Wasted Time (The Steel City #1)

3. Declan

CHAPTER THREE

declan

I’m going to make her talk to me tonight.

Nobody else noticed that she was being deliberately evasive this morning, but I clocked it the second that she changed the subject for the first time.

Anytime her life in Windsor was brought up, she would offer a pathetic blanket statement and then direct the conversation to someone else. I’m on to her. I’m not going to draw attention to her in front of the whole crew, not when the rest of our friends would just latch onto anything said and pry into her business, but I smelled something sour.

I’ll get her to talk.

I have a good sense for these things, and I think what I’ve been waiting for has finally happened. She can plaster that pretty smile on her mouth all she wants, but that spark has been missing from her eyes for at least two years now. I guarantee it’s been longer, but I’ve only just started to notice the subtle changes in her.

I think she and Gavin are on the rocks. I hope her and Gavin are on the rocks. Gavin is arguably the worst. He was an okay dude in college, but he was quiet, and we didn’t really know him well at all. I was stunned when she gave him the time of day.

Out of everyone, that’s who the outspoken, temperamental Penelope Sweeten wound up with?

That’s a horror story to read to the kids at night.

The second that idiot got his claws in her, she began to change. She held her own for a while until he forced her out of town, and being away from her support system did her dirty. The first time she came back, things were fine. Every time I’ve seen her since, the real Penny grows more and more distant.

Gavin sucks. Did I mention that?

Lucky used to be fun. Not in the crazy, college girl way, where she drank and danced and climbed onto tables at bars. She was sneaky fun. She’d drop lemons down the shirts of men who were creepy at bars. She’d make us all talk in a fake language in cab rides to and from the bar.

She was a riot.

My favourite part about Penny, the best part, was how she would eventually get her butt to the dance floor. Only, it would be to headbang like an utter nut with Avery at her side.

I’m not exaggerating. We’d get back to their place, and they’d have to ice their necks.

She was solely on the dancefloor to act like a fool, and I absolutely loved watching her and Avery gather confused stares from drunken men.

I also enjoyed picking fights with the dudes who had something to say about it.

Rule number one about the ladies, fellas: they are not doing anything on a night out to garner your undivided attention. If they’re dancing with the girls, it’s because they want to dance with the girls. It’s not some strange way of inviting you to insert yourself between them.

If they’re throwing their hair around and screaming like banshees, they don’t care if you think they look ridiculous. They don’t really care if you’re in the room at all.

Penny hasn’t danced while she’s been home in years. She rarely orders her classic: tequila shots without lemon or salt. She barely even leaves her seat when we go to The Swan Dive anymore. It’s the most anti-Penny thing I’ve ever seen.

I fully and wholeheartedly blame Gavin Dumont for that behaviour.

He has always stuck his nose up at the rest of us. He was only around because EJ was friends with his roommate. He never really got drunk with us but seemed irritated when he came to a party where the rest of us got wasted—including his future girlfriend.

I’m not saying everyone’s got to drink. I’m just saying don’t expect people not to when you come to a party.

Speaking of Penny, that asshole left his own girlfriend at the bar when she got messed up and wound up on the dance floor, screaming at the DJ to play hair metal multiple times.

Did I mention Gavin Dumont is human trash?

“Declan, if you didn’t want to come to dinner, you could have said so.”

As soon as my mother says my name, I realize that I’ve been staring at my mashed potatoes and half-eaten steak for the last ten minutes. I snap my gaze up to hers. She is watching me carefully, her pasta twirled around her fork.

My dad smiles apologetically from his spot beside her. He knows that I’ve been itching to talk to my mother about her insistence on going out for dinner twice a week every time I’m home. It bothers me that they always pay when I now have millions in my bank account, and honestly, it’s unenjoyable to go to restaurants so frequently with the same two people.

I love my parents. I do.

My mom didn’t handle me moving away from home very well. Even all these years later, it’s hard for her. She’s contemplated moving to where I am, but it’s a fool’s errand. There’s no guarantee that I’ll be in one city very long, though I don’t think that I’ll ever leave Pittsburgh. I can’t exactly envision them quitting their jobs and moving to another country, either. Not when I can just fly them out whenever the hell they want.

“Sorry, Mom,” I say, dropping my fork and leaning back in my seat. “We’ve already talked about the Sanderson’s niece on Tuesday. I’ve heard this before.”

“Oh,” she says. She deflates a bit, and I instantly feel bad. Only child guilt.

