One Good Reason (Boston Love #3)(64)

My mouth opens; I search for a reasonable explanation and come up empty.

“You like him!” Phoebe starts bouncing in her seat again. “This is the best day ever.” She pauses. “Well, no, best day ever included Nate taking my virginity. But this is a close second.”

“Wait,” I protest. “Just—”

It’s no use. Phoebe is on a roll.

“This is great. Parker’s finally in love.” She sighs happily. “Do you realize what this means?”

“Phoebe, just—”

She cuts me off. “Parker will finally settle down and stay here! He’ll actually be around! Permanently!”

“That would be pretty awesome,” Gemma chimes in.

“So, Tinkerbell lands the man-child.” Lila shakes her head. “Impressive. I didn’t think it was possible, after the nonstop bimbo parade we’ve had to watch for the past two decades.”

My throat feels like it’s closing.

What is wrong with this family?

Why do they insist on doing everything at hyper-speed?

“It almost won’t be the same, without the Victoria’s Secret models to mock on a regular basis,” Chrissy murmurs. “Who will make us feel bad about ourselves, without Parker’s stream of skanks?”

“Should we send out a memo?” Shelby wrinkles her nose. “ATTENTION, slutty Instagram girls everywhere: Parker West is officially off the market.”

I can’t breathe.

“This is just so exciting!” Phoebe claps. “Parker is in love. All is right in the world.”

“It’s a Christmas miracle,” Lila drawls.

“Do you think—”

My hands slam down on the tabletop, cutting off Gemma’s statement.

“STOP!” I yell, heart pounding too fast. Everyone looks at me with alarm, including the two couples at other tables across the cafe.

“Sorry,” I say much more softly. “But please… just stop. You don’t understand.” I swallow hard. “Parker and I haven’t even talked about this. For all I know, he’s leaving tomorrow.”

Phoebe’s face contorts into a concerned mask. “Oh, Zoe, I’m sure—”

“I’m sorry.” I push back my seat and rise to my feet. “You all seem very nice. But don’t pin all your hopes and dreams on me for keeping your brother around. As far as I know, him dating me, seeing how f*cked up I am? That could be the thing that makes him leave here for good.”

With that, I turn and walk out — away from the women who’ve offered me their friendship, away from the first real shot I’ve ever had at a female support system, away from something that, for all intents and purposes, would be a good thing. A great thing, even.

The saddest part is, as I let the cafe door click closed at my back, I know it’s f*cked up.

I know I’m f*cked up.

But recognizing a problem and actually changing it are two entirely different beasts.

I wander down the street, ignoring the buzzing of my phone and feeling more alone than I have in a very long time.

See, a tiny voice whispers at the back of my mind. This is what happens when you let people in. It gives them power over you.

You’re better off without them.

A lone wolf.

Retracting your claws and playing nice for a day doesn’t make you one of the dogs. You’re just as dangerous as you’ve always been.

They don’t need someone like you in their lives.

No one does.

As hard as I try to drown out that voice, I can’t seem to muffle it as I walk through the park toward my apartment, eyes unseeing and feet on auto-pilot.

Maybe that voice is right.

Maybe I’m better off alone.





15





The Flashback




Sometime during my walk home, the skies open up.

It’s just a drizzle, at first, but it quickly turns to a downpour and before I know it, I’m soaked through from the Toms on my feet to the heavy mane of my hair, dripping steadily down my back.

Boston isn’t a big city — that’s one of the things I love about it. No matter where you are or where you need to go, for the most part you can get around on foot in less than an hour.

Somehow, I turn what should be a twenty-five-minute walk through downtown into a four-hour trek.

I wander alone through the streets — cold, wet, shivering — until I’ve walked from the North End down through Back Bay, over the foot bridge to Seaport. By the time I finally circle back to my neighborhood, the temperature has dropped with the sunset, turning rain to sleet and sleet to snow.

I trudge through a slushy puddle, barely feeling the icy water through my thin shoes. Rounding a corner, my building comes into view, its sagging profile dimly illuminated by snow-covered street lamps.

There’s an edge of panic in my thoughts.

Maybe it’s the timing, maybe it’s the lonely feeling inside my gut, maybe it’s the damn snow falling on a street the day before the anniversary of my parents’ murder. I don’t know, exactly. But paranoia settles over me as flurries coat the shoulders of my jacket. Whispers from the back of my mind say I’m being followed, stalked by some unseen predator.

The thoughts are absurd — every time I glance back, I’m alone on the desolate streets. No one is out in this weather. Especially in my neighborhood.