Page 59 of Now to Forever (Life on the Ledge Duet #2)

Forty-Two

“How do I look?”

Ford and I still as Wren walks into the kitchen of the A-frame.

She twirls, her midnight-blue dress covered in sequins catching the light.

Her makeup is subtle, her hair is down, her smile is bright.

Simply put, she’s stunning. Even though she isn’t my kid, the pride in me replicates what I imagine a mother would feel.

Ford clears his throat multiple times, taking in how pretty she looks. How grown up. Though the dress has long sleeves, his eyes linger on the hemline that hits mid-thigh and the pair of silver strappy heels. “Why can I see so much of your legs?”

I slap his chest and he grunts. “Ignore him, Wren, you look perfect.” Then for good measure: “I’d do ya.”

Ford grunts; Wren’s face twists. He wraps an arm around her shoulders, pulling her into a half hug. “You do look perfect.” He kisses her on the head. “But I still don’t like all those legs.”

She gives a token smiley eye roll .

A knock at the door pulls a nervous breath out of her. She looks at me, and I give her an excited smile. “Ford, answer the door for dramatic effect,” I instruct. “You know, scary cop dad threatening to clip his balls off.”

They both look at me.

“Do you not watch TV?” I huff. “I’ll do it.”

I open the door to find Luke standing on the porch, dressed up and nervous. His long hair is down, brushing the collar of his black shirt. He smiles, his mouth slightly too big for his still teenage-sized head.

“Hello, Luke,” I say with a grin and completely calm voice.

“I’m Scotty and I burn dicks for a living.

Hurt Wren and you’re toast.” The color drains from his face.

When I look over my shoulder, Ford is biting back a smile while Wren looks mortified.

I step aside, opening the door fully. “Please come in.”

“Uh.” He looks at Wren, who offers him a weak smile from inside. “Okay.”

Ford, the big wuss, steps in and saves him. “Luke. Ford. Wren’s dad.” He extends a hand that Luke takes and shakes. Luke’s introduction is a nervous squeak. His face is so pale I wonder if he might faint. Poor kid is terrified.

We stand, looking at each other in the middle of the living room, nobody saying anything. I do it to make things uncomfortable, Wren and Luke because they don’t know what to say, and Ford, I suspect, is mentally cursing this boy for ever being born.

“Well,” Wren finally says breaking the silence. “We should go, right, Luke? ”

He nods, and Wren teeters toward the door in her heels, adorably awkward as they start to leave.

“Be home by eleven,” Ford calls from the doorway as I tuck myself into his side.

“And don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” I shout for good measure.

Wren lifts a hand in the air but doesn’t look back as Luke opens the passenger door for her. I don’t have to see her face to know she’s fighting a smile and rolling her eyes.

We watch them until the car pulls out of the driveway and the lights disappear down the road.

Ford blows out a heavy breath. “God, Scotty. It’s so much harder than you think,” he says, looking down at me and tightening his hold.

“Watching a kid that’s yours go live a life without you .

. .” He shakes his head. “That alone feels like punishment for all the shit we pulled as kids.” He chuckles softly.

“Doesn’t even take into account whatever it is they go to do. ”

His words aren’t made to hurt me, but unknowingly, they do. They send a million cuts lashing across my heart and into my soul. Because I do know what it’s like. More than he knows.

As I look up at him, June’s annoying voice blares in my ears, “You have to tell him.”

“Ford . . .” He looks at me, blue eyes familiar and bright.

The oven dings.

Ford pecks a kiss on my mouth.

I lose my nerve .

“Turkey time,” he says with an amused tone, taking my hand to pull me inside. “And then we have this house to ourselves.”

Say it. Say it. Say it.

Instead: “I’ve been meaning to see what else we can do with those cuffs of yours.”

The front door swings open an hour before curfew and Wren barrels in, makeup running down her face.

She’s disheveled and crying; Ford and I leap from the couch.

“What the hell happened?” Ford demands as I look her over for wounds. “Where’s Luke?”

She shakes her head, sniffs, and wipes her nose with the back of her hand. “The-the-the-the slideshow,” she stutters, fresh wave of tears filling her eyes. “B-B-Becca changed my pictures.”

My hackles raise. I put my hands on her arms, rounding my spine until my eyes are level with hers. “Wren, what happened?”

She looks at me, sniffs, and says, “She put my mom’s mugshot in the slideshow.” Another loud sob bubbles out of her.

