Page 138 of Press Play

People like Amanda—like my mother—will always believe they are the main character in everyone’s story. She will always believe she’s going to get what she wants, regardless of anyone’s feelings or stance. Theo isn’t mine to claim, and he certainly isn’t hers. I’m lucky that Theo loves me. Over the moon that he’s part of my life and that we’re more than friends. But Amanda. . . she wants him, and to her, that’s the end of the story.

“No, he isn’t. Though I doubt you’ll ever see it that way.”

We stare at one another; the air between us thick with tension. I have nothing else to say to her, and frankly, I doubt anything she says will be productive.

I force myself to offer her a small smile. “I hope you have a lovely evening.” And I start back down the hall.

“This isn’t over!” she shouts as I reach the elevators.

Even though I shouldn’t, I turn around to face her.

“I can still post that video.”

“And what would that bring you?” I ask. “Happiness? Justice? Amusement? The simple need for revenge?”

Nothing. Not even a twitch.

“I hope you have a good lawyer, Amanda.” The elevator chimes behind me, and I step into it. “You’re going to need one.”

“I’ll destroy you!” she screeches.

I waggle my fingers as the doors close, and when I’m alone, I don’t slump forward in defeat or cry. No. Instead, a victorious laugh bubbles past my lips, and I revel in what I’ve just done.

Chapter Forty-Nine

Theo

Wren has her mission,and I have mine.

Do I like Wren’s plan to confront Amanda? Fuck no. But this is something she wants to do, and who am I to stop her? I’m a fuckup who almost threw everything away because I didn’t put my faith in the woman I’ve loved for years. All I want is to keep her safe, but I nearly lost her because of it.

Over and over again, she’s told me I’m worth it, but her words aren’t getting through my thick skull. I want to be good enough. Hell, I don’t think I’m an awful person. There are far worse people out there. So why can’t I move past this mistake? Why can’t I believe Wren? She’s never lied to me before.

No, there must be something wrong with me. There’s no other explanation.

That’s how I find myself in my car, driving toward my mother’s house. She stopped working nights a few years ago, but I pray to god she doesn’t have any friends over. I need to talk to her. If Wren can’t set me straight, Mom is the only other person I trust who can.

When I pull into the driveway, my shoulders drop when I notice the living room light is on. I step out of my car and sigh when I don’t hear any additional voices. Mom is a socialbutterfly. When I was younger, there’d be a party every weekend, and I’d hole myself in my room and spend the evening gaming with Wren. Mom tried to free me from my shell, but I was happy there. After some time, she realized that and stopped forcing me to socialize.

I’m one of the lucky ones. My mother has her flaws, but she’s quick to stand by your side and have your back. Not everyone can say that, and I’ve seen what disconnected mothers can do—how they affect their children.

That’s why I don’t hesitate when I knock on the door. It swings open not a moment later, and her eyes seem to brighten when she sees me.

“¡Mi amor! ¿Qué estás haciendo aquí? Not that I’m not happy to see you.”

“Hey, Mom.” I smile. “Do you have a moment? There’s something I need to talk to you about.”

“Of course! ¡Pasa, pasa!”

She ushers me inside, and the scent of warm tortillas invades my senses.

Mom turns to me and grins. “Do you want something to eat? Drink?”

“No, I’m okay,” I say, my voice quiet while nerves bounce around my stomach. “I just need to sit.” I plop onto the couch, and memories flash through my mind.

Every Friday night, Wren would come over, and we’d gather around this table to play WoSaF until Mom would tell us to go to bed. She never worried about Wren and me sleeping in the same room. I didn’t have the guts to make a move, and Wren was too shy to admit her feelings. We were kids, and we relied on one another for comfort and safety. It was simple. . . and I would be lying if I said I didn’t miss those days.

“You seem tense.” Mom sits next to me. “What’s on your mind?”

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