TMI

  “I know what it’s like to lose your dad. I wouldn’t wish it on anybody.”

  “Not even your worst enemy?” Bailey asked with a smile, even though she wasn’t joking.

  Meg brought her knees up, curled her arms around them. “We’re not enemies, Bailey. We may not be friends anymore, but we’re definitely not enemies.”

  “Yeah.” Bailey blew her nose. “Friends feels really far away.”

  Meg was quiet for so long that Bailey sat up and angled her head. “Okay, look. I hate this. This is so stupid. I miss you, and I know you miss me too. I know how we can fix this. If you’re up to it.”

  “Yeah. Yeah, I’m up to it.” The frown smoothed out on Meg’s forehead.

  Bailey tucked her legs under her and mirrored Meg’s position. “‘Mistakes were made.’”

  “What?”

  Bailey waved a hand. “Oh, sorry. Just some Call of Duty humor. But we really did make a lot of mistakes, and you know why?” Bailey didn’t bother to wait for a reply. “Because we’ve grown up. We’re not in second grade anymore and I’m too old for a babysitter. That means you have to find another way to be my friend. I broke up with Simon because you told me he and Caitlyn were together. I was crazy about him and I never even talked to him, never gave him a chance to explain. I just blindly trusted you.”

  “Bay—”

  Her hand shot up. “Wait.”

  Meg snapped her teeth together.

  “I shouldn’t have done that, and then I realized I do that all the time. I hurt Simon. I hurt you. I hurt a lot of people because I listen to what other people say instead of trusting myself. All Simon was doing was talking to her.”

  Meg lowered her eyes. “Oh, God, I’m sorry,” she whispered.

  “I really liked that boy, Meg. And I blew it. I screwed things up so much. He created Ryder to get back at me and at you, and now he’s in so much trouble. All I had to do was…was just listen, you know? I didn’t then, but I am now. I went to Simon’s house and we talked. And we’ve been talking ever since, and oh, God, Meg, I am so mad!”

  Bailey shot to her feet, bounced around the room, waving her hands the way she always did when she was fired up.

  “I mean, mad like a can of soda all shook up. I’m mad at you and me and my mom and Simon and Chase and I didn’t even know it and that just makes me madder. I still really like Simon in spite of all the crap he did to us—” Her hand shot up again, but Meg didn’t even think about interrupting. “And the thing is…I can forgive all that. I can forgive him because I did some pretty crappy stuff too, and so did you.” She stabbed the air with a finger pointed right at Meg.

  Meg got the point, but it ruffled her feathers. “You told, Bailey.” She countered and made Bailey flinch. “Friends don’t do the stuff we did. Jesus, Bailey…my dad? You actually told Chase about my dad. And then all that crap with the police.” She squeezed her eyes shut, amazed that they could still find tears left to cry over that.

  “Oh, come off it, Meg!”

  Meg’s eyes snapped open in time to see Bailey shoot out a hip and cross her arms.

  “Friends don’t tell potential boyfriends about the time you threw up on a teacher. They don’t talk about the stupid seventh-grade love poems, and they damn well don’t call each other sluts on Facebook.” Bailey’s eyes practically shot laser beams through Meg.

  “I never did that! I never told him you got sick on Miss Monroe and I never told him about the poems! That was Simon, Bailey. All Simon. But you wouldn’t even listen to me! You cared more about some guy you never met than me!”

  Bailey looked Meg straight in the eyes. “Okay. You’re right. I should have listened to you and I didn’t and I’m sorry. But don’t I get credit for trying? After you hurt your hand, I tried, Meg. But that wasn’t good enough for you. You had to play the slut card. You knew all that happened with Mr. Milner was a stupid little girl’s crush, and you put his name on Facebook.”

  Meg’s face drained of its angry flush and she dropped her gaze. Bailey sank back to the sofa and shut her eyes. There was no point, not to any of this. No point at all. Ryder…well, Simon was in trouble, Chase was miserable. She was sad, and Meg—she opened her eyes to gauge her—she was just lost.

