“I’ll run the bakery. That’s not a problem.” The line goes quiet, and I know she’s picking up on how serious I am about being unable to talk. We’re twins, after all. We have that connection. And now, more than ever, I’m glad it’s back. Because I really can’t do this. I can’t talk right now. I’ll lose it. “If you want me to come out there with you, you just say the word.”
“Thank you.” My voice glitches over the words like a scratch on a record. “I’ll text you when I land.”
“I love you.”
“Love you too,” I whisper. And I end the call, loneliness tearing at my chest.
Some mornings, I wake up with new memories. Usually, they’re nothing. This morning when I woke up, I remembered the night three months ago when I ended my relationship with Max because he had broken my heart.
May—Three Months Before Accident
“God, I’m so jealous of you I could spit.” Lizzy grabs Cally’s hand and holds it in front of her to inspect her ring. It’s girls’ night at Brady’s and the table is full of empty glasses and half-full margarita pitchers.
“I’m the luckiest,” Cally says, grinning.
Lizzy snorts. “Pretty, lucky, and gracious. Almost makes you hate her. So did you have to train the muscles in that arm to keep that rock on there all the time?”
“Shut up! It’s not that big!”
My phone buzzes in my purse, alerting me to a new text message. I grin, immediately thinking it’s from Max. He wanted to see me tonight but didn’t push when he found out the girls were getting together for margaritas.
I pull my phone out and open my text messages. I frown at the screen. I don’t recognize the number.
Unknown Number: When are you going to give it up? Max is way out of your league.
My stomach pitches into my chest and drags my heart with it as it falls back down. The words are not only cruel, they’re exactly what I fear. I’ve wanted Max since we were teenagers, and now that I have him, sometimes it feels too good to be true.
I’m still trying to decide whether to text back when another beeps through.
Unknown Number: You can keep fooling yourself if you want, but while he’s dating your fat ass, he’s wishing he were with someone he’s actually attracted to.
“Hanna?” Lizzy says. “Is everything okay?”
I paste on a smile to cover the sick churning of my stomach. I could tell the girls about these messages, bask in the reassuring warmth of their righteous indignation. We could talk about lying, jealous bitches who will go to any length to drag happy people into their misery. The conversation would no doubt end in all of us laughing and me deciding to ignore this nastiness.
But what if the person on the other end of this text conversation is telling th
e truth?
“Yeah. I’m fine.” I text back. I shouldn’t engage. I should find out who these are coming from and show them to my friends, to Max.
Hanna: Who is this?
Unknown Number: This is the sexy bitch your boyfriend wishes he were fucking.
“I’ll be right back,” I say in a rush. It’s not so much the text as the series of screenshots attached to it that has me shaking. I have to get away from this table before the tears come. I can’t let the girls see.
I barely make it to the bathroom before I start crying, and Meredith is waiting on the other side of the door, a smirk on her face.
“Why so sad, Hanna?”
I stumble back. “You?”
She smiles prettily and touches up her perfect lipstick in the mirror. “I didn’t think I wanted him,” she says. “I mean, I’m more interested in a man who can really support me, you know. But then things didn’t work out with William because apparently he has a thing for whores—”
“Don’t!” I growl, my nails biting into my palms.
“You’re all so cute. Sticking up for each other. Why don’t you go get your friends? I can show them my old texts too. We’ll see what they think about your perfect boyfriend then.”