Page 11 of Forget About Me

I have to look away to think straight. I flew back mid-June after my dad had the heart attack and it’s almost the end of August now. “Uh, a couple months?”

“Two months? And you haven’t come by?”

“Honestly, I didn’t know you guys still lived in that house. Also, I didn’t think…” I can’t seem to get the words out. Her brother would be alive if it weren’t for me. Why would any of them want to see me?

“What, you’re too fancy for us now?”

My eyes fly to meet hers. “No Lucy, that’s not it at all.” I swallow around the boulder blocking my airway. “This modeling thing is not something I sought out. I went to LA for my last semester of college. I was going to do that even before the accident. Anyway, I was there and… It’s a long, boring story, really. I’m so sick of talking about it.”

“Hm.” She pokes a finger into my sternum and steps in close, her touch boring a hole right through to my heart, even as her blazing eyes sear it. “Maybe we should talk about how you haven’t contacted me once in seven years? Would that be more comfortable for you?”

Her chest heaves. Her lips are tantalizingly close. Her heated gaze drops to my lips.

Is there any way in hell that a kiss would be welcome right now?

An excited bark from Puck breaks the moment before I can do or say anything and she bends down to talk to the damn dog. “Good luck, boy. I’m afraid you’re going to need it.” After one more squinty glare at me, she marches away.

Puck whines.

I want to do more than whine. I want to howl at the moon. Puck woofs out a bark that ends in a little “woo, woo, woo.”

“Exactly. She’s right, though. I’m an asshole.” The dog sighs and looks at me like he’s prepared to be disappointed. “I’ll try to do better with you, though.”

I load the gear from the cart into the van and then open the passenger door for Puck, who jumps in. His paw doesn’t seem to be bothering him anymore.

Hopping into my own seat, I start the engine. Puck puts his paws on the dashboard and barks once. As I pull out of the parking space, I allow that it’s nice to have somebody riding shotgun again. It isn’t my best friend, nor the love of my life, but Puck seems to be happy with me.

And that’s something.

I can’t help it. He’s my best friend, but he’s pushed me one too many times. One step too far. I look over at his face and catch that look—so smug—like he’s got your number and he’s not gonna let go. I’m so sick of that face. Sick of him bullying other people, bullying me, even bullying his brothers and Lucy. Someone’s gotta shut him up for once. So I say it, the thing that will detonate our friendship.

And it does. Tony’s angry voice echoes inside the family station wagon. “What the fuck, man? She’s my little fucking sister, and you’ve been screwing her? What kind of pervert are you? You fucking asshole. I trusted you!”

Then the impact. Screeching. Grinding. Spinning. We fly through the air like it’s some kind of insane carnival ride. Weightless. Suspended between the floor and the ceiling of the car as it flips through the air.

Until we’re not.

Everything goes black. Am I dead? I can’t breathe, I can’t see. But it’s not like I’m trying to.

There’s just nothing.

Nothing.

A sound, then. An awful, rasping, rattling sound. My eyes open. I don’t tell them to. It’s not dark. I’m not dead. Tony’s face. Not yelling. There—right there—he’s in my face again. But not. He’s not there. Tony is gone.

Something hits me, something wet. It’s blood hitting me. Hitting me hard. I’m hitting back. No. I’m pounding on the window. Trying to get out of the car. Trying to get away from Tony/not Tony. Away from the grotesque mask that was my best friend.

Waking, heart in my throat, Puck whines next to me.

He’s licking my face, and I grab him to run my hand through his fur and over his warm skin. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, buddy,” I whisper over and over again.

If only I could apologize to the family I broke.

Just because I lost my temper.

Just once.

But once was enough.

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