  “I’ve been thinking a lot about the other stuff,” she said quietly and waited until Meg raised her eyes. “Friends are there for each other. They hold their hair out of the toilet after that night when they swiped a bottle of Schnapps from their grandparents’ bar and watch The Vampire Diaries together and then even when they’re mad and hate each other’s guts, they come—” She had to pause there. Swallow. Swallow again. “They come and rescue them when they find out their dad died.”

  Meg’s eyes filled with tears, and she squeezed Bailey’s hand.

  “People screw up, Meg. All the time. And when they do, friends should make them face it and then give them the space to get over it, make it right again.”

  Meg managed a halfhearted smile. Bailey had gotten scary sick that night. She, of course, had not because drinking Schnapps—even peach flavored—wasn’t part of The Plan. “Friends also tell each other the truth. I want us to be friends again.”

  Bailey didn’t give her the chance to say anything. “I want us to be friends again, but not the way we were, Meg. I’m not you. I don’t have a master plan for my future. I’m just making things up as I go. And I need you to be okay with that. You can’t pressure me anymore to do things your way. You can give me advice, but you need to know I’m not always going to take it, and that means you don’t get to ram it down my throat even when it is for my own good.”

  “I don’t—”

  “Yeah, you do, and you have to stop.”

  “Stop?” Meg echoed. How the hell was she supposed to do that? Hold her breath? She frowned and stared at Bailey. “I don’t know if I can.”

  To Meg’s surprise, Bailey smiled. “Sure you can. Watch this.” Bailey straightened her spine and cleared her throat. “Megan, I’ve decided I want Simon back, and you are not going to waste one word telling me what a mistake I’m making. You’re going to smile and say, ‘Bailey, I hope it works out for you.’ And also, I’ve decided I’m going away to college next year. I won’t go to a school anywhere near yours because I want to miss you, to look forward to seeing you and talking to you and texting you. And you’re going to smile and say, ‘I’ll miss you so much.’”

  “And what are you going to do?”

  Bailey merely shrugged. “I won’t post anything you did in second grade online. And I promise I won’t drop you for a guy. And I’ll even help you get Chase back. And that brings me to my third point. You can’t live this ridiculous plan your father left you. You need help to deal with your dad’s suicide. You need to go after Chase Gallagher like he’s a freaking Olympic sport and you’re the medal contender. Let’s practice. I’ll go first. Megan, I want Simon back.”

  “Um—” Meg looked ill. “Okay. I wish you luck.”

  Bailey giggled and rocked her head from side to side. “Not bad, but you can do better. Let’s try another one. I’m going away to college. I’ve decided to study computer science and animation. I’m going to build my game myself.”

  Meg shot out of her seat. “Oh, my God, Bailey, I’m so—” When she saw Bailey’s arched eyebrows, she calmed herself and tried again. “Uh, right. Okay. I’ll miss you so much.”

  “Good job! Okay, last one.” Bailey got serious.

  Meg sucked in a deep breath, let it go.

  “Meg, I think your father’s whole plan is wrong. He was sick. Obviously, he wasn’t thinking straight. I know you love him and you think you owe him, but you deserve to be happy. I’m seeing a therapist. I think you should too.”

  Meg stared at her for a long moment and then admitted with half a smile, “The counselor at school said the same thing. My mom already found somebody willing to work wi
thin our budget. I saw her once so far. She says I have to open up more, not let my parents’ problems be mine.” She lifted a shoulder. “It’s hard work.”

  “Yeah, I have a lot of work too. Mine says I feel unloved, so I keep reinventing myself as the means to prove my worth.” She made a face. “Or something like that.”

  Meg’s lips twitched. “Um, I’ve also been doing a lot of thinking about Chase. You know, we had a really long talk today on the way to find you.”

  Bailey clasped her hands together. “And?”

  “I think you may be right about him.”

  Bailey’s eyes narrowed. “May be?”

  “Well, I thought I should at least give him another shot. Just to be sure.” She squirmed. “The thing is… I think I’m out of chances, you know?”

