Page 1 of This Life and All the Rest
PROLOGUE
“Come on. Ruined lives? Bloodshed? You really think a relationship should be that hard?”
“No one writes songs about the ones that come easy.”
-Veronica Mars, 2x19
4 Years Earlier
My eyes fill with tears, but I refuse to let them fall.
He doesn’t want to talk to me? Take the hint? Fine.
Fuck him. Fuck all of them. I’m done being their punching bag. I’m done with all of it. I don’t need them. All I need is myself, and I need a change.
I block Claire’s email.
Then I block Macon’s.
I start to block Andrea’s contact on the app but stop. Right now, she’s the fastest connection I have to my dad. I leave her unblocked for now, but I mute her and set her to text only. In five months, when he’s home and retired, I’ll block her.
Then I stand and rummage through Aunt Becca’s drawers until I find a pair of scissors. I take them to the bathroom and look in the mirror. I grab my braid, hold it up over my head, and hack it off. I run my fingers through the strands. All that’s left is a jagged, uneven bob.
I stare at myself in the mirror.
Maybe I’ll dye it too. Maybe I’ll go blonde. Or red.
I smile, and it’s not fake.
A new Lennon for a new life. I’ve outgrown the last one.
ONE
Present Day
My phone is ringing.Not the regular tone. Not the alarm.
I feel around the bedside table for it in the dark, knocking it on the floor with a thud. I leave it, close my eyes, and start to drift back to sleep.
It’s ringing again. I groan and kick off the covers. The balmy air tickles my naked skin, hardening my nipples and bringing attention to my already sticky thighs.
“Who is it,chérie?” Franco mumbles from beside me, his French accent thicker in sleep.
“Je ne sais pas,” I say as I kneel on the floor and feel around for my phone. It stops ringing again. I huff. My fingers finally close around it, and I grin in triumph, standing back up and climbing back into bed before checking the Caller ID.
My heart stops and my brow furrows when I see the name. I haven’t seen that name on my phone in a long time.
“Qui est-ce?” Franco asks again. I don’t answer.
“Capri,” he prompts, and I blink before forcing out the name.
“Claire.”
“Your sister?”
“Step,” I correct, just as the phone starts ringing again. I let it ring six times before I answer.
“Hello?”
