Leah on the Offbeat (Creekwood #2)(74)

“Okay, there’s no way she thinks that,” Bram says.

“Maybe I’ll text her,” I say, and I promptly start blushing. Way to be mega obvious, Leah. I might as well whip out my heart and set it on the table for the boys to examine.

But Simon just nods eagerly. “Yeah, that’s a good idea.”

And it is. It’s a great idea, and I should totally text her. Nothing weird about that. I’m a friend. I’m checking in.

Hey, are you okay?

I stare at my phone for a moment, but there’s nothing. No dots. She’s not typing.

Nick’s an asshole, I add.

“Did she write back?” Simon asks.

I shake my head slowly. God. I don’t know why this is making me so antsy. She’s probably not even looking at her phone. Or maybe she just wants some space, for once. I should leave her alone. And I shouldn’t even care. Really, I shouldn’t.

But—okay. I guess it kind of bothers me. Just the thought of her off crying somewhere over Nick. Like, I get it. Believe me. I know exactly how it feels to be out-of-your-mind in love with someone. And I know exactly how it feels to watch them kiss someone else.

My heart flips in my chest. There’s this awful part of me that thinks she deserves this. Just a little taste of what last year was like for me. But another part of me wants to punch Nick in the face.

And then, as if I’ve conjured him myself, Nick appears at our table. He’s alone—Taylor seems to have disappeared. But he’s not looking for Taylor.

“Abby’s gone.” He slides into the seat next to Simon. His lips are puffy, and his eyes are like glass. “Shit. I fucked up. I shouldn’t have—”

“Made out with Taylor right in front of her?” I raise my eyebrows.

“Am I the biggest asshole?” He buries his head in his hands and groans. “She probably hates me. Fuck. I have to find her.”

“I don’t think you should do that.”

“Do you know which way she went?” Nick stares past my shoulder, into the distance.

Simon frowns. “I’m not sure. It looked like she turned left.”

“Toward the aviary?”

“Other left,” says Simon.

“Okay.” He nods resolutely. “I’m going to just . . .” He starts to stand.

“Nope. That’s a really bad idea.” I tug him back by the sleeve.

“I have to make sure she’s okay.”

“I guarantee she doesn’t want to talk to you right now.”

Nick presses his hands down on the table. “Well, someone needs to go check on her.”

“Fine,” I say quickly. The boys all turn to face me, and I feel my face burning. “I’ll go check on her, okay?”

Then I push out my chair.

There are trails veering away from the pavilion in every direction, and for a moment, I stand, frozen. I have no clue where to begin. Simon said she went left, but left could mean the picnic tables, or back through the trees, or she could have circled back behind the aviary. I have to put myself in her brain. If I’d just watched my ex-boyfriend kiss Taylor Metternich, which path would I take?

Probably the one leading straight to the bathroom, so I could spend the rest of my life vomiting.

But okay.

I need to not overthink this.

I pick the path through the trees, and it’s like stepping into a fairy tale. Girl in a gown walks into a forest. It’s strange how secluded this feels, even with the pavilion directly behind me. The trees are so thick, they’re practically a curtain, and the music sounds like it’s beaming in from another galaxy.

A twig cracks beneath my shoe, and I shriek like it’s a bone.

Then, out of nowhere. “Who’s there?”

I freeze.

Abby’s voice, slightly nervous. “Hello?”

How nice: my body’s decided to mutiny. My feet are like barbells, my voice is nonexistent, and my lungs are totally checked out. But my heart’s beating like a hummingbird. I just stand there, staring into the foliage.

“Okay, I know someone’s there.”

“Abby?” I manage.

“Oh, thank God.”

“Why can’t I see you?” I’m peering all around.

“I’m behind you.”

I whirl around, and now I don’t know how I missed it: a wooden observation deck, up a short ramp, overlooking the lake. There’s a bench in the middle, and Abby’s sitting on it sideways with her legs tucked up. She waves when she catches my eye. I head up the ramp to meet her.

“Way to scare the crap out of me,” she says, scooting down the bench to make room. But I walk straight to the railing and lean against that instead, my back to the lake.

I peer down at her face. “What are you doing here?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?” I picture her on the ledge in the American Girl store bathroom. I can’t believe that was tonight. It feels like centuries have passed. “You keep running away.”

“You keep finding me.”

For a moment, I’m speechless.

“Did you get my texts?” I ask finally.

“You texted me?”

“I was worried.”

She pulls her phone out of her clutch and taps into her messages. Then she glances back up at me. “I mean, yeah, Nick’s an asshole.” She pauses. “But Nick isn’t the problem.”