In My Dreams I Hold a Knife(38)

I almost spit out my wine but caught myself just in time, making a graceful gagging sound.

The corners of Mint’s blue eyes crinkled as he smiled. “I feel bad that’s such a surprise.”

What was happening? I was looking at the old Mint—kind, smart Mint, the brave leader. It was like traveling back in time and getting another chance to talk to someone I’d lost and grieved. I had so many things I wanted to say, so many questions. Do you regret it? Do you really love her? What did I do to make you leave me?

But I didn’t know how long I had with the old Mint. The window could be closing, even now.

“I…miss it, too.” I swallowed, then cleared my throat. “I can’t shake how messed up Eric is. We graduated and then never checked on him. We kind of abandoned him here, where she died.” I shook my head. “I feel like a bad older sister or something. Is that weird?”

“It’s not weird. But Jess, Eric is nuts. I don’t know if grief turned him crazy or if it was in there all along, but that man in the basement was unhinged. Playing some sort of cat-and-mouse game.”

“One of us should reach out to his parents, see if they know. Hey—” I slapped his arm. “Also, what the hell with you and Frankie?”

Mint’s eyes darkened. “What?”

“Don’t pull that on me. You were icing him out, punishing him. How can you do that? Are you really so bothered by”—I lowered my voice, obviously not wanting to out Frankie without his permission—“Frankie being gay?”

“No, of course not.” Mint took a rough sip of his whiskey and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “I don’t give a fuck who Frankie dates. But he lied to me. For years.” Mint’s voice rose. I glanced around, but no one was looking. “We were supposed to be best friends, and all that time he and Jack were going behind my back. Do you know what that makes me? A chump. A loser without real friends. You can’t let people do that to you, or next thing, you’re a walking joke.”

Jesus. “You’re not your dad, Mint. And Frankie isn’t your mom. No one is betraying or emasculating you. It’s not even about you.”

His eyes flashed, color flooding his cheeks. “Not about me, huh? Well, you didn’t look too surprised when Frankie told us. And if you already knew, that means Frankie chose not to tell me specifically.”

“Oh, I wonder why.”

In a flash, Mint’s anger cooled into a calm mask. But his eyes were his tell—they turned hard and cold as flint. “I forgot you knew that story about my dad.”

“Yeah, well, we used to be friends.” I sighed. “I’m sorry about him, by the way. I should have told you that last year.”

Mint’s gaze focused over my shoulder. “He hadn’t been the same for years, anyway. It was a blessing when he finally died. Miserable and alone, like he deserved.”

Mint’s dad, a fallen giant, a hero laid low. There was so much anger in Mint’s face, in the clench of his jaw, the barbed wire of his voice, it bordered on fury.

I reached out, laying a hand on his shoulder. Cool silk, sharply cut lines.

He looked at me. “We used to be so much more than friends.”

My breath caught.

“Mint?” Appearing out of thin air, Courtney glared at my wrist until I dropped it from Mint’s shoulder.

Maybe it was the disappointment of getting so close to the old Mint, only to have him ripped away, but the words came out before I could check them. “Oh, good. Everyone’s favorite person.”

She stumbled a little in the grass, but caught herself. “You know what, Jessica? You lost, fair and square.” She raised her voice, sounding drunker than ever. “Do you hear me? Get over it.”

The words were like blades in my chest. I heard a giggle from somewhere close, and looked around, expecting to see mocking eyes looking back at me. People were staring—but not at me. At Courtney. Our classmates were whispering as she wobbled. To my surprise, the looks on their faces weren’t kind.

They weren’t rooting for her.

I straightened my shoulders. “Me, get over it? My college boyfriend cheated on me with you, married you, and ten years later, you’re crowing about it. I feel sorry for you, Court. How little has happened in your life that you’re still obsessed with this?”

The whispers grew louder; I thought I heard someone laugh softly. Courtney’s eyes widened. Her hands trembled at her sides, and she clutched them to keep them still. Was she just drunk? Mint’s words came back. She’s all spun up—I guess because of Eric. No—something else was going on, I could tell. This wasn’t a fair fight. But I was so hungry to beat her for once on my own that I kept going.

“Someone once told me that underneath the designer clothes and bitchiness, you were just an insecure little girl who desperately wanted to be liked. I think I finally see it. It’s okay, Courtney. We get it. You can stop lashing out.”

No one was trying to hide their laughter anymore, or bothering to whisper. I heard my name pass through the crowd.

Her face turned as crimson as her dress. Instead of replying, she ducked her head and pushed through the crowd, forcing it to part for her. Mint followed, leaving me alone, but it didn’t matter, because after a beat of fraught silence, someone who looked vaguely familiar—Brittany Lowell, Pi Phi, maybe?—raised her glass to me, and I raised mine back. And then I was flooded with people, laughing and commiserating. Jessica Miller, that was hilarious. Jessica Miller, you’re so brave. Courtney has been awful for ages; that’s exactly what she deserved.