Page 125 of The Love Playbook

The blood drains from my face, because I know exactly what she’s talking about. And I’m the reason they’re fighting.

Wringing my hands out in front of me, I scrunch my nose, trying to think of a way to tell him that doesn’t make me look like a total bitch. “Um, so, yeah. I do think I know what she’s talking about, because I might’ve had something to do with it.”

“What?” Chris scoffs. “How could you have anything to do with it?”

“The other night at dinner,” I say, dropping my gaze, “I was so pissed at my father for accusing me of seeing you as some kind of revenge scheme that I might have . . .” I wince. “Said something to her.”

“What did you say?” His tone is even, his eyes on mine.

“A few weeks back, after my mother lost her job and started spiraling, I made a deal with my father. I’d support the wedding if he supported my mother financially until he got married. So, he wrote her a check. Just like he wrote her another one just this week.”

“Damn. Okay, but I don’t see how?”

“I knew he hadn’t told your mother.” I swallow, a frog in my throat. I know I need to tell him everything. I’m a lot of things, but I’m not a liar. “So, I might’ve made it seem worse than it is. I made it seem as though this arrangement is indefinite, and that he’d still be supporting her after they’re married. I also pretended that I thought she knew, like she’d been included in the arrangement, so she felt even more blindsided by the fact she wasn’t.”

Chris flinches, then takes a step back, clasping his hands behind his head as he begins to pace. “Shit, Lettie, why the hell would you do that?”

“Because I was mad!” I shout, desperate to erase the disappointment on his face. “First, he came here with a check and reminded my mother it was temporary because he was getting a new family. Then he acted all righteous at dinner, like the only reason I could possibly hold down a relationship with someone like you is if it were some kind of ruse.” I shove my hands into my hair. “I’m sorry, but I’m so damn tired of him making everything about himself.”

Chris stops and throws his hands up. “But now my mother doesn’t trust him, Lettie. She thinks he lied to her.”

“He did,” I point out, unwilling to back down.

“Yeah but not like you’re making it seem.”

“He should’ve told her.”

“And you should’ve let him, insisted he tell her instead of meddling in it yourself.”

My mouth parts as shock and hurt ripple through me. “Are you really pinning this on me?”

“She’s talking about calling off the wedding,” he says slowly, like I’m having trouble understanding him. “And since you’re the one who told her and made it out to be worse than it is, then yeah, I’d say that’s your fault. Your father accused you of trying to get even with him, and so what do you do the first chance you get? Get even.”

I flinch, his words hitting me where it hurts. My mind races as I try and search for something to say, something to make this better when Chris pinches the bridge of his nose, his jaw clenching. “From the moment they announced their engagement, you were pissed about it, even though they had every reason to get married and none not to. They’re in love, Lettie. But you act like as long as your mother is unhappy, no one else can be. Not your father or my mother or evenyou.”

The truth in his words knocks the air from my lungs. “That’s not true.”

“Isn’t it?” He places his hands on his hips, his face a lesson in pain. “Tell me right now that if your mother goes on another spiral worse than the last time, that if she never recovers, you can see yourself with me in a year, two years. Tell me you can see yourself happy and in love while she’s here struggling.”

I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. I can’t find the words, but he’s wrong, isn’t he? He has to be.

I realize a moment too late that I haven’t answered because he nods, his expression solemn as his gaze drops to the ground. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

“Chris . . .” I reach out for him, but shrugs me off, which hurts more than any words ever could.

“Don’t. I can’t right now. Unlike you, the world could burn with everyone and everything in it, and I’d still want us,” he says, unable to even look at me. “I need to go talk to my mom andwork this shit out, because I’m happy they’re in love. I want this for her.” The muscle in his jaw flickers one last time before he turns and heads for the living room.

I rush to follow, tripping over my feet as I do.

Say something,my head screams.Do something, anything!

His long stride eats up the floor as he reaches the front door and flings it open while I stand there with my heart stuttering in my chest. This is it. He’s leaving, and if I don’t stop him, he’ll be done with me for good. He’ll walk out and never come back, because he’ll realize I’m not worth the effort.

“Wait!” I yell, at his back.

He pauses, the muscles bunching in his shoulders as if waiting for a fist to land.

“You can’t leave,” I say, my voice wobbling. “I don’t want you to go.” My mind conjures an image of me standing in the kitchen alone. I’m broken and crying, my heart cleaved in two. Panic clutches at my throat with icy fingers at the thought this might be over—we might be over.