Dash and Wren go very, very still. Wren inhales sharply through his nose. “What the hell is that, Pax Davis?”
“You know damn well what it is,” I grumble. “And I asked her dad to meet me this afternoon, so I could—”
“You’re gonna ask him for permission?” Dash crows.
“Urgh. Don’t.” I will legit kill him if he makes this any more uncomfortable than it already is.
Wren’s still staring at the box like it’s a snake that might bite him. “Open it,” he commands.
“No.”
“Fuck that.” Dash lunges, snatching the little jewelry box before I can stop him. “You’re not slapping that thing down on the table and then not showing us what’s inside.”
I want to bare my teeth and snarl at him, but…fuck it. It’s too late now. He has the damn box open and he’s frowning, showing the contents inside to Wren. Both of them look perplexed. “Uhhh…d’you need to borrow some money, dude?” Dash asks.
“Yeah. What the fuck is this supposed to be?” Wren takes the little woven gold band out of the box, holding it up disdainfully. “I hate to break it to you, but most girls like diamonds. And this piece of ratty thread has glue on it.”
I grab it from him, putting it back in the box. “Fuck off, asshole.”
“For real, dude. Do you need help? If we get in the car now, we can be in Boston by lunchtime. We can pick out something flashy and—”
“I don’t need to borrow money, and I don’t need anything flashy. Not yet. I’ll—” I huff, shoving the box back in my pocket. “Look, I’m not fucking stupid. I’ll get her something nice later. But I’m asking her with this and that’s all there is to it, okay. Don’t ask questions.”
They pull faces at each other, trying not to laugh, I think, but they know I’m being deadly fucking serious and so they don’t push me.
“Y’know, out of the three of us, I always thought Wren would be the first to propose,” Dash says, sinking back into his chair. “I figured you’d be at least fifty before you softened enough to get hitched. And here you are, barely eighteen—”
“I don’t wanna marry her tomorrow, asshole. We’ll do it when she graduates. I just want her to know that this is happening. That…she fucking has me, okay. She’s going away to college. I’m going to be bouncing around all over the place. I swear to god, if either of you laugh, I will end your miserable lives.”
They don’t laugh.
Wren stands up and holds out his hand, his face a blank mask. When I place my own hand in his, expecting him to shake it, he jerks me to my feet and into the tightest fucking hug I’ve ever experienced. “You are good, Pax Davis. The fucking best of us. No point in denying it. And I cannot wait until the day that I get to roll up and look hotter than you at your wedding.”
I grit my teeth, trying to brush him off, to thump him in his stomach for being so soft, but he only holds me tighter. He won’t let go. I’m crushed even tighter when Dash throws his arms around me and Wren, hugging both of us, too. “Congratulations, you miserable bastard,” he says.
I feel…weird. Tight. Hot. My throat aches. I use every bit of strength I have to push them away, forcing a laugh as I turn away from them for a second, facing the forest. I have to blink a whole bunch of times before I can see properly. I don’t know what the fuck’s come over me. “Don’t congratulate me yet.” My voice sounds oddly broken. “Her dad has to say yes first, and my cock’s going to be plastered across town in an hour. That fucking bus driver, Jim—”
“Don’t worry. We got you.” Wren slaps a hand on my shoulder. Thankfully he doesn’t force me to turn around. I haven’t quite mastered myself yet. “Operation: best men is about to go into full effect. Dash and I will hit every convenience store and news stand in this backwater town and burn every copy of that magazine. Chase’s dad isn’t gonna see shit.”
“Uhhh, best men?” Dash asks, laughing.
“Of course. How is he supposed to choose between us?”
They go together, leaving me by the perimeter of the forest, still picking apart the sea of emotions that I’m still drifting in. I’m so overwhelmed for a moment that I almost surrender to the frightening feeling that hit so hard when the boys hugged me. I nearly let the tears come. But there’s no room for tears in the end. My excitement won’t allow them.
This afternoon, I’m going to request permission to ask Presley Maria Witton Chase a really big question. And I’m not afraid. I take out the little black velvet box again and open it, taking out the woven ring inside. It is a sorry looking thing to be sure. I made it out of gold thread. The knots are uneven and it’s lumpy as hell. It took me three attempts, watching the how-to video on YouTube, before I figured out what I was doing.
The friendship bracelets that Chase made me were solid, beautiful things. She poured her strength and her heart into them. The ring I’ve made my firebrand is ugly in comparison, but I poured myself into it, too. It isn’t perfect. It’s flawed, and she deserves so much better, but I made it for her.
And it’s strong enough that it won’t break.
50
ALSO BY CALLIE HART
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