The Girl I Was Before (Falling #3)(99)

Online. She says it like a question.

“Oh,” I say, not really sure what to do with that answer. “Oh.” I just said it again.

Houston’s doing that thing he does when he puts his hand on his neck and squeezes. My best guess is he’s trying to work his own head off his body so he doesn’t feel the pressure of this very situation. It’s maybe one of the cutest quirks he has, but right now I wish he’d just stop.

There are a few seconds that pass when I think Houston is about to talk, but eventually he shakes his head and covers his mouth. He’s as lost for words as I am. The longer I’m here, the more strange being here feels, and we’re all starting to focus on the country song being piped through the speakers; Tracey—I think?—even bothering to go as far as to bob her head in time to the music.

“Well, you guys have a good time,” I say, no longer able to bring my eyes up to meet anyone’s. I wave my fingers lightly at Tracey as I leave our shared bench. “Nice to meet you.”

“You, too,” she says, or at least I think that’s what I hear behind the swishing of air rushing over my ears, my head suddenly light. I stumble when I get back to our table, and I know it’s not because I’ve had a plastic cup of wine. Rowe catches me.

Everyone’s picking at the baskets of food, but nobody is really saying anything. They’re trying to be polite. I know they all probably understand more about me and Houston—and the fact that there’s something between me and Houston—than they say out loud. I kind of love them for pretending, but right now, I wish we could all just call a time out so I could feel sad and angry and pissed and hurt in front of my friends.

My friends. These are my friends.

“I hate fish,” Rowe says. Nate doesn’t skip a beat and grabs her basket, placing it in front of him, and begins to eat her dinner along with his. Their distraction does its job, and the rest of us laugh.

Rowe scratches the tips of her fingers along my arm to get my attention, then nods toward the exit. I silently tell her it’s okay, but she silently insists.

“I’m gonna head back with Paige. We’ll see you guys in a bit,” she says.

“Peace!” Ty says, now fully invested in his dinner. I slide my basket over to him, and he glances up at me, one eyebrow cocked.

“You paid for it anyway. Might as well eat it. You do loves a fish fry,” I say. He winks at me, and as I pass he slaps my ass.

“Uhm, not okay!” Cass shouts behind me, slapping his arm. I keep walking away with Rowe, and when I turn back one last time to glance at Ty, he winks again. Fucker grew on me.

Rowe manages to fill our short walk home with random facts she’s recently learned about San Diego. Her parents just moved there, and spring break was her first time seeing their new house. I let her go on, and I feel kind of bad when the realization hits her as we walk into our dorm room that I was born and raised in California.

“Shit, I’m sorry. That was really lame. You pretty much know all of that stuff I just told you, huh?” she says, bunching her face. She’s one of those rare girls who can make that face without looking awful.

“It’s okay. You were telling more as therapy; I get it,” I smile.

She nods then tosses her keys on her bed.

“I forget that you and Cass are sisters sometimes,” she says. “You’re so…”

“Different?” I fill in for her, opting for that word rather than the millions of others she could say about me, like bitchy, unfriendly, cold, distant.

“Yeah,” she agrees. I smile. “It’s weird that you’re twins; that’s all.”

I kick my shoes from my feet and crawl up into my own bed, pulling my blanket around me, making a fort like Cass and I used to do when we were little. Rowe lies on her bed, her head flat along the edge as she blinks at me.

“Why don’t you just tell him?” she says finally. “Tell him you miss him, or that you…”

She doesn’t finish her thought, waiting for me to fill in the blank for her. I don’t answer, instead only blinking back. I don’t know how to get all of the things tangled between my head and my heart out of my mouth in a way she would ever be able to understand.

“Is it because of his daughter?” she asks.

I breathe in deeply and think about her words. When the news broke about Martin’s arrest and Chandra’s recklessness, Leah became a part of every sentence that included Houston. When Cass found out he was a father, her only reaction was “Wow.” Nate and Ty commented on how young he was to have a kid, but they moved on quickly, too. Rowe never said a word. Nobody’s breathed a word about the fact that he has a child since, and I’m not sure if it’s because it’s just not that big of a deal to them, or if it’s because they’re trying not to breathe a word about anything Houston-related around me.

“It’s…complicated,” I answer. Rowe sits up when I do, folding her hands in front of her and leaning forward, resting her arms on her knees.

“Complicated for you? Or for him?” she asks.

I pinch my brow, not really sure how to answer that, maybe a little defensive, too.

“Sorry, that sounded harsh. I only meant that Houston has a lot of things on his plate—daughter, trial, all that,” she says.

“Exactly,” I respond, my eyes big just at the thought of all that.