Page 177 of Built to Fall
Grant’s eyebrows shoot up. “What?”
“It feels like a part of her. It doesn’t feel fair to me to lock it up and pretend like it doesn’t exist. Maybe this is how I can keep some part of her alive.”
A smile grows on his lips, like he’s beyond proud of me. “My mom used to call me G,” he then admits, pushing a strand of hair out of my face and behind my ear.
I remember how I tried calling him it once. He had nearly the same reaction to G as I did to Eva. It’s just another similarity between us—bridging the gap between our grief and each other.
We’re both smiling as I throw the ball back to him, and for once, the weight of a memory doesn’t knock the wind out of me.
* * *
I leave Grant at the facility when his coach gets there, and when I make it back to my apartment, I take the elevator up.
Except when I step off, I see someone standing outside my door from down the hall. My brows furrow, then my body freezes, refusing to move any closer.
The frame is familiar, even from this distance. Too familiar.
A nauseating deja vu rolls through me. Her hair is shorter than it used to be, maybe even a bit darker. My brain has committed her to memory in the same way it has everything else. For once, I wish my brain would let me blur the edges and smudge the picture. It never will.
I should turn around. I should walk away. But the fury that flares through me won’t let me. It knows that there’s nothing else this type of anger could be channeled toward.
Forcing myself, I take a few steps toward where she stands, my tennis shoes squeaking against the hardwood floor.
She turns, and I can tell she wasn’t expecting it to be me by the way her eyes widen and her mouth opens.
“Don’t say anything,” I say.
Bria steps aside when I get close to the door. I pull my key out of my pocket and shove it into the lock.
If she says anything, I will be forced to remember it for the rest of my life, and no apology could undo what she’s done. There’s no point in letting her take up any more mental real estate than she already has.
“Lina—”
“I saiddon’t!” My head snaps to look at her. “I don’t know why you thought I’d ever want to hear from you again, but whatever reason you’ve conjured up in your mind, it’s void. Just leave me the hell alone.”
Bria flinches back at my harsh tone, and for a split second, I see the version of the girl who was once my best friend. Who got me through high school. Who I thought would be my maid of honor.
That girl died the moment I found her in my bed with my boyfriend.
She wants to rewrite history into a version that makes what she did seem less cruel, but I won’t let her.
Not when the last memory I have of her is from the moment I opened my bedroom door, hearing her moans echo aroundmyroom. The way she pulledmyblanket around her naked body andmyboyfriend. How she tried to chase me down the hall until I hit the stairs. She knew there were still people down there.
I never saw her again. She and Gage must have gotten dressed and snuck out while I was passing out champagne and getting drunk at my mom’s wake. I didn’t see. I’m glad I didn’t.
Somehow, my eyes water without a word leaving her mouth. I won’t let her speak her piece, but I deserve to say mine.
“You were mybest friend.” My heart pounds in my chest while her regretful gaze swallows me whole. “It was my mom’swake,and you just couldn’t wait to fuck my boyfriend. You couldn’t be there for me for just a few more hours. I was going through the worst week of my life, and you made iteven worse.That’s not fixable.”
Silence stretches like the ocean that’s already between us.
Bria looks away, unable to meet my eyes. That’s all the acknowledgment I need.
The lock clicks with the turn of my hand. I push the door open and step into my apartment. I don’t close the door yet.
I look at her one last time. I deserve for my last memory of her to be something different. One where her betrayal isn’t just a mistake. It’s an ending.
I don’t slam the door. I close it softly.