  Bailey jumped from the couch. “Okay, you need to be sure. You can’t do this and then freak out on him again. He doesn’t deserve that.”

  Meg’s lip quivered. “Bay, I’ve completely screwed everything up. I miss him so much. He…he never even said good-bye to me.”

  “Aw, Meg.” Bailey squeezed her hand and then reached for her phone to check the time. “Okay. Here’s what you’re going to do. You’re going to get dressed up, hop on a train, and go to him. Tell him how you feel. He won’t be able to resist you.”

  “You think?”

  “I know,” she called over her shoulder as she hurried upstairs to Meg’s room. Meg caught up to her just as she pulled open the closet door. She pawed through Meg’s meager wardrobe and pulled a hanger out. “This. This would be perfect.”

  Meg blinked. “It’s a dress.”

  “Duh. That’s why it’s perfect. It shows Chase you put some thought and planning into this.”

  Still not convinced, Meg took the dress, tugged it on.

  “I was right. It’s perfect. Now we just need a few more touches.”

  Meg groaned when Bailey tugged her into the bathroom.

  Chapter 47

  Meg

  At the door to an old building sandwiched between a camera store and another camera store, Meg rang the buzzer for the second time and turned to head back to the subway.

  Chase wasn’t home.

  It was nearly dark. She couldn’t hang around too much longer. She’d let Bailey dress her up and drive her to the train station, and she’d traveled all the way to the city for nothing. She wiped a bead of sweat from the back of her neck and started walking, oblivious to the messenger bike that with a squeal of hand brakes, narrowly missed plowing into a parked car.

  “Megan? Megan, is that you?” A familiar voice shouted.

  She spun, found Chase in the street, bright yellow helmet on his head, standing beside a bike. His jaw dropped. So did the bike.

  He left the bike where it fell and ran, pure joy in his mystical eyes. “Megan!”

  She took a few steps toward him, stopping to clutch an iron rail in front of the building. She smiled his smile and never bothered to hide it, and it almost hurt it felt so good. When he reached her, he scooped her up in his arms and just held her, held tight. “Megan, what the hell are you doing here? Why are you wearing a dress?”

  She pulled back—not away—just far enough to look up at him and try to understand the temper that heated his words. “Um.”

  “You here for me?” He pulled back, dropped his hands.

  “I’m here for me. I think.”

  “What the hell does that mean?”

  “Chase, I’m so sorry. For…for not trusting you and not talking to you and for…for all of it.”

  He crossed his arms over his chest. “We should talk,” he said after a long moment. The smile faded from her lips, but she nodded.

  “Come on.” He retrieved his bike, led her through his door, and walked to the elevator. They rode in silence to the eighth floor, tension so thick it practically had its own heartbeat. He did not look at her. Finally, the doors slid open. He pushed the bike to the third door on the right, opened it, and stood aside to let her go first.

  She stepped into a narrow hall that led from the front door to the living room, where the smell of old pizza lingered. He propped the bike on a rack and removed the helmet. She moved to the window, stared down. “Nice view.”

  “The one from my room back home was better.” He flopped onto a secondhand sofa covered in threadbare brown fabric pushed up against the short wall. “I used to watch you, you know. All the time,” he suddenly blurted.

  She spun, the blue skirt swishing around her legs. “Really?”

  He ran his hands through sweaty hair and then wiped his palms down his bike shorts. “It’s…um, how I knew you hurt your hand.”

  She flexed it, and a long purple scar winked at him.

  “I love to watch you paint. It’s like…like someone kicked you into high gear. You’re awake. You’re moving, but damn, when you paint, you’re—” He spread his hands, unable to find the word.

  “Alive,” she finally supplied and then laughed.

  “What?”

  She waved a hand. “It’s nothing, just thinking how Bailey would go all gooey at that. She’d have said, ‘Oh, my God, he’s just like Edward!’ and I would have rolled my eyes or something.”

  He scrubbed a hand over his face that had suddenly gone red but didn’t say anything, so Meg lost her grin. “You must have thought I was crazy, painting you all the time.”

