I peer over the stairs, seeing Krisjen. “Oh, please. ‘Tending?’” she jokes. “I’ve started to carry my vibe in my purse for afterward.”

Dallas and Iron burst into laughter, and I walk down the stairs, seeing Trace’s mouth fall open a little. “Is that what you do in the bathroom so long?”

But she doesn’t answer, her eyes shifting up to me as soon as I stop at the bottom.

I fold my arms over my chest. “What are you doing here?”

She starts to say something, but Army steps in the open doorway she’s blocking and nudges her.

She scrunches up her face in a scowl, but when she looks behind her, her face falls.

“In or out, kid,” Army tells her.

“Um…”

She gapes at his bare chest, and I roll my eyes. I shoot forward, snapping my fingers in her face to snap her out of it. “Krisjen.”

I mean, hooray for being sex positive, but the girl has a one-track mind sometimes. Seriously.

She turns her attention back to me. “Oh, right.” She pulls up the box under her arm and hands it to me. “I brought your dress back.”

My dress. Clay’s dress? That I made for her?

Fine. I snatch the box away from her and toss it onto the floor in the game room.

I feel like an idiot for even trying, but lesson learned.

But Krisjen dives down and picks up the box again. “I don’t mean that,” she spits out. “I mean for you to wear.”

“I’m not a debutante.”

“No, but you could escort one,” she retorts in a tone like she’s mocking my stupidity. She looks around the room to my brothers. “Do we have to talk about this down here?”

I stay rooted in my spot. I may have done what I could to cut off communication, but Clay has known where to find me. There’s no way in hell I’m making some grand gesture in a public place. She’s the one who screwed up.

“She’s dying on the inside,” Krisjen says in a low voice.

I lift my gaze, meeting hers.

“She’s dying without you.”

My throat tightens, my chest constricts, and something stings inside me.

But I shake my head. “She broke it off with me.”

“She made a mistake,” Krisjen says, my brothers still standing around while Macon sits in the chair off to my left. “She’s going to make lots of mistakes. She’s spoiled, a little self-absorbed, angry about a lot of shit, but she’s learning.” Krisjen lowers her voice. “And she’s yours.”

My eyes burn.

“Your crazy, impulsive, wild, complicated girl,” Krisjen tells me.

I press my lips together and drop my gaze, because I’m about to lose it. My crazy, impulsive, wild, beautiful girl.

My girl.

“There’s no point, Krisjen,” I say. “We’re both graduating, leaving town—”

“None of that matters!” she growls. “Just be here now!”

I’ve stopped breathing, Krisjen’s anger startling me.

“There’s no tomorrow,” she goes on. “What are you worried about? Just be here today!”

A tear spills down my face, feeling like I’m being scolded by a mom I didn’t really have.

I don’t want to be hurt.

Maybe I love her. Maybe she’ll break me again or I’ll break her, or maybe we’ll leave each other in August.

Maybe we’ll never see each other again.

But maybe she’s worth a few more months.

A few weeks.

One more day.

I look over at Macon who watches me in silence, and I don’t know what I see in his eyes, but I understand it.

This could be it.

I drop my gaze to the box in her arms, knowing that dress will be a little small for me, not to mention my brothers will peel with laughter at me trussed up like Cinderella, but…

She didn’t bring the tux back. Does that mean Clay’s wearing it?

She pats the bag hanging around her neck. “I’ve got makeup, hair stuff… Let’s do this.”

I can’t help but smile a little. I wonder how many times Clay’s tried to call or text the past couple of days. Will she want me there?

Oh, fuck it. Fuck it all. There is no tomorrow.

Krisjen heads past me, toward the stairs but stops and eyes Aracely. “Aracely, right?” she asks. “It’s going to take two of us to get her boobs into this dress. I’d appreciate the help.”

I laugh under my breath at Ara’s pissed-off expression at a Saint ordering her around. Normally, I’d take her side over one of St. Carmen’s, but Krisjen has the mettle to hang over on this side of the tracks.

I head up the stairs, both of them follow behind me.

“So, uh…Army…” Krisjen starts.

But I cut her off. “No.”

“What?”

What do you mean, what? I know what she wants. “I said no,” I state again.

Army needs a woman badly, but I’m doing this as much for her as for him. He’ll just turn the poor girl into a babysitter he sleeps with.

She groans as we dip into my room. “Fine.”

THE LINE RINGS in my ear, Liv not picking up now or the last ten times I’ve called since getting the packages this afternoon.

She’s blocked me. I could start another social media profile—one she hasn’t blocked—on TikTok, Instagram, and Twitter, but I don’t have time right now, and that would be a new level of low and pathetic.

I just want her to want to talk to me. I don’t want to stalk her.

I’m going over there. I’m done. I need her, and she loves me. I know she does.

Standing up straight, I hold out the phone, snapping a selfie as I tip my hat with my other hand. I post it, tapping out the caption, “This could be it. I won’t let you go.”

She may have blocked me, but I haven’t blocked her. She’ll see it.

I post it just as a figure heads toward me out of the corner of my eye, and I look up, seeing my dad. He approaches in a black tux, his dark hair combed, and his crisp, white shirt making his skin look tan. He smiles gently, carrying a clear case in his hand as his eyes fall down my matching tux. His eyebrows rise to his hairline.

“I know, I know,” I mumble, hearing the hall fill up beyond the stairwell where I hide. “Mimi will freak when she sees me.”

He leans into the wall next to me, and I know he wants to talk, but I have no ambition. We haven’t really spoken since my phone call the other night, and even though I feel a little guilty, I don’t know why.

Maybe because we’re all in pain, and I expect my parents to be stronger than me. They aren’t, and I’m still debating on how mad I should be about that.

I’m still not apologizing, though. I’ll save that for Liv. She’s the only thing that’s important right now.

“Actually, I was thinking you don’t look the same,” he finally says. His eyes drop to the boutonniere in the box, his mind far away and his jaw tense. “I’m sorry, baby. I’m sorry that we just couldn’t seem to pull it together. There’s almost nothing worse than having your children see you completely fuck up.”

My dad was around for a while, but the house felt less and less like a home, and my mother only wanted her grief. I understand how it hurt my dad. How he felt alone.