Page 7 of Paper Hearts

“Her…Hadleigh.” Roman gestures to me, confusion settling over his features. “You can’t tell me you don’t remember her. We spent every summer out here together and Iguaranteeyou popped her cherry. Don’t be a fucking asshole about it.”

Oh my God. Why is this happening? Watchful of Ender’s every action, the tops of my ears turn red. Faces and voices around me all hold the same disorientation. If I wasn’t so curious what his next reply might be, I’d run in the other direction.

“What’s awkward about it?” Ender asks with his shit attitude, his eyes still on the dirt and the bottle that replaced the rock he tossed aside. “She’s my sister’s friend. That’s all.” He takes a slow drink from the bottle of whiskey. “Nothing to it, man.”

“Nothing to it?” Roman snorts, both he and Arya whipping their heads around to face Ender. “Did you know you have—”

Arya slams her elbow into Roman’s side. “Shut. Up.”

My heart lodges in my throat at the slip up. I didn’t want him to find out this way. Though he deserves to be shocked, I didn’t want that conversation happening around everyone else.

Ender takes a step the other direction. “See you guys tomorrow.”

Is he fucking serious?

“What?” I nearly choke on my own spit when I realize I said that out loud. Fuck. Okay, I do choke, and everyone stares at me. Well, everyone except Ender.

Myles stands, shrugging, intending to follow his older brother. Ender stops him, tucking the bottle under his arm. “Stay here with your friends, Myles. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

His friends? It wasn’t long ago that I washisfriend. His favorite person as he used to tell me.

Arya stands up, blocking Ender’s departure. “Don’t go and don’t be an ass.” She reaches for the bottle, only to have him fling it back and push past her, knocking into her shoulder. “Come on, Ender….”

Yep. Same asshole he’s always been.

Watching him walk away, I’m ready to pummel him. Years. FuckingyearsI’ve spent wondering why he left me, only to have him come back here and act like our childhood didn’t mean shit to him.

Not wanting anyone to see me ugly cry, I follow the path he’s taken, and head to my car with a fifth of Fireball whiskey. Shit goes south after that. I’ll give you some advice if you want to listen to me. Never take alcohol to your car, alone, the night before your best friend is getting married, and you’re the dateless maid of honor. It’s like the beginning of an intervention in the making.

After the third, or fifth shot, I’m so upset—and let’s face it—drunk, that I stumble off to find Ender and give him a piece of mind. I might even tell him about Eddie, I don’t know. We’ll see how the night goes.

I spot Ender walking down his parents’ driveway, apparently having returned from wherever he went earlier, and swaying slightly himself. Or maybe I’m the one swaying? I don’t know.

“I need to talk to you!” I shout, tripping over my own feet. When he spots me by my car, he takes the trail that leads to the small swimming cove. Same trail we always took down to the lake.

I follow. Bitch is going to give me some goddamn answers.

“Ender!” I yell after him, completely clueless as to what I’m going to say to him if he actually does turn around.

He doesn’t, so I follow him to the edge of the water where he’s standing with his back to me.

“Listen,asshole.” Drunk me is feisty, always has been. “How can you say shit like that? And don’t tell me you don’t remember me. I know you fucking do.” I jab my finger in his direction. “Remember me, bitch?” Yep. I said that, but I keep going. “I’m the one you fucked on the dock and then left while your cum was sliding down my thigh.” I say all that in one breath too. At least I think I do. I’m not so sure it comes out correctly, but in my head it does.

Ender doesn’t look at me, but by his breathing and the rapid rise and fall of his chest, he hears me.

I lift my eyes to the lake when I hear screaming. The sun has set. Just past the dock you can see the boats lining up and smoke bellowing as the party starts by the clearing. Arya, Roman, and a bunch of our other friends all make their way onto the houseboat. Country music drowns out the party not more than twenty feet from us, but I see none of that. Not when Ender is standing in front of me. I thought, hoped, my feelings would have changed. But they hadn’t, and I realize they probably never will.

How can henotremember me?

Part of me, the part that’s still holding on to those eyes and that smart-mouthed Southern drawl I remember, is waiting for him to at least acknowledge me and tell me everything that happened between us hadn’t been my imagination.

I’d gone over it in my head—what I would say to him, the words, the expression, the tone—all of it. This, right now, isn’t how I wanted to do it. Barefoot, drunk, and covered in thick Georgia mud, another beer in hand and scars on my heart.

“You don’t remember me, do you?” I regret my question immediately. His answer will dictate a lot. Standing there, staring at him, as I wait for his response, my legs wobble while the rest of me is numb.

After finishingPaper Hearts, I said I’d let this go.

But I can’t.

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