Or maybe it was because I had a strong feeling I couldn’t hold up my promise not to have sex with Ryan again. Though, it wouldn’t be sex. It’d be making love.
I suddenly wanted to know what that felt like so bad it was almost worth risking my mom’s anger.
Or maybe it was that Ryan hadn’t let go of my hand. The only time was when we separated to get into his truck, and he was still holding it as he pulled up to the curb and threw his truck into park.
Of all people to greet us, it shouldn’t have been those three.
Peach? Maybe. Tom? Maybe. Both of them together? Terrible idea but still plausible. But Erin? There might’ve been a temporary truce or a tentative peace between us, whatever we had, but we weren’t friends. So yeah, all three of them should’ve been sounding my alarms at full blast.
We got out. Ryan came around the front and still the trio said nothing.
Tom wore an uneasy grin. As Ryan came to my side, he stepped away from Peach and dipped his head. “Ryan. Mackenzie.”
Peach shared his uneasiness, biting her lip and looking as if she wanted to reach for his hand. She didn’t. She tucked it under her other arm, almost holding herself back, and her head hanging a tiny bit.
It hit me then. Those two were backup for—and my gaze found the girl who’d been my first enemy at Portside: Ryan’s ex-girlfriend/fuck buddy.
Then the alarms sounded, tightening my gut. “Erin.”
She didn’t even look at Ryan. Her eyes were only for me, and I saw the sorrow. It flickered there, but it was strong. It was evident. Her eyes clouded, her eyebrows pinched together, and she frowned, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear.
“I had no idea,” she said.
“No idea about what?”
Ryan moved forward a little, as if he wanted to shield me. “What are you talking about, Erin?”
She still didn’t look at him, but his sister did. Peach went to Erin’s other side, standing in front of her brother. She held her hand out, saying softly, “Ryan . . .”
He ignored her, barking out, “Erin!”
The door opened behind them. Music, light, and people spilled out.
“Ryan!”
“Mackenzie!”
Kirk, Cora, Nick, and Pete darted down the front lawn.
Cora was unnaturally pale, and her face was streaked with tears. Once her eyes hit mine, she jerked to a stop, and I watched as she sucked in her breath. Kirk stopped too, looking toward her. He frowned and reached for her hand, but like Erin, she only had eyes for me.
She and Erin were both terrified—for me.
The guys were sending nervous looks at me, but they were more wary of Ryan.
Because . . .
Because why?
Why were they concerned about him when the girls were so scared for me?
Me.
Because of . . .
Because Ryan was protective of me, but Erin and Cora . . . the way they were looking at me, as if they pitied me and were horrified at the same time.
It’s me.
I jerked backward, hearing Willow’s voice like she was standing in front of me.
I swayed, clasping my eyes shut.
No . . .
Yes, Willow sighed. They’re going to use me to get at you.
I looked again, past everyone in front of me, and I saw her.
She was faint, like a mere reflection in the wind, wavering all around, but I saw her.
Willow was looking right at me, wearing the same dress she had on in the dream. A pink, shimmering dress, but there was no crown on her head. This time, her hair was pulled up into a braid and wrapped around her head, looking like a crown in and of itself.
But she looked alive, so alive that I heard myself exhale a ragged breath.
I blinked a few times, but she was still there.
There were no more words. She didn’t come toward me. She didn’t point inside, but I knew she was leading the way.
She wanted me to go in, and feeling her courage join mine, I grew calm. I felt ready, and I started forward.
Everyone turned then, and I heard Cora gasp.
“Holy sh—” Kirk exclaimed.
They saw her.
They honest to God saw her.
I almost faltered, my knees buckling, and then she vanished. I only felt her beside me. Her hand touched mine. More strength transferred to me, but there was also peace. Contentment. She was letting me feel everything right along with her.
The door swung open. Someone saw me coming and was ready. The music cut off, and everyone who had been standing around on the walkway turned to watch. Some were smirking. Some were laughing. Some were sad. And the pity—that seared me the most.
I didn’t want anyone’s pity, but I was getting it. I gritted my teeth. Whatever was ahead of me, I would show them I didn’t need it.
They were in the living room.
The crowd didn’t part for me when the hallway forked off to the dining room and kitchen. But it opened to the living room, where people were sitting on the couches. Others were spread out, sitting all over the floor.
They were watching a movie on a large screen. It wasn’t even the television. It had been projected onto the wall for maximum effect, and standing right to the side of it was Stephanie Witts, but she wasn’t alone.
Zoe.
Gianna.
And next to them? Duke and Willow’s ex-best friend, Serena. He had his arm around her. I turned away from them. They didn’t even deserve my attention, but Duke dropped his arm as soon as he saw me. His eyes widened, and he jerked forward a step.
“Mackenzie—”
He was already groveling. I heard it in his voice, and I leveled him with a hard look. “Don’t. Even.”
I didn’t need to ask how they got there. I looked right at Stephanie. “What’d you do? Go on my social media? Google my sister’s name?”
Her eyebrows went up, and her lips pulled back in a haughty smirk. “You told me to come at you with the worst I could do.” She waved at my ex-friends, at Willow’s ex-friends. “Here you go. They’ve been telling me all about your sister—”
I finally looked at the screen, and I tuned her out. She was saying things, no doubt hurtful things, but it didn’t matter in that moment.
Willow had been right. It was her. They were watching a compilation video of her winning the championship with that six-foot, papier-mâché dragon. She smiled, holding the dragon in one hand and the purple ribbon in the other. Her trophy was next to her, and she was so proud. She was beaming. Then the video skipped ahead to her nuzzling noses with Duke. Then I saw her and her friends, all in their cheerleading uniforms. Then older pictures of Willow—her school pictures when she was in third grade, fifth, sixth, seventh, eighth, all the way up to what should have been this year’s picture.
They showed her senior picture.
I felt tears sliding down my face, but I didn’t care.
So many pieces, one after another, connected, and they were strong. Twenty-five. Goddamn twenty-five, and I felt them in me. They were pulsating. They were buzzing. They were firm, cement, and more were coming.
“You guys had your pictures taken right before you moved,” Duke murmured, coming closer. “She mailed that back to me. I got it a week after . . .”
She’d sent it before she killed herself.
I didn’t respond to him. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to yet. The video kept going.
Pictures of Willow and me: she was smiling, I was rolling my eyes.