Growing angry and frustrated by the minute, I ball my fists at my sides. "He was my boyfriend, Peyton. And you were my best friend. How could you—"
"He was mine first," she interrupts. "But I'd been stupid and let him go."
"What the hell are you talking about?!" I'm already shouting but I don't care.
Peyton isn't giving me the answers I need. She's talking in circles, refusing to get to the point. It's making my blood boil. Making me think of punching her square in the face. Making me think of doing things that would land me in jail.
If she pushes me, I just might.
She purses her lips but doesn't answer my question. Instead, she steps out of the bathroom without another word, leaving me glaring after her and wondering what the hell that was about.
Damn her.
She was implying that she got together with Liam before I was in the picture. But I know about every guy she was ever involved with. And she never mentioned him to me, not even once. If that was the case, shouldn't she have said something when I started dating him sophomore year? She even expressed her support when I told her and our friends about him. Was that a lie? Has everything been a lie?
I go home with her last words hanging over me like a dark cloud, blackening my mood. "He was mine first." What did she mean by that?
Maybe I should ask Liam about it.
But are you sure you're ready to talk to him? What if you end up bursting into tears in front of him? You'll humiliate yourself and Peyton will use it against you.
Right. Maybe it's not smart to do that today.
Duke is the first one to greet me when I walk through the front door, jumping and wagging his tail excitedly like he hasn't seen me in ages. His innate adorableness lightens up my mood considerably.
After petting his head and scratching his ears, I make my way inside, following the delicious aroma coming from the kitchen.
Mildred is cooking something delicious. Sensing my presence, she glances over her shoulder with a smile. "Hey, Sawyer. Are you hungry?"
A Filipina in her early forties, Mildred works for us full-time. Dad hired her a year after Mom died to help take care of me and Avery while keeping the house clean. As a plus, having her in our home helps him focus the majority of his time into writing. And while she'll never be able to replace Mom, my sister and I appreciate having somewhat of a mother figure around.
Smiling back, I nod and sit down at the island, placing my bag down at an empty stool.
"Good. I made some banana cue," she says, depositing a plate filled with sugar-coated, deep-fried bananas on sticks in front of me. Then pours me a glass of iced tea.
Mildred always makes it a point to prepare afternoon snacks for us—mostly Filipino-style, just like what Mom used to do. It's what I always look forward to at the end of a school day.
"These look delicious," I tell her, helping myself with a stick. Predictably, Duke whines at my feet. Laughing, I get up and grab a small handful of kibble and give it to him. Once I'm done with my snack, I thank Mildred and get up from the island, grabbing my bag.
"I'll call you when dinner's ready."
"'Kay. I'll be in the living room."
I go to my room to change into a tank top and sweatpants before grabbing my phone and laptop and heading down to the living room, with Duke padding right behind me.
Turning the TV on for some background noise, I make myself comfortable on the couch, firing my laptop up to continue with the short story I'm currently working on.
I'm going to add it to my collection of short stories, which I plan to use as a portfolio to get into Carlisle University. It's the same university Mom and Dad went to—the very place they met and fell in love with each other.
And since I'm the daughter of Emmett Dunn, world-famous author, I inherited his love for writing. Not that he has the slightest idea about it. He doesn't even know that I'm planning to take a Creative Writing degree.
It's not that I want to keep it a secret from him. I have every intention of telling him, it's just that...I don't think I'm ready to share it with anybody. I feel a little protective of my stories—but at the same time, apprehensive too.
What if he doesn't like my writing? What if he finds it lacking and tells me I don't have what it takes to be a writer? I don't think I can take that kind of rejection from him.
Or maybe I'm just overthinking it. But either way, I'd like to keep it to myself for now.
CHAPTER 5
Parker
Pulling the blanket up to Mom's neck, I place a kiss on her forehead. She was already out cold when I decided to check on her, the pill bottle lying empty on her nightstand likely the culprit.
No matter how many times I dispose of her prescription bottles, she always gets them the next day. I’d blame Janna, her sitter, but Dianne Holloway doesn’t need any help when it comes to her vice. She's resourceful all on her own.
It would have been admirable if it were for any other reason. If it weren’t for something destructive.
Giving my mother one last glance, I step out of her room, slowly closing the door behind me. Not that it matters whether I'm being careful or not. The noise won’t do a damn thing to wake her up. She's dead to the world.
My fist is poised to knock on Ethan’s door before I remember that my eleven-year-old brother is currently having a sleepover at the McIntyres’. He won’t be back until tomorrow.
Aria, on the other hand, is out with her friends. She called an hour ago to
