Page 89 of Burn

“Wait. That sounded bad. I mean for not calling me. I will never forgive you for not calling me and making me so stressed out on my wedding weekend.”

“Adrian should have killed Aaron. Now I have to do it and I’m very petite. The chances of it working out well are slim.”

“MORGAN ALEXANDRIA DONNELLY!”

I’ve almost caught up on her messages, but a new one pops up.

“YOU’RE LEAVING ME ON READ?!”

My phone lights up with another incoming call, and I swipe and bring it to my ear.

“Relax,” I whisper.

“RELAX!” she screams in response. I can hear the tears, hear how her voice cracks as she cries.

“Oh, Blake. I’m so sorry.”

“You better be apologizing for not calling me, and not for that piece of shit.”

I let out a long, mournful sigh. “I’m sorry for ruining your wedding.”

“Morgan,” she’s quieter, softer. “You didn’t ruin my wedding. My wedding was perfect and beautiful, and I married the love of my life. What more could I have asked for? The reception, on the other hand, left much to be desired. But that wasn’t your fault. You weren’t even the only drama. I swear to God when Charlie’s parents get two damn glasses of Chardonnay, they act like teenagers on spring break. His mother stole the microphone from the DJ and proceeded to karaokeWAP.WAP, Morgan. Wet. Ass. Pussy.”

I try so hard to contain my laugh that I snort, and pain fires through my sinuses.

“Don’t make me laugh. Adrian is sleeping, and my fucking face is… I think it’s broken, actually.”

“I’m the one who’s sorry, Morgan.”

“Don’t be. You didn’t know. No one did.”

She’s one of two humans on this planet who doesn’t make my skin crawl when she says my name, and I’m hit with a pang of guilt over not telling her sooner about the attack in high school.

Right on cue, she says, “I didn’t know we were keeping secrets.”

I smile, it’s not a happy smile, but one of those sad truth smiles. “We’re not. We weren’t. This secret predates us, and I guess I just wanted to leave it there. B.B.”

There’s a pause.

“B.B?”

I chuckle. It’s such a lame joke.

“Before Blake. Like you’re my version of Jesus.”

“Oh!” she says, perking up. “Well, I love that. Your own personal Jesus. With better footwear.” We both laugh, and in the background, I hear Charlie say something. “Are you sure you’re okay?” she asks.

“No,” I reply honestly. “But I will be.”

There’s silence again, and I can imagine her nodding.

What I’m not imagining is her annoyance, so her groan catches me off guard.

“Ugh! You’re never gonna come back and visit me now.”

I laugh, really laugh at the comment, because she’s absolutely right. Under no circumstances am I ever coming back to this hellhole. Again. Ever. I don’t have the heart to tell her that, though, so I say, “I love you, B.”

“I love you. Don’t ever not call me back again, or I’ll stop loving you.”