Page 48 of Blocked Score

She breathes out a tired sigh. It’s a swoony sound that slides through my ear and wraps around my heart. “I’m tired. Gonna pass out now. Good night, Lane.”

“Night, Scarlett.”

23

SCARLETT

Look, I don’t expect a message from her. I don’t evenwantone.

That’s what I tell myself, and it’s true. But it doesn’t do anything to make the heavy, sad feeling in my chest go away. It’s been lodged there ever since my gaze snagged on the last text I got from my mom.

I had my text history open to send Harper a message, and my eyes just happened to zero in on the thread with my mom at the bottom of my screen.

I saw the thumbs-up emoji. Her only response to my news that I was accepted to Brumehill. The last thing she sent me.

Maybe it’s because my birthday is coming up. Seeing that message just reminded me that I shouldn’t expect any happy birthday texts from her. I can’t even remember the last time I got one.

My mom’s made it clear with her actions for most of my life that she has no real interest in having a relationship with me.

I got over it a long time ago. It started when I was eight years old, when she met her current husband. Before that, I still lived with my dad, but I’d see my mom pretty regularly. We alwayshad fun, and I always looked forward to her visits and phone calls.

But when she met Ken, her current husband, well, I guess she decided I was nothing but baggage at that point. Someone—something, really—that was only going to make it harder for her to move forward with her new life.

Shame nibbles at me. I wish I were strong enough toreallynot care, and not just act like I don’t.

“Why the long face?”

I look up to see Lane walking in from the backyard through the sliding door in the kitchen.

“What long face?” I fib. “I’m cool.”

“Hm.” Lane inclines his head like he’s skeptical, but he shrugs it off a second later. Guess I’m a good liar. “By the way, when’s your birthday?”

“My birthday?” I ask. Does Lane have some ESP thing going on that he hasn’t told me about? Did he pick it up like a cold from the fortune teller I dragged him to?

He sits down on the opposite couch cushion. A muscle between my thighs tugs when I feel the movement from his weight on my butt and the back of my legs.

“Yeah, you know, the day you were born? It’s a new concept people never really talked about before, but it’s getting popular. People are actually counting how many years since that date and assigning themselves a number they’re callingage. Sometimes they even celebrate it. Weird, right?”

I blow out a laugh and roll my eyes at him. “Yeah, totally weird.”

“Well? When is it?”

“Why?” I ask.

“Just out of curiosity. It popped into my head that I know everyone’s birthday in the house but yours.”

I run my tongue against the bottom of my inner lip. “February 20th,” I answer.

Lane’s eyebrows shoot up. “That’s soon!”

“Yeah, but it’s no big deal. I’m not really into doing anything for it.”

Now Lane’s eyebrows settle low, pinching above his eyes. “What? Why?”

I shrug, trying to ignore the unsettled feeling in my chest. “I don’t know. No one’s ever made a big deal out of it before, so I never really saw a reason to do so myself. It’s just a day like any other, right?”

I’m trying to sound blasé and chipper, but a glance at Lane’s face tells me it’s not infectious. His lips are tugged downward, the hard lines of his features stark with disapproval.

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