Page 30 of Worthy

“How’s work been going lately?” Wren asks, her gaze flicking to me momentarily before returning to the road.

We used to talk every single day. Now we’re lucky if we can make a once-a-week FaceTime happen. Texting is more frequent, but it’s still not nearly as often as it used to be. I’m to blame for that. When things started getting worse with Anthony again a few months ago, I became a recluse. I withdrew from everyone and everything, without even realizing I was doing it.

It wasn’t until I was faced with the need to call her and ask for help, that I realized how distant I had become. When the last call in my phone from her was Wednesday of last week, and the most recent text she sent me a few days ago went completely unanswered. It made me feel like shit, especially since I was calling for help. Not even just to chat.

“It’s been okay,” I answer in response to her question. “I finished a job for that one clothing brand we’ve seen splashed all over social media lately. The one with the cute country style, boho clothes. They had me design their entire logo and brand for their new website. It was fun. They were really nice.”

“That’s awesome, Nelly.”

Nelly.Wren is the only person on this planet who calls me that. It’s a nickname she gave me right away when we were kids, first forging our friendship. To be honest, I hated it for the first few years. I thought it sounded ridiculous, and it reminded me of a horse, but it grew on me. But still, it’s only her who is allowed to call me that. Everybody else either just calls me Penelope or they shorten it to Pen, or Penny if you’re my mom, but I hate that one the most.

“What about you?” I ask. “How’s business for you?”

I don’t know the full extent of Wren’s job, despite being her best friend. Mostly for confidentiality purposes. I know she’s a social media manager. She works with several huge influencers and celebrities, and helps them run and manage their social media accounts. It’s a business she started on her own, and she now has six employees working under her, helping her run the operation. It’s impressive. She’s busted her ass to get where she’s at now, and I may not know the names of all her clients, but I do know there are some A-list included.

“Oh, same shit, different day.” She laughs. “I was due for some time off, so you calling was perfect timing.”

The pang of guilt hits me right in the gut again at the mention of her having to drop everything in her life for me.

“Listen, Wren. I’m so—”

“Nope,” she cuts in. “No, you don’t, Penelope Edith Boswell. You cut thatpoor mebullshit out right now, you hear me?” She pushes her sunglasses down her nose, pinning me with a hard, narrow glare. “You have nothing to be sorry for.Fuckingnothing.”

“Okay, Jesus,” I mutter, my hands going up. “No need to full name me, Wren Magnolia Carlisle.”

“Well, gotta get your stubborn ass to listen somehow.”

Wren shoves her shades back up into place as she throws me a toothy grin, returning her attention to the road. Turning up the music, we fall into a comfortable silence this time, only breaking it to sing along to whatever song is playing. We share the same taste in music, and we always have. It’s a wide variety. One minute, a nineties country tune, the next, some metal core, headbanger song. You never know what you’re going to get next with one of our playlists. It’s how I love it.

We drive for hours, stopping only to use the bathroom and get snacks. With the sun starting to set, we decide to pull off the highway and find a hotel for the night. We’re in Kansas now. There’s a place right off the exit that doesn’t look too run-down, but it also is affordable.

Once we’re checked in, we take the elevator to the third floor. The room has two double beds and feels pretty spacious. It’s not that bad. Nothing to write home about, sure, but it’ll do the job for a night. I pull open the curtain, wanting to see the view… of the parking lot.

Alrighty then.

Wren sets her bags down on one of the beds and moves to stand beside me by the window. “Do you want to take a shower while I run across the street and grab us some pizza and drinks from the gas station over there?”

“Sure, but don’t you want to shower too?”

“Yeah, but I’m sure I can before bed or in the morning before we hit the road.”

“Okay.” My voice is small. I hate it.

“Canadian bacon and sausage?” she asks, shoving her phone into the pocket of her joggers.

Smiling, I say, “Please.”

She nods. “Sweet. I don’t think you can get liquor in gas stations over here. But do you want some beer? Hard seltzers? Just some soda?”

“Ooh! Get some White Claws, please.” Walking over to the purse that I discarded on the bed, I reach in to pull out my wallet. “Here,” I murmur, handing her my debit card.

Shaking her head, she says, “Don’t worry about it. I got it tonight. You can get it tomorrow.”

Wren leaves, and I start the shower. Cranking it almost all the way to hot, it doesn’t take long for the steam to billow around the room as I slowly get undressed. I stand in front of the mirror, taking in every inch of bruised flesh as I rid myself of the clothes that acted as a barrier against Wren’s questioning eyes today. She tried to hide the shock in her expression when she saw the split on my lip and the black and blue coloring circling my eye, but I saw it.

If I hadn’t already been breaking down, I probably would’ve died from embarrassment. Nobody wants to be seen at their lowest like that, especially around someone they look up to and respect as much as I do Wren. She’s this strong, independent, takes-no-shit-from-anybody type of woman. It’s pathetic to feel like I can’t amount to that too.

Standing in front of my own reflection, naked, hands down by my sides, my throat tightens as pressure builds behind my eyes. The anger boiling inside of me is vile, a sour taste of shame sitting on the back of my tongue, and it won’t disappear no matter how many times I swallow against it. A single tear falls down my face without my permission, and I swipe it away with a rough hand to the cheek, biting down on my already swollen lip to stifle the sob threatening to break through.

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