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“Probably some cum-drunk slut,” I add.

“No. No. This seems different. I can’t put my finger on it yet. Shit, what was that girl’s name that he really liked?”

“I have no clue,” I say, utterly unamused. I wish the conversation would end. Over the years, there were probably tons of girls he liked. And I don’t want to talk about it.

“Yeah, the one he joked about marrying before she cheated on him. Do you remember her? It’s the only one that lasted more than a few days.”

Silence.

“He just seems happy, like he was when he was with her before she became a raging bitch. But that was years ago. It’s going to bother me until I think of her name.”

My cheeks heat, but I continue staring out the window. I don’t know this story, and while I want to ask questions, I don’t want it to seem out of place. It must have been before I moved closer or started hanging around them again. Because I have no recollection of this story. Instead of getting tied up in it, I snap into my Travis-King-is-an-asshole mode and allow the words to flow out.

“It’s probably the pain meds that are making him seem so happy. And honestly, I don’t give two shits about Travis King, okay?” It kind of hurts to say that. I’ve said those words so many times over the years, and it seemed natural, but right now it seems awkward and foreign.

“All right. Jesus Christ. You don’t have to bite my head off. Sorry for bringing it up.”

By the time we pull up to my dorm, my mind is running so fast that I’m at a loss for words. I didn’t know Travis even joked about marriage with someone or that it was that serious. Or that he, of all people, had been cheated on. I thought his relationships were just wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am one-night stands, but maybe my perception over the years was distorted by jealousy.

“Drew.” I turn to him before opening the door.

“Yes?”

I know he’s in a rush, but I have to tell him about Boston today. “I…”

“Vi, I’m in a hurry. I can’t be late to the station.”

“I was offered an internship in Boston at Union International.”

His face lights up, and I can tell he’s excited for me. “Viola! That’s amazing! I’m so happy for you, sis.” He leans over and gives me a big hug. “So when are you leaving and all of that?”

“I have to accept it first, but two weeks after graduation.”

“You have to accept it. There’s no question about it. And that’s SOON. Does Mom know?”

I shake my head. “You’re the only person I’ve told so far.”

“I’m proud of you. Now get out, Bill Gates. I’ve got a city to save.”

“Is this where I cue in the Superman music?” I grab my bag from the back and hop down. “Thanks, Drew.”

“Bye, Vi. I’m happy for you. Congratulations.”

Sometimes Drew can be a douche, but to know that he’s supportive of this makes it a little easier to handle. I’ve been going back and forth with it for the past forty-eight hours, and I have to tell Travis. I look up at the dark clouds rolling over the horizon, and I pray that I’m not making one of the biggest mistakes of my life.

CHAPTER TEN

TRAVIS

Drew comes home, changes into his uniform, and is out the door in all of ten minutes. The dude is like fucking Batman. One minute he’s in regular clothes, the next he has a gun strapped to his side, ready to fight crime.

Just like clockwork, Viola texts me.

V: You know what I could go for right about now?

T: A piece of King cake?

V: Ha! Some coffee. Want to join me?

T: Did you really have to ask?

I’m smiling, which seems to happen a lot when I’m thinking about, talking to, or around her.

V: I’ll be there in 5.

On time, Viola pulls into the driveway but doesn’t get out. Instead, she honks. I can’t help but laugh at the pathetic horn on the Prius. It’s like a cartoon car with a cute little meep-meep sound.

“You need a Mustang or something. One that roars when you honk.”

She gasps and rubs the steering wheel while I buckle. “Don’t listen to him, Tatum. He’s just jealous because you’ve got the Magic Mike moves and he doesn’t.”

“Magic Mike? Ha. I’ve got the Travis King moves, which trumps any of that lame shit.”

She blushes as I run my hand up my shirt, revealing my stomach. Once she glances down, I lift an eyebrow and laugh. “You’re too easy, princess.”

“Ugh. Why do you keep doing that?”

While she drives, I place my hand on her thigh. “So, I had lunch with my mother yesterday.”

“Really? That’s great.” She grabs my hand.

“She told me my father has cancer.”

Once she pulls into the parking lot and puts it in park, she turns her whole body and searches my face, trying to read me. “Are you okay?”