cake, and she has these games planned, and it only works if we have enough people show up—”
“I’ll be there.” I say it just to shut her up. She’s spiraling and Lucas is way more equipped to deal with that than I am. “I promise. I’ll be there.”
I promised. Shit.
“Okay, well . . . good luck.”
“Thanks,” I say.
We end our call and a few seconds later, Abby’s contact info shows up on my phone. I let my finger hover over the call icon for several minutes, running through all the reasons I could use as an excuse for calling. I told June I want to apologize, but that’s a lie. I just want to hear Abby’s voice, and maybe talk for a while without all of the noise that comes between us. I want to hear about her court case, and about her in general. I want to do nothing but listen.
With my eyes closed, I let my finger fall to the phone, and then hold my breath as it rings. I move to my side so I can rest on the phone and keep it close. I’m about to give up when she finally answers.
“This is Abby Cortez.”
Instantly, my lips twitch with a sharp smile. She’s so professional. Much better than my “Yo, what up” greeting.
“Hello, Miss Cortez. This is Salvatore D’Angelo. I was calling with some important information.” I put on a deeper voice, expecting it to make her laugh, but there isn’t a response for several seconds. Finally, she sighs.
“What do you want, Tory?”
Ouch. She doesn’t want to know all the things I want. They aren’t mine to have. And while I thought, for a while there, that maybe there was some reciprocation in her feelings, I’m pretty sure it was all on my side.
“Sorry,” I say, going with my lie to June. Seems I do need to apologize to her after all. “I just . . . I wanted to call and apologize. I made you uncomfortable, maybe more than once, and I’m just . . . I’m sorry.”
“How’s your eye?” She doesn’t miss a beat in responding.
I breathe out a laugh and roll to my back again, touching the tender skin with my free hand.
“Hurts like a motherfucker.” I laugh out.
Quiet takes over again, and my smile falls back to the flat line that’s taking up permanent residence on my face.
“I told Hayden it was just an innocent thing. I don’t think it had anything to do with you; I think he’s just having a hard time lately.” She’s giving my brother an excuse. One, my sweatshirt being at her house was not innocent. I was a breath away from kissing her that day. And two, she’s wrong about Hayden. His issues with me are deeply personal.
“Right,” I say, letting it rest there. She doesn’t need my baggage. And when it comes to my brother, I’m going to be the bigger man for as long as I can. My anger will come out when it’s good and ready.
“He’s taking me out tonight,” she says. My stomach rolls with a sick envy. I forgot that I told him to play her that song. I never got around to teaching him how.
“Oh, that’s right. Happy birthday.” I feel like an asshole.
“You told me last night,” she says right back.
I did. I also told her she’s beautiful. No matter what she is to me, or to my brother, I don’t take that bit back. She deserved to hear it, and I had a right to tell her. Admiration is not a breach of loyalty. It is, however, a poisoned knife that cuts deep into my chest. It hurts to admire her so much.
“So, hey, how’s the script coming?” I put on my best light and happy voice.
“It’s . . . coming,” she says, hesitantly. I was supposed to practice with her a lot more than I have. It’s my fault we haven’t.
“I bet it’s better than you think. Why don’t you give me some lines,” I say.
“What, like . . . now?” Her tone is so offended it makes me laugh.
“No, like maybe later, after you film. Like an encore,” I joke.
“Ha ha, Tory D’Angelo.”
I catch myself grinning, a happiness taking over my body that I haven’t felt in eons. I like the way she says my name. She’s always done that when we spar. I think it’s her way of showing she’s my superior, yelling at me like a parent or teacher would.