Page 26

A year later, I met Noah. We weren’t friends right away, though. He was jealous of my relationship with his dad, Liam. I was jealous that Noah had a mom. He had a set of parents who loved him. I only had my dad.
All I wanted was a mom.
My dad gave me one when he fell in love with Katelyn. It was their relationship that showed me what true love looks like.
I thought I had that with Nola.
Her ring, still attached to the chain around my neck, feels heavier than it should. I yank it off and throw it across my bunk. It bounces against the wall and falls down, hopefully lost in the abyss between the mattress and the planks.
As soon as I begin thinking about the ring, what it means and how much it freaking cost me, I’m up and digging in the corner.
“Stupid,” I mutter as my fingers touch the cool metal. I pull it from the corner and stuff it into the pocket of my shorts. I hate myself for still carrying it around.
I hate that it still matters.
Dana walks past the bunks and freezes when she spots me. “You good?”
“Fine,” I snap, sharper than I mean to.
She scoffs and has every right to. “Whatever.”
Before I can second-guess it, I pull the curtain of my bunk closed and head downstairs, stomp angrily toward the open door, and step out into the humid night air. The gas station fluorescents buzz overhead, like the bulbs are filled with a million bees.
I spot Ajay, Keane, and Canson lingering outside, talking quietly. Hendrix leans against the bus, joint dangling from his lips. Justine, Wynonna, and Priscilla are inside, along with a couple of the members of Talking Til Dawn.
Hendrix smirks at me, probably knowing I won’t approach him. Nola was so against everything that I snubbed my nose when my bandmates relaxed at the end of the night. Smoking has never been one of those things I need to do every day, but tonight, it might take my mind off things.
Without hesitating, I walk toward Hendrix. He hands me his joint, and I take a hit. It’s a damn good thing weed is legal in most states because the last thing I need is Elle to be on my ass.
Hendrix watches my every move. “I’ve never seen you smoke before.”
I shrug and hand the joint back to him.
“Probably best,” he says. “Your attitude sucks.”
“You’re one to talk.”
He shrugs. “I just give Dana shit.”
“Why?”
“Why not?” He takes another hit and hands it back to me. I do the same and thus begins the game of passing his joint back and forth.
“Because it pisses her off and makes us uncomfortable.”
“She’s dating someone and won’t tell me.” He runs his hand through his hair. “It’s not that she has to tell me, but it’s more for my this-is-the-final-nail-in-the-coffin or whatever. In my head, if I don’t know there’s a person there, then I still have a chance.”
I shake my head. “I don’t think you have a chance, man. She’s moved on, and no, before you ask, I don’t know who she’s dating.”
Hendrix rolls his eyes. “Where’s Nola?”
“Not here.”
“Obviously. She quit ya?”
“You know how Dana’s personal life is off-limits? So is mine.” I walk away, not willing to discuss anything with him. As I get to the store, the door swings open and Justine steps out with a plastic bag dangling from her wrist.
For a brief moment, we stand there, staring at each other, and then there’s this shift and her eyes light up.