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I spent the better part of four months planning this surprise birthday party for her and if she tells me she forgot or made other plans, I may strangle her and drag her there by force. Best friend or not, especially given how impossible she is to surprise. Not even surprise, just deal with her leading up to the day.

Lauren is one of those people who has zero chill when it comes to gifts. She’s known to hunt down Christmas presents down weeks before the big day. According to Van, she’s always been a nightmare.

This year, I got smart. The party is a month before her actual birthday. Four weeks to the day planned on the very weekend we usually head out to my parents’ cabin, so it won’t raise any flags.

Not going to lie, I am super impressed with myself for being this clever. I just need to make sure my face doesn’t subtitle my triumph, and no one accidentally lets it slip. So far, for a town that thrives on gossip, everyone’s been pretty quiet about the big day.

Lauren smirks and does a little wiggle around a sassy grin. “A whole weekend with the love of my life? You’d have to kill me to stop me from coming. Even then, I’d haunt you as a ghost.”

I snort a laugh. “Great. At least I’ll know who’s moving my stuff around.”

Lauren scoffs. “Your stuff? Babe, I will stick my cold, dead fingers into Crusty’s asshole every time you try to fuck him.”

My explosion of laughter sends Lauren into her own fit of giggles. Within seconds, we’re both howling.

“That is disgusting!”

Lauren shrugs a shoulder, grin lopsided and mischievous. “I’m not happy about it either, but I’m willing to spend eternity with one poopy finger for you.”

I kick water at her. “Stop that!”

Her smirk widens as she kicks back, letting her body drift lazily in the water. “You know, I bet Lachlan—”

I never got to hear the rest of that statement when raised voices fill the night. Both our heads turn to watch Bron shout something back over his shoulder as he charges onto the patio.

All humor vanishes and settles in my gut as I watch him stomp down the steps straight in my direction. The need to bolt scuttles down my spine even as my butt stays rooted to the concrete.

“Behold. His crusty majesty has seen it fit to bestow us with his mighty graces,” Lauren declares loudly, smirk cutting when Bron fixes her with his glower.

“Don’t,” I start to beg, too tired and sweaty to deal with their bickering.

But the bulls have caught sight of each other and the red flag is flying. Nothing short of a hose is going to stop them from charging, and I’m fresh out of hoses and patience.

Bron stops short of jumping into the pool. “Don’t you have a John to blow behind an alley somewhere?”

Lauren puckers her bottom lip up at him in mock pity. “I would never dream of taking your corner, crusty.”

I exhale a groan and push to my feet. Water cascades down my legs as I stand to face my boyfriend. I know the grinding state of his teeth means I need to separate them before they really get into it, or his teeth shatter.

“Why did you bring her? You know I fucking hate her.”

From the corner of my eye, I spot Lachlan and Van emerging from the house to loom tall and broad on the patio. Both silent.

“Because she’s my best friend and her dad is your dad’s best friend so...” I face him with my hands on my hips. “Maybe if you both can just calm down and not look at each other—”

“Don’t bother, my love.” Lauren emerges from the pool, a siren rising from sea foam to grace menfolk with her beauty. She hoists her dripping silhouette up and over the ledge before pushing gracefully to her feet. She moves to her lounge chair and snatches the towel off the back. “You’re using big words he doesn’t understand.”

I’m already done with this conversation. The two are oil and paper, and every word is a spark ready to set them off, and I know no matter what I do or say, it will be my fault. Like I can somehow control Lauren. I already know I’m going to get an ear full once we’re alone. It’ll be hours of sitting quietly while he rages about her disrespect. Her existence as a whole and how my role as his girlfriend means I should cut her off. After two years, it’s only gotten worse.

With no way to win this, I stalk to the edge of the yard in the direction of the shed. I know I’m being a coward. I know because I’m practically sprinting to put distance between us. I know he’s going to follow me because something went wrong with his friends and I’m the only one he’s going to take it out on, but at least there won’t be an audience if we’re far enough away.

The fold-up chairs we use for the fire pit are stacked neatly against the side wall. Lachlan keeps eight, but we’ve only ever used four — five if Bron actually joins us. I grab two and haul them to the brick and iron pit built into the ground. I set them up before moving to grab the next batch.

They’re not heavy and the task isn’t laboring, yet by the time I’m finished, sweat drips down my spine. My top clings to my skin and the loose strands that have escaped my high knot have plastered themselves at my temples and across the back of my neck.

I peel my t-shirt off. The overwhelming heat can no longer be ignored. I stuff the corner of the soaked fabric into the back pocket of my shorts. With clammy fingers that tangle in the strands caught in my elastic, I drag the band free and unleash the wild riot of deep auburn I inherited from my Irish mother, along with her milky fair complexion, freckles, and talent to burn to a crisp under even a hint of sunlight. The only thing I got from my father was his soft, hazel green eyes. Only mine have flecks of gold in the center in the shape of a starburst.

I bend at the waist, sweep all my hair over my head and twist it all back up in a knot, trying my best to catch all the loose strays that refuse to follow orders.