“So, you’re apologising that there’s evidence you’ve been cheating on me?”
“I haven’t cheated on you. I didn’t know Jada snuck into my dorm room and took a photo of me sleeping. And that kiss last night. She kissed me.”
“You were cupping her face!”
“I was pushing her away!”
“Why didn’t you tell me she kissed you?”
“I didn’t get a chance to last night. Besides, it meant nothing. I didn’t even kiss her back.”
“What else have you kept from me?”
“Nothing.”
“Other than the fact Jada’s been at Gatton this whole time?”
He shouldn’t have flinched. Made him look guilty as hell, even though I get the feeling Byron is truly in love with my friend, and telling her the truth about his fidelity.
“She only got in the second semester.” Byron takes a tentative step closer to his fiancé. She takes a step back. “Please, Bella, don’t make a big deal out of this. It’s exactly what she wants to happen.”
“Keats kissed me.”
“What?”
“On Thursday, at swimming.”
“He kissed you?”
“Yeah. No big deal, right?”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Isabella looks at him, mouth open. Her fists go to her hips, and Byron is smart enough to ease up and realise his foot height advantage means nothing right now.
“This is different. He’s my brother. And I’m going to kill that fucking arsehole. Did you kiss him back?”
Yes.
Isabella hesitates. Big mistake. Questions like that, you need an automatic response. Never think about it. These two are the worst liars—it’s kinda cute how much they deserve each other.
“You still have feelings for Keats?” This question from Byron sounds more like an accusation.
“No!”
“Tell me now, Bella.”
“Don’t turn this around on me. Jada’s done so much more with you that you’ve kept from me!”
“None of which I’ve reciprocated. You kissed your ex-boyfriend. You kissed my brother. And you’ve had two days to tell me but didn’t.” Byron’s features visibly harden, and part of me worries about Keats’ safety. “Are you over Keats?”
“Do you really have to ask?”
“I need to hear you say it,” Byron says quietly, but Isabella just juts her chin out, unwilling to budge.
They glare at each other for what feels like ten minutes before Byron sighs heavily and runs an impatient hand over his face. “This is crazy. We’re supposed to be getting married in a week.”
“Well, we don’t have to.”
“Bella…” A look of worry flits across Byron’s face as he guesses what his fiancée’s about to do next. “Don’t.”
Isabella doesn’t heed Byron’s warning, pulling the engagement ring off her left ring finger. “Here. If you don’t believe it’s over between your brother and me, then this isn’t going to work out.” She extends the ring with the heart-shaped diamond to Byron. He looks at it for a beat, shoulders stiffening before he turns away with a stark look on his face.
I silently will Isabella to run after him as he walks back to his pick-up truck. But she doesn’t. She just watches him go, breaking down on Penny’s front lawn a soon as Byron is out of sight.
Chapter 30
Times like these, I wish I had a car. But then I’m so upset, my hands are shaking. So getting behind the wheel is probably not a good idea. Not when I can’t even sit still in the back of the cab as it speeds towards the McAllisters’ home. I’d excused myself from the others to get there before anyone else does.
Terry’s bark greets me as soon as the driver stops in front of the restored Queenslander house. I quickly check the long driveway for Byron’s red pick-up truck and Keats’ sportscar. The former isn’t there, the latter shines like a slick, black panther in the morning sun.
Perfect. I pay the driver and let myself in the McAllisters’ yard by stepping over their low white picket fence. Taking the back veranda steps two at a time, I reach the door and pound on it, sending Terry the fox terrier into a barking frenzy.
A few minutes later, the door opens a crack, the shaft of light illuminating one of Keats’ half-closed eyes and his mussed up chestnut hair. I spot his faded T-shirt over plaid boxer shorts. He looks like I woke him up as he scans my similar attire.
“Hey, Hay-gen. Mom’s not here. Sleepover at Mr Barker’s. Thanks again for that.” His sleep-roughened voice drips with irony as Terry runs out the door, then down the steps onto the yard.
“I’m not here to see her. Move.” I push past Keats into their house, and round on him. “What have you done?”
“Hm?” He raises a brow at me before a gigantic yawn overcomes him.
“Isabella just broke off her engagement with Byron.”
“What?” He looks confused. And definitely hung over.
“She saw the pics his ex posted on Facebook. And after coming home last night with Jada, it didn’t take much for Byron to go from the doghouse to the shithouse. Now, what have you done? I know you’re behind this.”
“It worked?” He rubs his forehead with his palm as if that would improve his comprehension.
I slap him on the arm once, but it feels so good to vent my frustrations of the last seven months that I keep hitting him. “You bloody arsehole! How can you do this to your brother?”
“Ow! Hay-gen.” He puts his forearms up to protect himself against my onslaught. “You’re acting crazy this morning. Look, this guilt trip you’re on is a bit too early for me.” He yawns again. “Aren’t you happy? My brother’s single again.”
“I’m not in love with Byron, you idiot! I never was. And even if I were, I wouldn’t have gone as low as framing him!” My slew of slaps intensifies as I remember the devastation on Isabella’s face when she saw those Facebook photos half an hour ago. She’s pissed me off countless times over the years, but she would never do anything like this to me.
Keats
