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“Is that what she’s doing?” Cooper mutters, not attempting to hide his sarcasm. “Most of the people I know who are resting and taking care of themselves don’t seem that miserable.”
“Have a little heart, honey,” Mrs. Hutton says. “And a little hope too. After she lost Jonathan, we thought she’d never be happy again. Then she met Mason. And even though that didn’t work out, he was proof that she could move on. I have no doubt she’ll move on when the time is right. Until then, she has us. And our only job is to love and support her, not rush her healing process because we hate seeing her like this.”
Damn.
No wonder Stassi’s been pushing me away so hard.
“So this Mason guy,” I say to her brothers. “Did you kick his ass?”
They snicker.
“Assuredly,” Aidan says.
Mr. Hutton hides a snicker and Mrs. Hutton rolls her eyes.
“Aidan broke his nose,” Cooper adds, which makes Aidan beam like he just scored the winning point in a championship Panthers game. “Amongst other things.”
“Wouldn’t be surprised if the guy won’t be able to have any more kids after what we did,” Aidan says. “Hope he enjoys the one he has.”
“Jesus,” I cough. I remember the kind of damage they used to do back in the day, when they were half this size. I can only imagine what else they did to that douche.
Well, that’s a relief. But not much of one. It means they’re still protective of her—which means they’d probably take me into a dark alley if they knew even an ounce of what all has gone on between Stassi and me. Not just now, but in the past too.
The woman has been through the ringer. It wasn’t enough that I tortured her throughout high school, then she went on to lose her first love in a drowning accident and just when she thought she was getting another shot at happiness, that blew up in her face too.
I can’t blame her for pushing me away.
But I can’t blame myself for wanting to be the one to make it right for her.
It’s the least I can do.
Stassi deserves all the happiness in the world, and I want to be the one to give that to her.
19
Stassi
A few days after the shit show Sunday dinner, I’m taking out the trash behind the apartment complex when I notice Alec sitting on his balcony.
What the hell is he doing? It’s dark, zero degrees, and that balcony does nothing but provide a breathtaking view into the window of the condo across the way.
Dumbass, I think, trying to creep to the dumpster as quietly as possible.
I haven’t seen him or talked to him since Sunday, but I don’t quite hate him as much as I once did. Maybe because I understand him a little better. It was easy to think he’s living this perfect life in an ivory tower, but now, I know that’s not the case. I heard the way his voice broke when his father was mentioned. It couldn’t have been easy living with a man who demanded perfection like that. I’m sure he lived his entire life trying to please Mr. Mansfield, to be as perfect as he thought his father was.
And then, it’d all come crumbling down …
You think you know someone and then it turns out they were lying to you the whole time. It’s been a theme in my life, but up until Sunday, I didn’t realize it was a theme in Alec’s life too.
Who’d have thought the two of us would ever have anything in common?
Still, just because I understand him better doesn’t mean I want to hang with him. And I don’t need to be the friendly neighbor he comes to for a cup of sugar when he’s out. I’m perfectly content with a civil cease-fire, where we exist in the same area, but never interact.
Unfortunately, the damn plastic dumpster lid creaks loudly as I pull it open and throw the trash bag in.
The next thing I know, Alec’s voice cuts through the darkness. “Stassi? That you?”
I sigh.
I can’t ignore him. “Hey.”
“Your whoopie pies were great, by the way.”
I keep walking. “Don’t thank me. Thank Shaw’s.”
“You left early. Before things got really wild.”
I stop. “Did my mom break out the Michigan Rummy?”
“No. I was waiting. I had a whole can of pennies in the truck, just in case.”
I have to smile at that. Much of my family time growing up was gathered around that same dining room table, playing Michigan Rummy for pennies. For a family-friendly game, it’d sometimes get a little cutthroat and raucous.
“We use quarters now,” I tell him.
“Whoa. That’s too rich for my blood,” he says, and I laugh.
Moving closer to the balcony, I try to get a look at where he’s sitting. “What are you doing up there? You actually have room?”
