Hypothetical Heart (Farewell Fairwood #2)

Chapter 17

17

APRIL

T he first night of the beach house in Myrtle Beach always feels like a dream of sorts.

By the time we get off the plane and to the house, it’s usually too late to do anything other than get dinner and settle in for the night.

For me, it’s always the most exciting night because we get to go to sleep knowing what awaits us in the morning. Waking up, eating breakfast together, and heading straight down the steps of the porch to the beach.

It’s what we’ve been waiting for all winter, and it’s finally here.

By the time we get the house unlocked, unload all of our stuff, and make it to dinner, it’s nearly dark out, and we decided to build a fire on the beach.

By we, I mean the boys build a fire on the beach while Eloise, Genevieve, and I take our sweet time collecting materials for s’mores.

“Are you sure that fire isn’t too big?” I ask as us girls come down the stairs of the porch, practically face-to-face with the tallest bonfire I’ve ever seen. “I don’t want us to get in trouble with the beach security.”

Logan laughs. “We won’t get in trouble. Plus, this is a private beach. There’s no security.”

No one else protests and we all set up our chairs in a big circle around the fire.

The sound of the waves crashing in the background of our casual chats almost lulls me to sleep in my folding chair. I lean back in the chair, my head falling to my shoulder.

Our friend group seems to teeter back and forth between the serene moments and the crazy teenage dirtbag ones. There’s not really an in-between. We’re either sitting around a fire, laughing and enjoying one another's company, or we’re drinking at a party where one person is getting in a fist fight and another is throwing up in the bushes.

But there’s one other moment that is rarer than the rest: when we fight.

I don’t know how much time has passed since we first came out here. All I know is I was half asleep and probably wouldn’t have even noticed that Jameson, Genevieve, and Eloise had gone back inside the house to play darts if it weren’t for the yelling I heard.

“What the fuck are you doing?!” Gen’s voice bellows from the house, startling me into a sitting position.

“It was an accident!” Eloise yells back, and it feels like her voice bounces off the waves.

“What the fuck is happening?” Logan asks, him and Luke both standing from their chairs.

I make a run for it through the sand and up the stairs onto the porch. The sliding glass door is ajar when I race through it, only to find Jameson in the kitchen. He’s holding a blood-soaked paper towel to his bicep, which is the first clue that something is off.

“It’s not an accident when you’re doing stupid shit!” The yelling is coming from the game room.

“Woah, are you alright?” Luke asks Jameson.

He’s starting to go pale, and he only nods his head at the question.

Logan rushes into the game room, the sound of Genevieve and Eloise fighting still prominent. This isn’t their normal bicker, either. This is a full-fledged screaming match—one I’m not sure I want to be a part of if I walk into that room. Yet, I follow Logan anyway.

“What the hell happened?” he asks loudly, trying to catch their attention. It doesn’t work. They’re still screaming at each other.

“You realize you could have killed him, right?” Genevieve screams. “That dart could have gone through his neck!”

“You’re making this way worse than it was,” Eloise defends.

Logan takes a step back, his back hitting my chest as he runs into me, pushing us both out of the room and into the hall.

“No, you are making things worse by doing reckless shit all the time!”

“I was messing around with a dart, Gen?—“

“Keywords: messing around ,” Genevieve emphasizes, venom lacing every word. “You can’t do that shit and then expect us all to sit back and relax when it backfires. Because it’s not you you’re hurting. We’re the ones caught in your crossfire!”

“I’m sorry, Gen, I didn’t mean to?—“

“You never mean to, Eloise! Do you not get that?” Genevieve throws her arms up. “You do things without thinking, and then all you have to say for yourself is I didn’t mean to . Well, you meant to fuck around with a metal dart, and it ended up in my boyfriend’s fucking arm!”

By now, Logan and I have gathered what happened. And it’s not good. It also doesn’t help that it’s Genevieve’s boyfriend who got harmed. This isn’t like any other situation where she can forgive and forget quite as easily because all she’s worried about right now is the fact that her boyfriend is bleeding in the kitchen; it makes her a bit more irrational.

“Should we step in?” I whisper. Logan thinks about it for a moment, but when Genevieve takes a step toward Eloise, there’s no more thinking involved.

“Might be a good idea.” He lunges forward, stepping in between the two, not wanting this to get physical when it’s already heated enough as is.

“I’m sorry, okay!” Eloise’s eyes well with tears, the regret searing her voice. “I don’t know what else you want me to say.”

Logan has a hand on Genevieve’s collar bone, keeping her from getting any closer. In all honesty, if I didn’t know my friend as well as I do, I would think Genevieve was going to punch her.

“I don’t want you to say anything! All I want is some type of confirmation that you understand how much worse you could have made this.” Genevieve takes a large breath. “You could have hit him in the neck or in the eye, somewhere much more life-threatening than the arm.”

Eloise nods. “I understand.” Her voice is still tainted with defense, but it works.

“I should go check on Jameson,” Genevieve says, running her hands through her hair as she makes her way toward the door.

And as soon as she’s out of the room, Eloise breaks down.

I understand her hurt. It’s hard being called out by the people you love most, the ones who understand you best. It’s hurtful to realize the people who know you that well also know your flaws.

To her, Genevieve has attacked a big piece of her tonight.

And while we all know it needed to be done, considering this isn’t the first instance where Eloise’s reckless behavior has caused her and Genevieve to fight, there’s still a piece of me that feels like Genevieve might have gone a tad far.