My father drapes his arm across the back of her chair.

I’m the spitting image of my old man. Tall, built, lean but sturdy, with dark brown hair—though, he’s grayer than anything nowadays. He keeps a mustache on his upper lip, and I sport the full beard, but he kept his crystal blue eyes to himself, and I got my mother’s hazel ones.

“Maureen, I do agree that we need to relax with the dinners.”

My mother whirls to him, her knuckles going white as she grips her fork. Her perfectly-styled blonde hair bobs at her shoulders, the hairspray keeping it together like one, singular piece of hair.

My dad smiles sweetly at her. A smile that he reserves for only his wife, and the whole reason I think she fell in love with him in the first place.

“Declan can come home for dinner when he wants to. We don’t need to keep going out to eat. ”

Her eyes narrow, and her gaze slowly turns back to me. I instantly feel my throat dry under her attention.

Oh god.

Thanks, Dad.

“Do you not like going for dinner with us , Declan?”

I resist the urge to shoot my dad the middle finger and instead focus on my mother.

“It’s not that, Mom. It’s just… a lot. Dad’s right. I’d rather stay at home and have some of your homemade chili than go for dinner every night.”

My subtle compliment worked. My mother’s face softens, and she returns to twirling her noodles around her fork.

“Well, okay. You could have just told me that, honey. I don’t want it to feel like you’re having dental work done because I’m forcing you to spend time with us.”

“It’s not like that, Mom. I like spending time with you guys.”

“We know, Son,” my dad says softly, flashing me a wink.

I wish my parents had given me a break and had another child. Just one. I know that sounds crazy, but my life would have been a lot different if I had a sibling. I was the sole figure of their attention and it drove all three of us crazy. If they had another child, they could’ve taken half of this weight from me and half of my parents’ attention.

I never want to hurt their feelings, and I know how much they value time with me when I’m home. I don’t come home hardly enough as it is.

But being loved by them is a lot .

I didn’t tell my mother that I disliked these dinners because I knew it would hurt her. I was honest when I said I enjoy spending time with them, but there is only so much one can talk about during a dinner before it becomes repetitive. Hence, the neighbour’s niece getting fired from her job for stealing money from the till. I wouldn’t even care about that on a good day.

That isn’t even the worst part.

The worst part is being in public. At bars, parks, or out shopping—I’m moving around and not sitting stationary for too long. Sitting for meals allows people to get a good look at me. They think I look familiar and wonder for the next little while, their eyes darting my way every few seconds.

The longer I sit, the longer they have to look me up and confirm that I’m Declan Lowes. Then, more often than not, they come up to talk.

Mom loves it.

I hate it.

Tonight, our waiter took one look at me, and his eyes grew to the size of fucking saucers. He said nothing at first but took our drink orders with a shaky hand. When he returned, he came back with a trembling tray of beverages and a red face.

“Uh. Hey man. Are you Declan Lowes?”

There it was.

“Yeah. What's up, buddy?”

His face fell with relief at the kindness in my voice. I liked that look. I want to be a nice guy. I remember being a kid and worshiping my favourite players. I’d die if I met my hero, and he was a jerk.

Even when I’m in a piss-poor mood, I plaster a smile on my face.

“I’m a huge fan. I cannot believe you’re seated in my section.”

“Thanks, bud. That means a lot.”

“Can I get a picture later, before you go? Or can you sign the bill for me?”

“Sure thing. After the meal, alright?”

I will never, and I mean ever, be rude to someone who approaches me with love and respect. I have declined to sign or talk at length with people who approach me while I’m out, especially on dates, but I explain very kindly that I prefer not to do that stuff while I'm eating or taking a piss.

Yeah. That’s happened. Mid-stream.

This kid looked at me like I was his hero. He was doing a good job tonight and was chill and polite. Of course he could get a picture. It would take me two seconds after dinner, and it would make his whole month. I will barely remember this in a few days.

It was quite honestly the least I could do.

I shouldn’t moan about it. I fucking love my job, and I love the fans. I was ‘ the fans’ at one point in time—but I’m home and on vacation. Doing this twice a week is exhausting. I want to be able to just be myself without having to worry about someone posting a video of me online or catching me on a bad day.

Talking about the Sandersons’ niece and other stupid shit like that makes it a bad day.

