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“Rafe lost his shit in here a few days ago and trashed a few things. I’m guessing Rory’s doing damage control on the Viscontis’ behalf.”
I snap my attention back to Tayce. “What?”
She laughs. “Love makes you crazy, right?”
My cheeks grow hot thinking of Rafe coming in here and trashing things. So ungentlemanly, souncouth.A sick thrill sweeps through me, but I play off the shudder as being cold. He’s not the kind of man to go off because they got his order wrong.
Maybe he didn’t find it as easy to ditch me as I first thought.
Rory walks over, buttoning up her purse. She stops at the head of the table and pouts at me. By the pity swirling in her eyes, I know I’m about to get asked the same question for the third time.
“Oh, Penny. Why didn’t you call me?”
This time, guilt inflates my chest. I let out a slow breath, hoping to relieve some of the pressure. Technically, I did call her, just two weeks later than she means. After all my anger spilled out over my messy bedroom floor this morning and I kicked Rafe out, I felt fearless. Like I could face anything, even picking up the phone and calling the girls.
I stomped over to Matt’s and used his cell before I changed my mind. Rory picked up on the first ring. She didn’t ask questions, just told me to name a time and a place and she, Wren, and Tayce would be there.
I saw on my bottom lip with my teeth and tell them the truth. “Because you’re Rafe’s sister-in-law,” I say to Rory, before turning to Wren. “And every time anyone mentions the name Raphael Visconti, you clutch your chest and call him a gentleman.” I glance up at Tayce, who’s almost finished my milkshake. “And with all those tattoos he has, you’ve seen him naked more times than I have.”
“What’s your point?” Tayce asks.
“My point is that I thought you’d all be on Team Rafe because you know him better. And also…” I swallow. “I guess I was embarrassed about what happened.”
Silence sweeps the table. I feel like such an idiot with all my vulnerability on show like this. I clear my throat, getting ready to crack an awkward joke, but Wren grabs my hand.
“I’ll screw up my nose and call him an asshole from now on. Or dickhead, or prick. Whatever you choose.”
“And then I’ll tattoo that on him the next time he comes into my shop,” Tayce pipes up.
Rory slides into the booth beside her. “This morning, he told me how he left you on the yacht like that, so I dropped a laxative in his tea. He didn’t drink it, but I’ll try again tomorrow. He might be my brother-in-law, and yes, of course I love him, but you’re our friend.”
“Friends call friends when they’re sad,” Wren says, giving my hand a squeeze. “You talk to us, cry to us.”
“Plot revenge with us,” Tayce says with a wink.
I nod tightly. It’s all I can do, because I know if I talk, an awful noise resembling a sob will come out. I can already feel it brewing in my throat.
Tayce’s face softens with realization. “Oh, no. When Wren said you can cry to us, she didn’t mean now.”
But it’s too late. A tear runs down my face, sizzling against my hot cheek. I swipe at the napkin dispenser and hide behind a scratchy tissue. “Ah, ignore me. I’m just tired; that’s all.”
God, this is mortifying.
It’s the first time in two weeks I’ve cried for a reason other than because I’m hurt. No, I’m crying because I’m suddenly overwhelmed. My whole life, I’ve only really had one friend I could confide in, and it was a hotline voice that couldn’t answer back. I’m not used to being surrounded by girls that care about me.
Wren whimpers in solidarity, because apparently seeing anyone cry sets her off, too. Rory jumps up to shuffle past her and hug me, while Tayce makes a beeline for the counter, with the promise to bring back something extra-chocolatey.
As I sniffle into the shoulder of Rory’s hoodie, something dawns on me that makes me cry even harder.
These girls would share their jeans with me in a heartbeat.
Theblackenedskyfinallybreaks, just like I did in the diner a few hours ago. The rain falls freely from the heavens and hammers on my living room window. I glance up at the sudden downpour, then turn back to the television.
I swapped outThe Notebookfor aFriendsre-run. The canned laughter echoes off my bare walls, but I’ve never really found Joey walking around with a turkey stuck to his head very funny. I’m not really watching, anyway; I’m just wasting time until Matt finishes hockey practice. Partly so I can eat all the left-over pizza in his apartment, and partly because I’m dying to rip the shit out of him for squealing like a little bitch when Rafe pointed a gun in his face.
Rafe.
There’s been a twinge in my chest every time I’ve thought of him today. I guess it’s what uncertainty feels like. When I screamed him out of my apartment this morning, I kicked the ball into his court. It’s up to him what he does with it now, if anything at all.
