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“He talked about beauty in medieval romance, but he took things in a completely different direction.”
Link shrugged. “He still should have talked to you.”
“Maybe.” Allison tugged at the ends of her hair. “But I didn’t really give him a chance. And now he’s leaving.”
Mandy offered her the pepperoni pizza, waiting with the top open like a jaw until Allison took a slice. “I guess his grandfather’s really sick.”
“His dementia’s getting worse,” Allison said.
Mandy shook her head. “No. He got diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. Stage 4.”
“What?” Allison’s stomach was in free fall. She jumped to her feet. How could he not tell her? His granddad was everything to him. He must be so lost. So afraid. The blanket tumbled from her shoulders as she searched around for her purse. “I need to go back to Providence.”
Sophie draped the throw back over her and urged Allison to sit again. “I don’t think he’s there.”
“How do you know?”
Sophie frowned. “He didn’t come in, but I think he was at the wake. I’m pretty sure I saw his car. The same one he had at Brown, right? Silver Honda?” She spread open her empty palms when Allison nodded. “I was afraid if I told you and he didn’t show his face, it would only hurt you more.”
Allison slid deeper into the couch cushions. Poor Charlie, already dealing with so much, getting this new blow to his health that could only be complicated by his dementia. And Colin having to shoulder it all.
He’d driven four hours, only to be too afraid to face her. Allison had done that. She’d slammed the door. Thrown up the wall. Drawnconclusions without all the evidence. Colin might have been entirely to blame for their first ending. But Allison had played her part in this one.
She set her pizza aside, no longer hungry. Regret was a roiling pit of acid at her center.
Link handed her a bottle. “Brought this cider just for you.”
Popping off the top, Allison raised it to her lips. If she couldn’t eat her feelings, maybe she could drown them.
A burst of apple coated her tongue. It was only as she swallowed that she noticed the label.
Third Chance Cider.
Chapter 41
The doorbell startled Allison awake.
She would have sworn she’d just fallen asleep, but when she cracked her eyes open, the house was almost dark.
The dogs barked from the couch as the bell sounded again, both too lazy to investigate.
Groaning, Allison dragged herself to her knees and peeked out through the curtain. The streetlamp illuminated the driveway, empty except for her car, now that her friends had headed home. A noise like the banging of an aluminum trash can echoed from the porch, its source obscured by the angle of the window.
Muttering under her breath, she shuffled to the foyer. Though the clock on the wall read nine, the house was quiet, which meant her mom was still at their neighbor’s. Allison took a swig from the last cider Link had left behind before throwing open the front door.
The bottle hit the floor with athud.
Colin stood on the porch. His back was to her as he stared out at the street, but she’d know that lanky frame anywhere.
Even when it was buried under an ill-fitting suit of armor.
A pauldron hung off his left shoulder as if its strap had snapped, the other secured so close to his neck the metal seemed to be bitinginto his skin. Belts hugged bracers too loose to cuff his wrists, and the armor’s chest piece stopped above his navel and was clamped to his body with layer after layer of silver duct tape (over, of course, a burnt orange cardigan). The helmet hadn’t fit flush on his face, so his chin hung out the bottom, the faceguard balanced precariously on his maroon glasses. He’d completed the bizarre ensemble with leg plates taped over a pair of dark skinny jeans and some black Chucks.
“Colin?”
With a rattle that sounded like pots slamming together, he faced her.
“What are you…” Allison didn’t know how to finish her question. There were too many things to ask.