After we finish eating, and much to my dismay, my mother pays for the check. I slide a hundred-dollar bill into the server’s hand, and his eyes widen in surprise. I have long since stopped arguing with my parents about paying for dinners, but this kid was respectful throughout our meal.

Plus, he didn’t linger.

I like that.

An extra hundred on top of his tip was just to thank him for being a good dude.

We stand by the table, my arm around his slim shoulders. The kid raises a thumbs up, and I flash a toothy grin. In the second photo, I wink at the camera, and he stares at me like I’m a god.

I’m not.

But I do feel that way when I’m on skates.

I shake his hand and he thanks me again, multiple times, and it’s over.

It’s that easy.

I hope the next time I am forced to eat here, he’ll be our server. I’ll take one hundred pictures with him if he continues to treat me like a normal guy seated in his section. Not once did I feel like he was inspecting my every move or inviting his buddies to the restaurant for a chance to meet me.

“Are you coming by, honey?”

I shake my head, heading in the opposite direction than my parents and toward my Range Rover.

“Penny’s in town. We’re all getting together at The Swan Dive.”

My mother’s eyes light up. She stops walking in the middle of the parking lot, gripping my dad’s arm like I just told her they created a professional team in town, and I’m moving home to be their captain.

“Penelope Sweeten ?”

I slow, shooting her a bored look.

She knows there is no other Penny, and I know exactly where this is going.

My mom grips my dad even tighter. “Oh, you have to tell her to stop by for a visit!”

Yes, because I’m sure Penny wants to attend a Lowes family dinner during her few, precious weeks at home. She would die before she stepped foot in my parents’ house again.

In our sophomore year of college, I had a few people over in the basement, and Penny wound up puking all over my mother’s hand towels. Like, projectile vomit type of puke. My mom rubbed her back and reassured her that it was fine while she cried her little heart out and apologized to my toilet bowl.

A laugh bubbles in my throat at the memory. Still, my mom loved her even after that. Penny, on the other hand, never got over her humiliation. My mom knows this, yet she keeps trying.

“I’ll see if she has time. She’s got a bunch of family stuff to do,” I lie. I’m making excuses for her. I’m never going to mention this conversation to Penny.

“See you later, Son,” my dad says with a knowing smile.

He gently tugs my mother toward their vehicle, trying to help free both me and Penny from Mom’s new idea before she starts running with it.

“Thank you for dinner!” I call, walking backward toward my vehicle.

“Thank you for pretending to enjoy it!” my mom calls back.

I hop into my Range Rover and text Seth. It’s seven-thirty. The crew should all be at the pregame by now. I’d expect them to at least be three drinks deep, but I don’t want to head there if they are planning to head to The Swan soon.

Me

Just finished dinner. Going to go grab some beer and I’ll head over. Still got time?

I’m pulling out of the parking lot when he texts back.

Seth

Tiff and Lau just got here. Plenty of time. Mind picking up a bottle of vodka for the twins? They were too busy having mimosas all afternoon to get to the store.

A smile tugs at my lips. ‘The twins’ is a nickname we came up with before we were even friends with Avery and Penny. Seth was getting tutored by this girl, and then suddenly, we started seeing her everywhere. Wherever we turned on campus, there was the short little brunette with the attitude of a giant. She was always, and I mean fucking always , with a tall, blonde girl that looked like she hated the world. They looked nothing alike, but they sure acted the same.

Where one of them went, the other was right beside her. If you fought with one, you fought with both. If you hurt one of them, you apologize to them both.

The fucking twins.

Me

Are they dancing yet?

Seth’s reply is almost instant.

Seth

Nope. They’re singing Queen loud enough to scare the neighbours though.

I huff out a laugh.

Me

Tell the twins I’ll get their vodka.

It’s nearly eight by the time I pull up to the house. I kick off my shoes at the door, being greeted by music from the early 2000s being played way too loud. The girls are belting along at the top of their lungs.

It’s like a melody to my fucking brain.

I know I’m supposed to love the boys and all, and I do—they’re my best friends, but I adore these girls.

I round the corner with the vodka laid on top of the case of beer. Tiff and Lau are playing Avery and Pen in beer pong, but with the amount of singing that’s happening, I’d wager this is more karaoke than any other game. The collapsable table is pushed against the furthest wall in the kitchen, right in between the island and the living room.

They all whirl around to look at me when Wyatt calls out my name.

I drop the case of beer onto the chair and grab the vodka bottle by the neck, holding it out like an offering.