I pull back, and Ford and I exchange a look. A play right from her mother’s handbook. That rat-faced little bitch.

“Wren, it’s going to be okay,” Ford says softly, wrapping his arms around her. “It was bound to get out. Kids are just mean.”

At this, I guffaw. “Mean?!” I ask incredulously. “That girl’s a damn snake in the grass, Ford. I told you this would happen! ”

“Scotty,” he snaps, tucking Wren’s face against his chest. “Not now.”

“Not now?” My eyes narrow, hands gesticulating wildly as I talk. “When the hell do you want to talk about it? Because now that she’s pulled this little stunt—which reeks of familiarity in case you haven’t noticed—seems like the perfect time. I knew when I talked to her at Orchard Fest that—”

Wren jerks away from Ford’s chest and looks at me. “You talked to her?”

She and Ford stare at me.

“Yes. I talked to her ,” I snip, annoyed these deaf dodos won’t listen. “Put her in her place was more like it. She was saying—”

“Why would you do that?” Wren demands, voice glacial.

“The dog listens better than you!” I cry. “I’ve tried to tell you.” I cut my eyes to Ford. “Both of you.”

“I don’t need you to talk to her, Scotty,” Wren seethes, swiping the tears from her face.

“Wren.” Ford manages to stay calm. “Just relax.”

“You don’t need me to talk to her?” I scoff, voice turning to a shout. “Apparently it doesn’t matter because you still tried to be her friend.”

Ford grabs my arm; I jerk it away.

Wren swipes at her eyes with angry hands. “You’re just mad because I have a life and you don’t.”

“The Letts girl is a life ?” I laugh—it’s maniacal. “Okay, Wren. Sure .”

“Wren,” Ford says, voice low as he steps closer to her. “Maybe— ”

“No, Ford.” I hold up my hand. The Miranda Lambert record that’s been playing ends, a clicking silence filling the air, ramping up the tension.

“Let her talk. Because I’d really love to hear this.

Really love to know why I shouldn’t have defended her to that little she-devil, because I promise I’ll never do it agoddamngain. ”

Wren steps away from Ford, squaring up to me, looking much more woman than girl in this moment, her gaze so cold it could freeze fire.

“I don’t need you to defend me,” she spits out, fuming. Each word makes my stomach drop closer to the floor. “You aren’t my mom, Scotty—thank God. Because you ruin everything.”

When I think she’s done: “You’re so fucked up you ruin everyone.”

It stings like a bitch-slap to my face and heart. I can’t see straight. Can’t breathe.

“Wren,” Ford barks. “Enough. Go to the truck. Now.”

I’m trembling; her chest is heaving. Tears are running down both our faces for very different reasons.

When her eyes meet mine again, they're full of fight. “You couldn’t save your brother, stop trying to save me.”

“Wren!” Ford shouts. “Now!”

She storms out.

Nail to the heart.

Slams the door.

Nail to the heart.

Leaves the house quietly loud.

Nail to the heart .

“She didn’t mean it,” Ford offers. “She’s ju—”

“Go,” I demand, jerking the door open with a shaky hand.

“Scotty, she didn’t mean it,” he repeats, reaching for me. “She’s just upset.”

I jerk his hand away and shove him onto the porch with both palms to his chest. “Stop, Ford.” His name is a soggy shout on my lips. “I know what I am. She’s right. This was a mistake. You need to go.” He opens his mouth. “Now!”

His expression is pure defeat. Because of me.

He might think he wants this, me, but he can’t. Not after this. I won’t let him.

“Scotty, she’s a teenager,” he pleads. “She didn’t mean it. I’ll talk to her. This will be fine in the morning, she’s just—”

“Stop!” I demand, looking at him, feeling so desperately empty all I can think of doing is lying on the floor and letting myself die.

Wren is right—I’m too fucked up for any of this.

His face . . . his beautiful face and familiar blue eyes shatter the final fragments of my heart.

I’m twenty years old all over again, standing at a trailhead expecting to see him but instead finding the life I imagined completely obliterated.

I should have never ever agreed to any of this.

“I love you,” I say, voice sounding far away.

“I lo—”

“I love you, and Wren’s been cutting herself,” I say over him, making him go deathly silent under the porch light. “And I never want to see you again. Either of you.”

“Sco—”

I slam the door in his face, and then I drop to the floor and cry.