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PEYTON
“Asshole,”I scream as I slam the car door and bang my fists against the steering wheel. “Why? Why do I let him get to me like this?”
Question of the century. Too bad no one answers it.
I start the car, but don’t leave right away. My eyes drift shut and I work to recenter myself. After a few deep breaths, my blood pressure lowers and my body sags with slight relief.
Every now and again, I question my sanity. Question why I keep working at Roar when Micah drives me mad. Question why I put up with his shit four days a week. Then I remind myself of the endgame. The discussion Ani and I had about the future. A future I refuse to let Micah Reed steal from me.
Digging through my purse, I locate my phone and send Ani a quick text.
Peyton: Heads-up. I left before close.
Ani: Anything I should be concerned about?
Peyton: Oh, ya know. Micah just being Micah.
Ani: He said you were getting along. Want me to talk to him?
Peyton: No and no. But I’ll let you know if I change my mind.
Ani: Hey! Do me a favor. Think up ideas for Mondays and Tuesdays for the bar and text them to me.
Peyton: On it. Miss your face.
After my phone connects to the car audio, I crank the music, roll down the windows, and drive home. The loud lyrics, thumping bass, and wind on my cheeks slowly wipe away the anger Micah brought to the surface. And before long, my mood is ten times better as I park next to Reese’s car.
Every light in the apartment appears to be on as I unlock the door and walk in. I pray Reese doesn’t have a houseguest tonight. Not that I mind the company. My silent plea is answered when the door swings open and I spy Reese on the couch with a platter of tacos.
His eyes land on me as his lips freeze around the taco. “Home early,” he mumbles.
Reese is exactly what I need. A soothing presence with the occasional laugh. An ear to listen as I gripe about life and words to give advice as I navigate what to do next.
“Any more of those?” I point to the taco.
He takes a bite and chews a few times. “In the kitchen.”
I toss my purse on the floor, dash to the kitchen, and inhale the taco-scented deliciousness. I stuff the tacos full, add refried beans and cheese to the plate, then park myself next to Reese on the couch.
“Whatcha watching?”
“The Haunting of Bly Manor. Want me to start it over? Started it just before you walked in.”
I shake my head. “Just tell me what I missed.”
The next hour passes with the slow demolition of tacos as we can’t look away from the screen. When the episode ends, I hope Reese wants to watch the next. But he presses pause and stares at me without a word. The air thickens and I have the sudden urge to cower. To shrink in the corner like a scolded child.
“You gonna tell me? Or do I have to pull it out of you?”
This is what happens when someone has known you as long as we have. Almost twenty years of friendship equals knowing someone better than you know yourself. And Reese reads every emotion I have better than anyone.
“Another day at the office, dear,” I joke and he rolls his eyes. “Micah was in rare form tonight. And…” I pause, tip my head back and stare at the imperfections in the ceiling. “And I blew up.” I level my head and meet his gaze. “I left work early. Ani knows, so at least I’m covered there.”
Reese collects our plates and wanders to the kitchen without a word. Water splashes against plates and pans and utensils. Then the dishwasher kicks on. A moment later, Reese walks back in with two pints of ice cream and spoons. A man after my own heart.
Neither of us speaks as we dig into the creamy confections. Mint chocolate chip for me and cookies ’n cream for Reese. If one thing remains the same, it’s our favorite ice cream flavors. Sure, we eat other flavors. But why not just enjoy the one you love?
“Sorry you have to deal with him,” Reese says around his spoon.
I nod, swallow my bite, and twist to face him on the couch. “The worst part of it all… he doesn’t remember.”
Reese goes wide eyed. “Any of it? How is that even possible?”
My shoulders lift to my ears. “Your guess is as good as mine. I get how people forget from early childhood. But teen years are different. You make conscious decisions then. You choose to be nice or cruel.”
“True. Maybe something happened to his brain.” Reese laughs and I can’t help but join in.
“No doubt.” I sigh, stare down at the ice cream as I scrape the spoon over the surface. “I may not look the exact same, but how does he not know who I am?” The handful of times he’s been in my face recently, how does he not see me? The goth chick he teased and bullied for three years.
