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“So I won’t lie to you about this. Everyone knows everyone’s business in Beacon’s Pointe. There’s no escaping your past, and mistakes are used like weapons against you. I’ve learned this firsthand.”
Her hand leaves my arm, and I instantly miss the connection and heat of her touch. She whispers, “There’s no room for forgiveness?” She’s been spared from these types of harsh realities. I’d love to have her hold on to her naïveté longer, but I don’t think it’s possible when dealing with these types of people.
“Stay out of the line of fire, and they’ll find a new enemy.” I bring her hand to my mouth and kiss it. “But whatever happens, I will also always fight for you, baby.”
32
Lark
I’ve heardyou can’t have joy without having pain and that the two are irrevocably entwined. I never believed in that theory . . . until I met Harbor.
Joy and pain.
Harbor and me.
Forever intertwined.
Over the past two months, quiet moves have been made behind the scenes for us to live together. Not that I think Amanda is unaware. She’d have to be oblivious at this point. But we haven’t said anything out loud.
I’ve made an effort to be in my apartment on the afternoons when I know she won’t be rushing off to work, and we pick a night each week to spend together. Once I go to bed, secretly, it’s torture not getting on my bike to ride home to Harbor.
But I stay to be a good friend so Amanda knows our friendship didn’t end when I fell in love. Just as it didn’t over the years during the fifty times she did. I don’t say that to her, though. No use drudging up the past. I’m her best friend and stood by each time with open arms when those short-lived romances ended.
At just three months with Harbor, she could claim that I’m not in a better position than she was when they broke her heart.She’d be wrong.I may have found love when I wasn’t even looking, but Harbor and I have built a foundation that only grows stronger with every hurdle we jump and day that passes.
But it’s not a competition, so I can’t imagine her not being thrilled for me.
I curl my legs under me on the couch and take a sip of wine. We’ve seenYou’ve Got Maila million times, but it never gets old. Since it’s one of her favorites, I thought it would be great to use as a buffer for what I perceive she’ll think is bad news.
She glances at me and then does a double take. “What?”
“I need to tell you something.”
“You’re pregnant.”
My head tweaks on my neck. I didn’t expect her to say that. “Why did you state that like it’s a fact?”
“You’re not pregnant?”
I roll my eyes and then narrow them. “So when it comes to me, the assumption is it’s more shocking to not be pregnant?”
“Pretty much,” she says, nodding profusely. “Dane even has a bet on it.”
“I’m going to need more wine for this.” I finish the glass and get up for a refill. I pull the bottle from the fridge. “Why are you two betting on me?”
“Well . . .” She hems, her eyes returning to the TV. Leaning forward, she pauses the movie, and then she haws before angling to face me. “Want to know the truth?”
That has to be one of the most annoying questions ever. “Why do people ask that? Who’s telling others to lie to them?”
“I do. For instance, when I’m in a crowded bathroom and I’m feeling good, but I need a compliment to boost my courage before approaching some guy I think is cute, I’ll ask how I look and tell them to lie to me.” Apparently, this is common knowledge by how she speaks with such authority. “Drunk women huddled in the bathroom are the best boost a girl can get.”
How did this conversation get so far off the rails?“Indeed, it’s a very supportive community, but let’s loop back to us. You know I’m on the pill so—”
“Accidents happen.” She shrugs.
“Okay, sure. While that might be true, why is Dane betting against me?”
She kicks her feet up on the coffee table like our therapy session has begun. I’m just not sure who the patient is in the scenario. “Let’s talk about why Dane’s thinking you’re pregnant, or soon to be,” she says, eyeing me sideways, “is considered betting against you. Maybe he’s impressed you scored a rich Pointe kid.”