  Slowly, he shook his head and smiled. “No, all I saw were eyes, hands, a jaw. I was jealous. I wanted to be what got you fired up like that. And then the night you cut your hand, I found out I was. I thought I had it made.” The grin faded when he shook his head and added, “I was wrong.”

  She moved to sit beside him at those words, but he jumped up. He crossed to the tiny kitchen and snagged a bottle of water. “You want something? Water, soda, iced tea?”

  “What? Oh…no. No, thanks.” This wasn’t going as well as she and Bailey had planned. And then she almost laughed. She put on a pretty blue dress, let Bailey smear some makeup on her face, and thought what? That Chase would just heel like a trained pet? She’d hurt him. Hell, she’d meant to hurt him. To drive him away. She’d always believed hard work and perseverance were the keys to success. Her heart pinched, and she’d never wished to fail at something as hard as she did now. She ran her hands down her legs, felt the lump in the pocket of her dress, pulled out the folded square of paper she’d tucked inside. She held on to it for luck. For courage.

  He cracked open the water bottle cap, tipped it back, and gulped. “So what do you think of our place?”

  She noticed he didn’t come back to the sofa. “Um, it’s cleaner than I expected. How close is it to your campus?”

  “A couple of subways.”

  It gave her a little pang whenever she thought about Chase living in Manhattan instead of in the big house behind hers. She smiled briefly. “You’ve got…what? Three roommates?”

  “Yeah, it’s nice not squashing one of my brothers’ toys every time I sit down.” Chase hesitated a moment and sat back down, settling against the cushions only to wince and immediately straighten up. He stuffed his hand between the cushions and pulled it back, holding the TV remote control. His face went crimson, and she laughed, but he didn’t. “How’d you get here anyway?”

  “Bailey. Um…she had your address, dropped me off at the train station. Then I took a subway.”

  He choked on his water. “You took the subway dressed like that? Which one?”

  “Uh,” she tried to remember. “I think the number six train.”

  He shut his eyes and shook his head. “I’ll get you a cab back to Penn Station. You’re not walking around in the dark like that.” He put the water bottle on the floor, froze when he saw the paper clutched in her fist. His eyes shot to hers, held there. “You…is that? You kept this?” He took the paper, unfolded the s
ketch he’d done of them at I-CON. “Why?”

  He smiled and it was real, and whatever kept pinching her heart finally let go. “I was wrong, Chase,” she blurted. His eyes popped, a muscle in his jaw twitched. “I was so wrong.”

  He didn’t say anything, so she tried harder. “Have you ever imagined not having your dad?”

  Her question made him pale. It was a long time before he spoke. “I don’t know if imagining that does any good, you know? I’ve had my dad my whole life. You haven’t. I don’t know if anybody can really understand something like that unless you live it.”

  She nodded, staring at her hands. “For as long as I can remember, he used to tell me to have a plan for the future. It was pretty scary sometimes. I was like…four, maybe five years old and he’d be telling me how short life is and that if I didn’t have a plan, it would be over before I knew it.” She tugged the skirt over her knees, abruptly cold. “I didn’t even know what a plan was, let alone how to make one. So instead of bedtime stories, I got lessons on the future.”

  Something passed over his eyes. She thought it was sympathy and continued, “He told me how important it was to get good grades and go to college and get a degree, how important it was to be able to take care of myself so I’d never have to worry about money. He told me not to let anything or anybody sway me from my plan. And I didn’t. Not until you.”

  He twitched beside her. His legs bounced, and for a minute, she thought he was about to run. Instead, he reached over, took her hand, and squeezed. She clutched it like she had the night in the hospital. “When I was little, I thought he was teaching me all about plans because he loved me.” Her voice broke. He shifted closer. “But the truth is…he blamed me.”

  He made a sound of protest, but she cut him off.

  “I was an accident. I knocked all his plans off course. Then he lost his job and the money problems just exploded. Everything that happened, everything that went wrong—it was all my fault. The night before he shot himself, I heard him arguing with my mother. He was screaming, ‘I told you I never wanted kids!’”