Page 118 of Before We're More Than Friends
I hadn’t noticed it before.
No!I screamed at myself, fire burning in my cheeks.You can’t be thinking about his chest! You’re mad at him!
That had to be an intrusive thought. There couldn’t be another reason why that had popped into my mind.
You need to be careful next time, I told myself as I walked into the break room. Thankfully, no one was in here to see me flushed and angry like this. Again.Look where recklessness has gotten you.
You can’t afford to keep getting hurt.
After dinner and doing my homework, I frowned at the letter Dad had sent me. I still had no idea how to respond to it. If I wanted to answer it. He didn’t deserve an answer.
Unforgiveness didn’t give me the strength it had before, but I didn’t want to be weak for forgiving so easily.
Gosh.
I grabbed a purple pen out of my cup holder, but ten minutes later, I ended up with four crumpled pages. They were different variations of the same thing.I still don’t understand why you did this and why you can’t explain yourself.
How did you reply to someone who blew everything you knew into smoke for no reason?
Was everything he had still not enough?
Why don’t you love us enough?Arielle’s words echoed through my head. Mom loved us enough to start changing. Why hadn’t Dad loved us enough to follow the law?
Arielle called me for dinner, and I went downstairs to join her and Mom at the table.
After Mom said grace in Italian, Arielle asked, “How was the help group today?”
“It went well,” Mom said with a grin, genuine and bright. “I’ve met some new people. It’s interesting to hear about what others are going through.” She bit her lip, looking at the wedding ring on her finger. “Having an addiction can be lonely.”
I reached for her hand, and she squeezed mine. “I’m glad you’re getting help,” I said. “How long have you been sober?”
“The last time I drank was the twenty-first. So eight days. It’s the longest I’ve been sober since I’d started drinking again.”
“I’m proud of you,” Arielle said, her lips curving in a smile.
“Me too,” I said, smiling as well. The longest that Mom had been sober since she’d started drinking again was probably four days. This was twice that. It wasn’t much, but it was the progress we were looking for.
We were finally going to get our mom back.
“Have things gotten better for you, Raina?” Mom asked as she took a bite of her garlic bread. “I know this weekend was very difficult.”
“I survived.” I’d managed to avoid Dallas for the rest of the day, trying to consume myself in my tasks so I wouldn’t think about him. About how firm his chest was when I’d bumped into him and how it made my skin flush.
Stop it! It’s just a chest. Plenty of guys have chests like that. He probably just has a good workout routine.
I wonder how often he works out.
No, stop! Retreat!
“Are you still mad at me?” Arielle asked after she devoured her garlic bread, now picking at her pasta.
“A little bit,” I muttered as I ate.
She nudged my shoulder. “Only a little?”
I sighed. “Fine, I forgive you now. But next time something like this happens”—not that I anticipated having another lovesick pen pal move to my city, meet me in real life, and ghost me—“please tell me when you suspect that something isn’t right, okay?”
She nodded. “I will.”