Logan and I kneel next to where she’s still on the ground, her back against the leg of a pinball machine.

“E,” Logan sighs, resting a hand on her shoulder. “Everything’s okay. She’ll get over it.”

Eloise’s head falls into her hands, and she presses her forehead into her knees. “I feel like a horrible person.”

“You are not a horrible person, Eloise,” I tell her strongly. “It was a mistake, and Genevieve was clearly scared.”

“It’ll all be back to normal by tomorrow,” Logan adds.

“Where’s my phone?” Eloise sits up, patting her sweatshirt pocket frantically. “Where the fuck is my phone?”

Logan and I exchange a glance, one that says, what does she need her phone so badly for? Yet Logan finds it sitting on the pool table and hands it over to her.

We both stand, prepared to leave the room to give her space, when she puts the call up to her ear. Nearing the door, Logan and I stop in our tracks, me slamming into his back when we hear Eloise speak into the phone.

“Briar,” she shudders. “Can you talk?”

“Holy fucking shit,” Logan whispers, rushing into the hallway as if we heard something we definitely weren’t supposed to.

I’m sure we have matching looks on our faces. Pure shock.

“Are they—” I stop myself. Now is not the time.

Logan shrugs, also not wanting to get into it. Instead, we make our way back toward the kitchen. I can already hear Jameson and Genevieve bickering—It never stops, even when he’s just been punctured with a dart.

“It’s not a big deal,” I hear him reaffirm to her.

“There is nothing small about this situation. Everything I said was completely warranted.”

When I round the corner and see Jameson’s face, I immediately notice his conflicted look. He doesn’t know where to side because he loves his girlfriend and wants to agree with her, but he also doesn’t want to be the cause of her and Eloise’s fight.

“I’m okay, Genova.” He uses his good arm to pull her into him, and her stiff-as-a-board posture begins to relax when he kisses her temple. “Put down the pitchfork. You don’t have to go to war, not for me.”

She leans up, whispering something in his ear. It makes him smile down at her.

Luke is on the other side of Jameson, using a roll of gauze to bandage his wound.

“Is it still bleeding? How deep was the cut?” Logan asks, peering his head over to watch Luke.

“No,” Jameson quickly answers. “It’s not that bad.”

“Thanks for your input. I wasn’t talking to you,” Logan replies quickly, turning his attention back toward Luke.

“It stopped bleeding with a bit of pressure, and it didn’t seem that deep, but I couldn’t really tell.”

Luke and Logan both fiddle with Jameson’s arm, making sure it’s not starting to bleed again and that the bandage is secured properly. I look toward the clock on the stove, and it’s nearing two a.m.

“Guys, I think we need to get some sleep,” I say. We planned on having an early morning, but I don’t foresee that happening.

I hear Eloise leave the game room, still talking quietly on the phone as if she’s trying to go unnoticed as she walks up the stairs to where the bedrooms are.

“Come on, love.” Jameson wraps his arm around Genevieve, pulling her toward the stairway. “Let’s go to sleep.”

Luke follows shortly after, leaving Logan and I alone in the kitchen. “Water?” I ask him, opening the cabinet near the sink.

He lets out a sigh, resting his hands on the counter. “Yeah, water would be great.”

I pull down two glasses, using the dispenser on the fridge to fill them with ice and then water.

I set the cup in front of him, taking a seat at the island next to where he’s standing. “Thanks.”

It’s hard for everyone when people within the group are fighting because none of us ever want to feel pressured to pick a side.

We all know the foundation of our friendship is still intact, and yet it feels like the surface is beginning to crack, waiting for one of us to patch it back up. If tonight has taught me anything, it’s that the people who love you most are also the ones who have the most ammo against you. Sometimes, they use it for good, and other times, it puts you back in line. Both are necessary to forever friendships.

“I think I’m going to sleep on the hammock tonight,” I say, thinking out loud.

The circular hammock that is completely enclosed was our favorite thing to fight over as kids. To the point where most mornings, our parents would unzip the tent-like swing and find all of us packed in it, sleeping together.

To this day, it still hangs from the rafters of the back deck, and one of us usually ends up sleeping in it each night.

“Can I join?” Logan asks.

I almost choke on my sip of water, coughing as I pull the glass away from my lips. The question catches me off guard, not just because I didn’t expect it, but because of the flood of emotions it stirs up.

I think back to those nights when we were kids, crammed into that hammock together, our friendship so pure, so uncomplicated. But now, everything feels different—complicated in ways I’m not sure I’m ready to face. The idea of sharing that space with Logan, just the two of us, feels like it could tip the balance and make everything even more confusing. Yet, there’s a part of me that craves it, that wants to hold onto the closeness we’ve always had, even as the lines blur.

I clear my throat, trying to regain my composure. “Sure.”

The chest near the back door is already filled to the brim with pillows and blankets, so we collect our childhood favorites before heading outside.

It takes a few minutes to distribute our weight properly in order to balance the hammock, but once we do, it’s complete serenity. Between the swaying of the hammock and the sound of waves crashing behind us, there is nothing more peaceful than this.

“Do you think Evie and Eloise will be okay?” I whisper into the darkness. I know Logan’s not asleep because his leg is sticking out of the opening, kicking the ground to keep the hammock moving.

“This isn’t the first fight they’ve had, and it surely won’t be the last.”

“They fight over the same things over and over again,” I sigh. It feels like a never-ending cycle.

“I’m sure they’ll work something out,” is all Logan says. He pulls his leg back in the tent before zipping it closed. We both drift asleep.