The twins take one look and rush me. Avery throws her arms around my neck and Penny grabs my free hand, bending at the knee before me. I can’t take my eyes off her as she kneels, her dark blue eyes teasing with an evil undertone that I haven’t seen in quite a long time. She places three kisses on my knuckles, and I feel every curve of her lips.

“Our hero,” Avery says, forcing a Southern accent.

“A nobleman deserving of knighthood,” Penny adds, kissing my knuckles again.

I trap her hand with my thumb and squeeze. Her smile drops just slightly. To make her even more uncomfortable, I drag my thumb across the width of her fingers.

Like I expected, I win.

She quickly yanks her hand free and stands.

She aims a look of disgust my way, which only makes me laugh. I slap the bottle of vodka into her hands, and just as quickly, her face explodes into a megawatt smile.

A real, Penny smile.

Those are rare nowadays.

That’s why I smile back, my eyes locked on hers.

Penny fixes me with a look. “Careful, Dec. Your moves won’t work here.”

I raise a brow. “No?”

I beg to differ. They always work.

Penny shakes her head, but then stills as a glimmer of mischief enters her eyes. She slowly glances over her shoulder—a deliberate move. The ultimate trump card.

I follow her gaze and regret it.

Tiffany is watching us a little too closely for my liking. She is trying to act like she isn’t, but I know she’s monitoring where my hands are and just how much of my tone sounds even slightly flirtatious.

I instantly feel uncomfortable in my own skin.

I avert my eyes.

Nope. Not dealing with this tonight.

Penny turns back to me, blinking up at me through those lashes. The vodka bottle dangles from her fingers as if it weighs nothing, swaying back and forth.

“Don’t start,” I grumble.

I don’t want to beg, but I will. I will literally get down on my knees and plead with her.

The only thing that could ruin this night is having to deal with the Tiffany situation again, so many years later. I’d very much like to coexist as we usually do and pretend this awkwardness in the air is just pollution.

You know how they say that revenge is a dish best served cold? Untrue. Regret is. I regret a lot of things in this life, but sleeping with one of my friends is the worst of them.

Penny cracks the lid to the vodka, meeting my eyes. She bats her eyelashes again like a blameless little brat. It’s a mockery, though. I don’t think any expression Penny knows how to make could ever look innocent. Not on that face.

“You started it,” she reminds me under her breath. She flashes me a wicked smile, a warning, before springing on her heel. Sliding toward the island, she fills three red solo cups with a generous amount of vodka. She hands one to Avery and then turns to me, pushing the last one into my hands.

I open my mouth to argue, but she gives me that look that makes me stop myself. This has clearly become Penny’s night, and she is going to ensure we are all wasted by the end of it.

“It’s a truce, Lowes. Take it.”

Ah, yes, a truce. We’ve had a fair share of those in our friendship.

If taking this shot the size of a small planet puts a pause on the teasing about Tiffany, it’s worth the sacrifice for the greater good.

“You have the devil inside of you, Lucky,” I mutter, taking the cup from her hands.

She shrugs a shoulder, an easy smile on her mouth. “Never said I didn’t.”

I shake my head, watching as she downs her shot and re-joins the game. She says nothing to Tiffany. She doesn’t even hint at the jab she just made. Penny is trouble, but she isn’t mean. I don’t think she’d ever intentionally make either of us uncomfortable for her own amusement.

Still, I don’t want to fret for too long and risk Tiffany making assumptions. I take a whiff of my cup and wince—yep, that’s pure fucking vodka.

Whatever, a truce is a truce.

I pass by their table—the only thing I can do to join the boys in the kitchen.

“Hey, ladies.” I wave to the only two I haven’t yet greeted. I’m not mean, either. I don’t isolate the girl because I was an asshole all those years ago. Both Lauren and Tiffany smile and say hello, but Tiffany’s eyes linger.

They always linger.

It’s been almost a decade, and I still can’t seem to shake her. She’s here for good. She’s a part of the group. I know that, and she knows that. The difference is that she’s never been able to get over whatever little fling we had sophomore year, and I was over it while we were still in it. I’m not trying to be arrogant when I say that. The texts I get in the middle of the night are proof that she can’t let go.

I try to keep this civil, I really do, but I’ve done everything apart from literally telling her to fuck off at this point.

She’s a beautiful girl. Dark skin, sweet eyes, and the nicest hair on the damn planet—big, sexy curls, but it was never anything more than friendship, even when we were doing more-than-friendly things to each other.

