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“I’m so glad you’re here,” she blurts, her voice cracked with emotion. “It’s been…It’s been really hard,” she confesses before falling into my arms.
2
EFFIE
“Are you nearly ready?” Kieran calls. “Our reservation is in twenty minutes.”
My stomach sloshes, acid burning up my throat.
You should have told him.
Everything I should have done taunts me, but it’s too late now.
I never meant to lie to Grams. It’s just…she deserves for all of her dreams to come true.
And I could actually help with this one.
Even if it’s fake. Just one little white lie—and a cheap engagement ring—to make a dying woman very happy.
“Yeah,” I call back, dragging my eyes from the piece of jewelry that I’m currently wearing on the other hand.
It was such a relief to see Kieran standing there in Grams’ room earlier. I’ve missed him more than I could ever explain. But as soon as reality hit, I hated myself, because his arrival meant that everything was going to get harder. And it’s already really freaking hard.
A ball of emotion crawls up my throat, my eyes threatening to fill with tears.
I don’t know how I have any left at this point. Every single time I leave that care home, they’re uncontrollable. The prospect of each visit potentially being the last time I'll get to see her is too much.
“Eff?” Kieran calls again.
I blow out a long, slow breath.
“Y-yeah,” I half say, half sob as I stand tall, wipe beneath my eyes, and smooth my hair down.
I’ve been craving my best friend’s presence for weeks—months—now. I refuse to let one small white lie to make a dying woman happy ruin that for me.
You’ve got this, Effie. Hold your head high and enjoy spending time with your bestie.
With one last look at myself in the mirror, I blow out a long, slow breath and take a step toward the door.
I’ll never look good enough to be on his arm.
I’m not a jersey chaser, and I never will be.
I’m okay with that.
I’m okay with the fact that Kieran will never look at me and want me like he does them.
I have to be.
Kieran friend-zoned me a long time ago.
It’s been years.
I should have come to terms with it by now.
I mean, I have. He’s my best friend. I would do anything to keep him in my life in some way or another. Every now and then though, when I’m feeling vulnerable and fucked over by life, I can’t help but wonder what it would be like to be his girl, not just his bestie.
I banish those thoughts as quickly as I pull the door open and find the man in question waiting for me. He’s leaning against the opposite wall with his hands in his jeans pockets, wearing a navy t-shirt that fits him so snugly it should be illegal. His hair is perfectly messy, as he stares down at his cell.