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“Where have you been?” I demand.

“I’ve been getting ready.”

“Don’t, Daisy. That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”

“Work was busy. I stayed late a few nights this week,” she tries again.

“That’s not good enough.”

I shake free of her and lean against the wall before shoving my boots on. My socks have folded at my ankle, and I grip one, prepared to tug it back up, when I feel Daisy’s attention slip. Her stare burns the skin of my ankle. The exact area where I got lost in my mind and inked a soft yellow daisy.

She folds an arm across her stomach, mouth falling open. “Is that a . . . daisy?”

I cover the tattoo with my sock and hide it further in my boot. I’m so close to lashing out at her, my emotions threatening to get the better of me for the second time today.

“Are you ready to go?” I ask through my teeth.

“Bryce.”

“Daisy.”

We’re not alone, nor is she really my girl. If things were different, it wouldn’t matter where we were—in the front hallwith my friends nearby or in the safety of my bedroom—I’d have her spilling why she’s pulled away from me with her legs spread and pussy oversensitive.

Honesty matters to me in a partner, and yeah, I know how much of a hypocrite that makes me. I’ve been hiding my feelings from her for years.

I thought I had patience in spades, considering the people I keep close to me, but when it comes to her, I’m barely hanging on by the thread that’s been fraying day by day.

She sighs heavily and shifts on her feet. “So, we’re going to pretend in front of my family, then? Is that the plan?”

Darting my eyes upward, I keep my mouth in a firm line. “You tell me, Sunshine. Pretending feels fitting, doesn’t it?”

“Not like this.”

Hurt twinkles in her eyes, but I don’t allow it to wound me further. Instead, I kick her out from behind the steel wall in my mind and slam it closed in her face.

“I’ll keep myself busy. I won’t ruin all of your hard work this week and hang around you. We wouldn’t have wanted it to be for nothing.”

She hangs her head slightly and nips at the inside of her cheek before bending to grab her sneakers and putting them on in silence.

“Do you guys want to drive separately? Maybe we should go ahead of you,” Anna offers, appearing at the end of the hall.

“No. I’m not planning on staying long. We’ll go together,” I mutter.

It’s Aurora who slips past Anna and fixes me with an understanding gaze. “Together, then. I’ll sit in the back with Bryce.”

“What? You always call shotgun,” Anna says.

Rory shrugs. “Not today.”

Her words are the last ones I stay for. While everyone else puts on their shoes, I step out into the bitter afternoon and trample my emotions until I don’t feel consumed by them.

It’s always easier this way.

28

BRYCE

The Mitchells’annual barbeque has been happening since I was a child. One day every summer, they host the entire town in their backyard and grill from sun-up to sundown. This year, they postponed it until the end of September and got lucky that the ground hasn’t turned white yet.