I make my way into the kitchen, still cringing at the liquid in my cup.

Seth hands me a ginger ale like he can read my mind. I’m still not positive that he can’t.

“Thanks.” I pour it into my cup.

“We made a mistake in not letting them join our last few games,” EJ grumbles, glowering toward the beer pong table. “Now they’re making a point to hold the table hostage.”

I snort, sipping my drink.

Classic.

You’d think they would have learned their lesson after doing the exact same thing at almost every single party in college and experiencing the same outcome.

Don’t exclude chicks from drinking games. That’s a golden rule.

Do it, and they’ll exclude you from everything.

Cars to the club? Figure out your own way. After-party? Sorry, they forgot to mention it.

“They’ll get bored,” Wyatt says, eyes locked on the girls. Lauren throws her hands up in triumph when Tiffany lands a shot. “The drunker they get, the less they care about pissing us off.”

Now, that I don’t agree with. Maybe Avery, but the drunker Penny gets, the more competitive she becomes. That’s how she used to be, anyway. I’m not quite sure who Penny is anymore, drunk or sober.

I do know one thing: drunk or sober, then or now, she fucking sucks at beer pong.

By the time we’re heading to The Swan Dive , the girls are pretty drunk, and EJ is right there behind them. I’m buzzing, but nothing too crazy. I can already tell Seth is dreading his shift as designated driver because the girls relentlessly screamed the whole way to the bar.

I swear, at some point, they were speaking a whole other language that the simple minds of men cannot understand.

There was only so much room in the truck, so somehow Tiffany ended up pretty much in my lap. I kept my hands to myself, staring out the window, and she seemed keen on looking anywhere but me, too. We never talk about her calls and texts when I’m home. Sometimes I’ll answer, but other times I don’t.

Don’t get me wrong, I never lead her on. I just have a fucking warped idea that the one time I don’t answer when I’m awake, she’ll be in trouble. Typically, I’ll shoot her an ‘everything ok?’ text, and when she confirms she’s okay, I remind her that this has to stop.

It really has to stop.

The last time she texted was about half a year ago, and I wasn’t as nice as I could have been. I feel bad. I don’t like being that guy, but I have to keep making it clear that this isn’t a thing. We are just friends, if you can even consider us that anymore.

I might have been the only one who noticed that Tiffany was the one girl in the truck who didn’t utter a single word the entire drive.

Now, in the bar, Tiffany and Lauren are talking to two guys at a small table in the back corner. Tiffany’s attention is solely focused on the blond guy in the plaid jacket. Lauren’s playing wingman and good best friend by entertaining the other dude. That woman has been married for years and would never stray.

It’s a relief to see Tiff distracted.

They really mean it when they say don’t fuck your friends. They also really mean it when they say not to agree to be friends with benefits with a person who clearly has feelings for you. I was young and dumb and would take it back if I could.

I know I hurt her, but I’ve apologized more times than I’ve ever even spoken to her at this point.

Anyway, I’ve been watching Penny like a fucking stalker.

It’s funny, Penny was having the time of her life at Avery’s, but the second we got to the bar, she turned into a watered-down shell of herself. She ordered a Long Island with the saddest eyes I have ever seen and went directly to a table, sat her ass down, and hasn’t moved since.

Nobody else seems to notice. Wyatt hasn’t left her side, though that’s not unusual. Their friendship is like that. At least she smiles when she’s with him. Not that fake kind of smile she puts on for the rest of us, either.

I watch her more carefully than the rest of them do. I always have. She looks like she’d rather die than be in this bar, which is odd since she seemed so excited about it all day.

How does nobody see that?

If you want answers, but you don’t want to ask the source, you go for the twin.

I slide in beside Avery and Seth at the bar. They’re waiting for their drinks, but both of their gazes snap to me when I push my way into the space right next to them.

The music is still relatively quiet since the place hasn’t filled up yet. It makes it easier to ask the questions that I know are going to have Avery wanting to interrogate me like a federal agent.

“What’s going on with Pen?”

Seth goes rigid, and then shakes his head animatedly behind her, motioning for me not to ask, but it’s too late. Avery’s eyes have already narrowed in on me.

My eyes flicker to Seth, catching Avery’s unwanted attention. She whirls backward to look at him, and he immediately stops moving and presses his lips together tightly. He turns back to the bar without another word, adjusting his glasses on his nose.

