly numb from all the crying jags, but also, my head still spinning around like a top over thoughts of Jude.
Why does it have to hurt so bad?
Because you’re in love with him.
I shove my face into my sister’s pillows again and fight back the tears with a groan. I know I shouldn’t have fallen in love with Jude Winslow, but it’s pretty fucking obvious that’s what I went and did.
“Okay, yeah.” Belle’s voice fills my ears. “I think it’s safe to say today is not a workday and I need to call Katelynn and let her know her ass better drive into the city because we need a Sage Sister day.”
“You don’t have to do that,” I mutter into the pillow, but my sister is undeterred.
“You’re not getting out of this one, Soph. We’re having a ‘fuck boys’ day!”
“Yeah, fuck those boys!” John yells from the kitchen, apparently hearing more of our conversation than he was letting on.
I lift my head from the pillows just in time to see Belle shout back at him with cupped hands around her mouth. “Mind your business! You have a dick, too!”
Before I know it, she’s keeping her word and grabbing her cell to call Katelynn. And by the time she hangs up the phone, Belle lets me know that our elder sister is going to meet us at Amelia’s Diner for breakfast.
I feel relief to be surrounded by the support of my sisters. But also, I feel dread over the idea of having to be out in public, when on the inside, I feel like half of my heart has been relocated into someone else’s body.
But as I watch the way my sister helps me get ready—brushing my hair, letting me borrow some of her clothes, doing everything in her power to lift my mood—I realize that I need to stop hiding shit and let her and Katelynn all the way into my life. I have to be more open to their support that I so obviously need.
It’s time you finally tell them everything—even your standing Wednesday appointments with Dr. Winters.
Saturday, April 7th
Flynn
I pull my Harley to a stop just outside of Club Craze and cut the engine. The beats of house music pound from the inside of the building, and I’m already regretting agreeing to come.
I hate nightclubs.
Give me my bike. Give me the open road. Give me a roomful of people who aren’t drunk off booze and dry fucking one another, and I’ll show up with bells on.
But this awful scene? Busy nightclubs in New York City? They’re the last place a guy like me wants to be.
I hop off my seat, remove my helmet from my head, and secure it to my bike, before turning on my heel to face the madhouse. My black boots crunch into the gravel between the street and sidewalk outside of the club as I head toward the entrance.
