The instant his eyes lock on the screenshot I had Stephanie forward to me, he pales beneath his tan. When those blue eyes rise to meet mine, I could easily drown in the guilt visible in the depths.
His lips part, and the muscles in my face begin to ache with the force I’m using to hold my smile in place. I put my phone inside my small wristlet, averting my eyes. He wraps a hand around my upper arm, steering me off to the side and into a corner, away from prying eyes.
“Magnolia, I can explain.”
A cynical laugh breaks free. “My word! I know you’re not about to use that clichéd intro to your excuse on me.”
He sputters, and the desperation drips from his every word. “I was drunk, and it didn’t mean anythin’. I swear!” If this isn’t egregious enough, he quickly tacks on, “Plus, I used protection.”
Bless his little heart because he just hammered the final nail in his own coffin.
I grab his beer and chug every disgusting drop of the heinous liquid before thrusting the red Solo cup at his chest, suppressing my gag reflex and praying my poor stomach will forgive me for making it suffer through that wretched beverage.
“Well, I reckon I’m done here.” I slip around him with a “See you ’round,” and don’t look back as I rush through the throngs of partygoers.
My heart thumps so erratically, I fear it might beat right out of my chest. It seems to take a century before I finally make it to the front door, all the while ignoring the male voice calling my name.
Fool me once. That’s all it takes for Magnolia Mae Barton. Except I have a bone to pick with that old saying because, in this case, the shame is on both of us. Him for doing what he did and, in the process, bringing shame to me, if the looks and hushed whispers from the others are any indication.
Once I cross the threshold and step outside, the humid air is a welcoming change from the stifling air-conditioning inside.
Well, that and the cheating ex-boyfriend.
Spotting a gap in the group of partygoers enjoying the warm night along with those outside to smoke, I squeeze through only to stumble into a hard wall of muscle. I mutter an apology and move to step around him, only to be stopped by his voice.
“Shortcake?”
My head jerks up at my nickname, and my eyes collide with a familiar pair of brown ones. Hollis peers down at me curiously.
“You okay?”
I give a short shake of my head. “I need to get out of here.” Good grief, the desperation in my voice fuels my anger.
Without a second thought, his palm falls to the base of my spine, and he guides me away from the large house. We barely make it more than ten steps when I hear, “Please, Magnolia! You’ve gotta listen to me!”
My body instantly tenses at Preston’s voice, and without looking up at Hollis, I utter a hushed plea. “Please keep walkin’ with me.”
The hand at my back becomes more supportive, and we continue until we make it to the sidewalk. Every footfall that sounds from behind us, growing closer, has my breath quickening in desperation for something to stop him. To prevent him from reaching us.
As soon as the soles of my sandals make contact with the sidewalk, Preston reaches for my arm, tugging me around to face him. “Magnolia, wait—”
Hollis whirls around on him, and I swear his broad chest and shoulders appear to dwarf Preston. His features are severe, tense, and anger radiates off him in waves. “Back. The. Fuck. Off.”
His eyes dart back and forth between Hollis and me, before settling on me and a myriad of emotions flickers across his face. “Look, if we can just talk… I swear, she didn’t mean anythin’ to me.”
I turn back around. “I said I’m done.” I start walking, focusing so intently on not tripping on the uneven parts of the sidewalk that I barely miss the muffled, “Fuck!”
The sound of flip-flops slapping along the concrete walk signals to me that Hollis is catching up. I don’t slow my pace that, quite honestly, resembles that of someone aiming for a gold medal in the power-walking Olympics.
My best friend falls into step beside me, and we don’t talk. He doesn’t pry for information and doesn’t try to make small talk. And I realize just how well he knows me.
Only someone who’s known you for a little over a decade, someone who can pick up on the nuances of your personality, knows how to navigate a situation like this. And for me, that someone is Hollis Barnes.
Still ensnared in my own thoughts, I don’t pay attention to the way he types out a quick text. To the way he steers me up the stairs and guides me to his floor. He unlocks the door and ushers me inside with a “Don’t worry. He won’t be comin’ back here tonight.”
I nod, wrapping my arms around myself, suddenly feeling vulnerable. When he pulls me toward him, tugging on my arms and placing them around his waist, I settle my cheek against his chest with a sigh.
He smooths his hand along my back in soothing strokes, lightly pressing a kiss to my hair. He couldn’t possibly understand how much I appreciate this—how much I appreciate him right now. He makes the humiliation a little less suffocating and my molten hot anger less oppressing.
“I really thought he was different. That he wouldn’t do this sort of thing.” My breath hitches, and I hate how fragile my voice sounds. “I should’ve known better than to think he wouldn’t go and sleep with some random girl on spring break.” At my words, his firm chest feels like it tenses even more beneath me.
“You know what the worst part is?” I whisper, my cheek against the smooth fabric of his simple cotton T-shirt with Auburn University printed on one short sleeve and Aubie, our tiger mascot, pictured on the other sleeve. He smells like safety and comfort. And like a best friend should, he knows that my question was rhetorical and remains silent, waiting for me to continue. “I swear I had an inklin’. I mean, I thought about sleepin’ with him, but it just never seemed like the right time.”
The hand at my back stutters a split second before resuming its soothing pattern of strokes. A long beat of silence passes before he speaks, his voice low and tender. “If it didn’t feel right, then you did the right thing.” Then he speaks against my hair in the barest of a whisper. “He doesn’t deserve you.”
I swallow hard and close my eyes, attempting to muster bravery for my confession. “Does it make me a horrible person that I’m more upset that he made me look stupid? And not because I’m heartbroken?”
He eases us apart, and I fix my eyes on the center of his chest, vulnerability surrounding me. With his index finger under my chin, he nudges up, forcing me to meet his deep brown eyes. In a gentle tone, he says, “Hey.”
“Hey,” I whisper back.
Raising both hands, he cradles my face. His deep brown eyes flick over my face, and affection lines his features. “You’re not a horrible person. I don’t reckon you could ever be anythin’ less than perfect.”
I twist my lips derisively, and when I shift a fraction, I catch sight of his slight wince and narrow my eyes. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice his right hand.
I gasp. “Hollis, your hand!”
My eyes dart up to his, and he shrugs off my concern. “It’s nothin’.”
I take hold of his wrist in my hands to get a better look. His knuckles are beat up from here to kingdom come. In a flash, it dawns on me. He punched Preston. On my behalf.