Page 30 of Emmett

“I will,” I tell her, holding my hands up. “I will. I’m just—”

She plops herself down onto the foot of my bed with one leg crossed over the other. “Is it bad?”

“No.” I pull the chair from my desk and drop into it. “Not bad. Just…”

“Wonky.”

“Yeah,” I chuff, scratching at my temple.

“You know, I went dark too, once,” she admits to me, fiddling with the hem of her shirt. “After losing Mom. I figured if I was only going to get worse, and so was everything else around me, what was the point? The only reason I kept trying was because Macie neededsomeoneto be in her corner. I tried for her, and then when our savings ranout and making coffee didn’t cover enough of the bills, I applied to work with Colt.”

“You never told me any of that.”

“I never toldhim, either,” she chuckles. “So what I’m saying, I guess, is that it’s okay to be dark and wonky for a little bit. But just don’t stay there, okay? I want you to find the good at the end of it, because it’s there and it’s worth getting to.”

It’s kind of ironic; I spent weeks not speaking to Rowan when she and Dad told me they were together - honestly, I treated her like crap because of it. I thought and said a lot of horrible things about her that I can’t ever take back, but she kept trying; inviting me to lunch, sending me texts to check in when things got hectic at work, even sending a meme every now and then that she thought I would appreciate; just always showing up.

She’s probably the only reason that we were able to bridge the gap between us and get to be as close as we are now. She’s my best friend, probably my favorite person, and if anyone would understand complicated feelings and thoughts that don’t make any sense, it would probably be Ro. I could tell her about everything without a second of judgment, but I don’t.

“Are you safe?” She asks, cocking her head to the side.

I nod my head.

“Because we can lock you out of the bathrooms if we need to, just let me—”

“Shut up, smartass,” I cackle, plucking a cold tater tot off of my plate and popping it into my mouth. “I’mfine. Now would you get out of here so I can jerk off and go to bed?”

A horrified look crosses her face, as if I’ve never said anything worse. “Oh my god, you arefoul!” She shouts as shestands, and she playfully slaps the back of my head as she walks toward the door. “Why am I friends with you?”

“You married my dad,” I call behind her with a laugh bubbling up from my chest. “You don’t have a choice.”

THIRTEEN

Emmett

Logan’s house is a decent bit out of the way, tucked just outside of the city. It’s a small craftsman with slate grey siding that looks like it was recently power-washed, probably to get it ready for tonight.

I’m glad he’s getting use out of the thing; I thought he was joking when he said he wanted a power washer for his birthday, but the amount of before and after pictures he’s sent me since he got it has been kind of hilarious. Is power washing a hobby? I think it is for Logan, at least.

I park near the sidewalk in front of the building, the driveway already filled with other cars, and I stroll toward the front door with my hands in my pockets. I let myself in because the house is almost never locked, especially when Logan’s expecting people over, and I make my way to the kitchen for a beer.

“I almost thought you were gonna no-show on us,” Logan says to me as he approaches. My free hand meets his with a slap and we curl our fists together in greeting. He looks past me, around the room. “Bring anyone with you?”

“Nah,” I tell him. “Ro can’t come out like this often. I have no idea where Mariah is tonight.”

“Logan!” Someone shouts from the door leading to the back yard. “Keg’s kicked!”

“Shit,” my friend sighs. “I have to get a new one. Find me later, I gotta talk to you.”

“Yeah, sure,” I agree with my brow furrowed.

I move through the party, sipping on my drink as I weave through the guests, and I finally land at a table set up for a game of drunk Jenga. Three people surround the table, already wobbly on their feet. One of them, a tall woman with short brown hair, circles the unsteady tower like a hawk circling its prey, finally deciding on the piece she wants to take. Her fingers settle carefully on either side of it and she pulls in a breath, holding it as she slowly wiggles the piece to its freedom, finally setting it at the top of the tower and pulling both of her hands away. With a heavy exhale, she points to me.

“You! Take a drink!”

“I wasn’t playing,” I laugh with a shrug, “but sure.”

I bring the bottle to my mouth and suck down the chilled beer until there’s a little less than half of it left. Taking the invitation to the game, I move around the tower, inspecting the blocks and deciding to stick toward the top. The bottom is held together by several single-block levels, and looks like it could give at any time.