Avery slowly meets my eyes again. “What do you mean?”

“She was happy-go-lucky at your place, and now she looks like somebody kicked a puppy in front of her. She’s putting it on for Wyatt, but I can see right through it.”

Avery stares at me, chewing on the inside of her cheek. She fiddles with the strap of her bag while contemplating what I’ve just said.

Seth is still staring out at the bar. Pretending he’s not here.

Avery lets out a long sigh, rolling her eyes. “Alright, but don’t say a word. I want her to have a good night. Just… help make that happen.”

I flash her a toothy grin, lifting my beer to my lips. “Deal.”

She doesn’t look like she believes this is a good idea, but she starts talking anyway.

“Gavin texted her and asked what she was up to. When she told him, he got all cranky and basically told her that she’s immature and that we bring out the worst in her. Started a fight.”

My brows skyrocket to my hairline. Immature ? For going out with her friends? For having some fun?

Gavin can suck my dick, honestly.

“ What ? ”

Avery nods, not bothering to hide the roll of her eyes as the bartender drops two Long Islands in front of her. I know where the second one is going.

“He said something like: ‘All you do is drink when you’re home. That's why I don’t come with you anymore’.”

“He doesn’t come because he doesn’t want to,” I snap.

Seth scoffs, nodding as he hands a twenty to the bartender.

“I know,” Avery says with a sigh. She takes a sip of her drink. “But we all know Gavin isn’t necessarily the most rational person. He tends to make her feel bad about stupid things. We are in charge of making her forget that, correct?”

She stares at me, her big brown eyes wide and unblinking.

“Uh.” I nod, leaning my elbow on the bar. “Right. Correct.”

“Seth?” she asks, glancing over her shoulder at her boyfriend. Her short brown hair sways as she turns.

“You got it,” he says unenthusiastically.

One thing Seth does not like to do is get involved, yet he always seems to get pulled into anything and everything.

“Great,” she chirps and turns on her heel. She walks quickly through the small crowd until she gets to our table. She places the drink in front of Penny, whose eyes darken as she looks at it.

I shake my head, turning toward the bar. I lean forward on my forearms, ensuring Seth is close enough that he can hear me.

“She needs to get rid of that guy.”

“I know,” Seth mutters, mimicking my position. “Just be careful with what you say to Avery. She’s so mad that she gave you more information than she usually would, but don’t start bashing Gavin in front of her now.”

I bring the beer to my lips and look sideways at him.

He shrugs. “She’ll defend him even if she hates him. As long as Penny is with him, if anyone besides Penny speaks poorly of him, she will swing.”

I shake my head again, but I can appreciate the beauty of female friendships.

The fucking twins.

If Penny said the sky was purple and someone disagreed with her, Avery would probably convince you that you were color blind. Even if she knew full well that Penny was wrong, she’d tell nobody but Penny that fact. It goes both ways and is the absolute worst for everyone besides the two of them.

“You have to let her figure it out on her own,” Seth says, taking a sip of beer. “She’s a grown woman, Dec, and she’s never particularly liked your input on her life.”

That is probably an understatement. When Penny started dating Gavin, I pulled her aside at a party and told her it was a bad idea. I didn’t trust him. I knew he didn’t view the world the way she did, and I figured that it would end poorly. He’s kind of a stick in the mud. She’s always been the opposite.

Just because they’ve stayed together for ten years doesn’t mean that I was wrong.

Penny had listened to me with an expressionless look on her face. I talked more than I should have and said more than was probably wise because she’d been so eerily silent. Her knee started to bob up and down the more I spoke, and by the end of my drunken speech, I could practically see the smoke coming from her nose with each breath.

She stared at me, asked me if there was anything else I’d like to say, and then walked right out of the party and didn’t speak to me for two months. If I was in the room, she pretended I wasn’t. If I spoke directly to her, she ignored that I had said anything at all. It was torture.

Then, one day, she sat next to me on the couch at her and Avery’s house, looked me dead in the eye and told me if I ever made another comment about her relationship, she would drown me in her bathtub.

We were friends again, and I genuinely tried to keep my thoughts to myself. I have slipped up a few times since then, and it usually ends with us yelling at each other, but I always manage to mull things over with a sweet apology and a promise not to do it again.

I glance over my shoulder to where she’s staring at the table as she sips her drink—our friends laughing around her, the ghost of her torment in her eyes.

Well.

I am going to do it again.