Nothing I’ve done since has proven different.
“Then I’ll go,” Evan growls, throwing off my attempt to stop him.
Whatever. He won’t succeed in changing her mind. She’s leaving.
She’s gone.
Everyone else slowly wanders away until I’m left alone on the beach. I sink down to the sand. I sit there for I don’t know how long—so long the bonfire is reduced to cold embers. Evan doesn’t return. No point telling me what I already know. The sun peeks above the waves by the time I trudge back to the house through the remnants of the aborted party.
Daisy doesn’t come running to be let out when I walk inside. Her water bowl isn’t in the kitchen.
Half the closet is empty in my room.
I throw myself on the bed and stare up at the ceiling. I feel numb. Empty.
I wish I’d known then how hard it would be now to miss Mackenzie Cabot.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
MACKENZIE
I lived my whole life without Cooper Hartley. Then, six months together and I’ve forgotten what it was not to know him. Six months, and only minutes to shred it to hell.
One overheard conversation.
A single devastating admission.
Quick as blowing out a match, my heart went numb.
After leaving Cooper’s house in a despondent haze, I sat in the back of a cab with Daisy and paid the guy to drive through town for nearly two hours. At some point, the cab dropped me off at Tally Hall. I showed up at Bonnie’s door with my bag in one hand and Daisy’s leash in the other, and with a sympathetic pout, she welcomed us home. Lucky for me, her new roommate sleeps out most nights. Less lucky, the moment people started getting up for class and trudging through the halls in the morning, Daisy began barking at the unfamiliar foot traffic. In an instant, the resident advisor was on us, demanding that we vacate.
For Bonnie’s sake, I told him we’d only popped in for a few minutes to say hello, though I’m not sure he bought it. By the afternoon, Daisy and I were in the backseat of another cab, searching for a plan B. Turns out there isn’t a hotel in the Bay that allows pets. Something about a dog show years back that went horribly awry.
So that’s how I find myself at Steph and Alana’s house. Daisy, the little traitor, hops right onto the couch and into Steph’s lap. I’m a bit more reluctant as I sit down next to Steph, while Alana pleads their case. They’d sent a dozen or so text messages after I’d stormed out of the party. It wasn’t so much the content but the persistence that convinced me of their sincerity.
“In our defense,” Alana says, standing with her arms crossed, “we didn’t know you’d end up being cool.”
I have to hand it to her, she’s unapologetically herself. Even in admitting that she had no small part in crafting the revenge plot, she doesn’t have it in her to mince words.
“For real, though,” she continues. “By the time Cooper told us you two were really a thing, it seemed meaner to tell you the truth.”
“No,” I say simply. “It was meaner to lie.”
Because while the truth hurts you, the lie degrades you. When I realized Preston had slept around on me, I understood what it was to be That Girl. For years, our friends had smiled in my face, knowing all along I was his patsy, while I remained oblivious to his “extracurriculars”—his parade of Marilyns. It never occurred to me that Cooper would turn around and lie to me as well. Or that, yet again, the people I called friends would play accomplices to my ignorance. Some lessons we have to learn twice.
Nevertheless, I’m not entirely without mercy. The mathematics of loyalty are tricky, after all. They were Cooper’s friends first. I can’t not factor that into the equation. It would be well within my rights to hate them both for their part in this charade, but I also see where they got caught in the middle. They should have told me the truth, yes. It was Cooper, though, who swore them to secrecy. It was his ass they were covering.
If anyone deserves the brunt of the blame, it’s him.
“We feel awful about it,” Steph says. “It was a crappy thing to do to someone.”
“Yep,” I agree.
“We’re sorry, Mac. I’m sorry.” Tentative, she reaches over to squeeze my arm. “And if you need a place to crash, you’re welcome to stay in our spare room, okay? Not just because we owe you, but because you really are cool, and I, we”—she glances at Alana—“consider you a good friend.”
Despite the awkward implications, staying here is the most attractive option until I find a more permanent solution. Besides, Daisy already seems quite at home.