“He’s with Simone,” I say, turning back around.
“I’ll take care of that.” Elena grabs my hand, leading me firmly forward.
“I like her,” Phoebe says to me before redirecting her attention to Elena. “You’re now an usher.”
“I won’t let you down,” Elena says with a salute before dragging me downstairs.
The boat is picking up speed, and the wind whips my hair around my shoulders as we move out onto the bow. Deiss looks up, his eyes bluer than the darkening water behind him. He meets my gaze and holds it, showing no surprise at my sudden appearance.
Simone, on the other hand, leaps to her feet. “Hey,” she says nervously before rushing forward and wrapping her arms around me. “I’m so sorry, Liv. For everything.”
“I know,” I say into her shoulder. And I do. One bad week could never make me forget eleven good years. “We’ll get past this.”
“I didn’t set out to do it,” she says, pulling back and looking at me plaintively. “I know that doesn’t make it better, because I am the reason Deiss’s past got exposed. But I was just upset, and I vented about it to a friend who just happens to be a journalist, and it turned out her job meant more to her than our friendship.”
For a moment, I’m tempted to scoff. It’s rich, the clear disappointment she has at a friend’s betrayal when she was so eager to let me take the fall for her own. I don’t, though. She was right when she said that we choose our friends. For better or for worse, I’ve chosen her.
“You must be Simone,” Elena says. “I’m the usher, and I’m going to need you to come with me.”
“Where are we going?” she asks, her eyes widening as Elena tugs her toward the back of the boat.
“To see if this boat has a plank.” Elena flashes an ominous smile at her.
I laugh, but it’s ninety percent fueled by nerves at finding myself alone with Deiss. Unlike me, he doesn’t seem to be the slightest bit affected by our sudden proximity. His gaze is clear and steady as it meets mine. Rather than calming my nerves, this only makes me more flustered.
“I had a plan,” I say inanely, swaying in front of him.
“A plan to what?”
“To make things better.” I offer a hopeful smile that he doesn’t return. “To get you to give me another chance.”
“What was it?” His voice betrays nothing.
“We thought of a couple, actually.” I begin to pace in front of him, taking three short steps to one side of the boat before crossing to the other. My hair whips against my face. The sunset is getting sharper now. Instead of making the entire sky glow, the oranges and reds are getting more concentrated, separating themselves into individual strips. “But I’m leaning toward the one where I convince a bunch of journalists that someone else is Brendan Davis. I haven’t figured out who yet. Maybe some guy who’s already dead? And the goal would be to flood the internet with that, so it would drown out the reports about you.”
“Sounds ambitious,” he says dryly.
“I think it could work, though.” My voice flares frantically. “If I just try hard enough. I could make up fake Twitter accounts and try to spread it there. And put up a billboard. Maybe I could even get a real newspaper to pick it up.”
He rises to his feet as I pass, smooth as a panther, and catches me around the waist with one arm, stopping me in my tracks before I realize what’s happening. “I just wanted a call,” he says quietly, his gorgeous mouth suddenly inches from mine.
I blink at him, too mesmerized by his closeness to be able to formulate a response.
“Do you know how many people have come into Sounds this week looking for Brendan Davis?” he asks.
I shake my head, not wanting to know.
“Too many,” he says simply. “Way too many to undo it. It’s out now, and that’s fine. It has to be. What’s not fine is that you left.”
“I wish I hadn’t.” The honesty of my words sends tears rushing to my eyes, and for once, I’m unsuccessful at holding them in. They burn as they push their way out, the feel of them shocking against my cheeks.
“You said we weren’t meant to last,” he reminds me.
I nod miserably.
“But we could,” he says, surprising me with his insistence.
“We could.” I mean to agree with him, but my words come out too high, like I’m asking a question.
“We could,” he repeats firmly, sweeping a warm thumb across my cheek to wipe my tears away. “I love you, Liv. I’ve loved you for a third of my life, and I’ll continue to love you for the rest of it. And I can do that as a friend if that’s what you need. But if you want more, you have to know that I’m not going anywhere.”