Free Suffer Love by Ashley Herring Blake Page A

son of a bitch I am.
    Until she rang the doorbell.
    And then her hair fell on my shoulder and the sweet smell of her skin attacked me, addling my damn brain. Then she laughed and ate my cake wearing that stupid apron Livy bought me for my birthday as a joke. Then she got all haunted and hopeful at once.
    â€œYou need to go,” I say, opening the front door. I hear Mom’s key in the side door between the kitchen and the garage.
    â€œWhy? What’s wrong?” Hadley asks, pulling out of my grip.
    â€œI’m an idiot, that’s what’s wrong.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œNothing. My mom’s just . . . she’s . . . going to be tired and bitchy and I don’t want you to have to deal with it.”
    â€œSam, it’s fine.”
    The door hangs open, a cool breeze blowing her hair into her face. I clench my hands at my sides so they won’t betray me, but she brushes the strands aside and my hands release.
    â€œHadley, I need you to leave.”
    She frowns. “All right. If that’s really what you need.”
    â€œYes. Thank you.” I nudge her shoulder toward the door, but she walls up against my hand.
    â€œMy stuff is upstairs.”
    â€œI’ll bring it to you tomorrow.”
    â€œHow very gentlemanly of you, but I have homework tonight.”
    She’s getting pissed, but I don’t really care at this point. I wave her upstairs and peek around the corner into the kitchen as she heads to my room.
    â€œSam?” Mom calls. “Are you home? This smells wonderful!”
    I meet her in the kitchen. “Yeah, hey. I’m here.”
    â€œHi. How was your day?” she asks while she unpacks her bag.
    â€œGreat. Um, I’ll be right back.”
    I go to rush Hadley out of the house, but she’s already stepping through the front door without a word. I feel bad that I’m pretty much kicking her ass out, but there’s not much else I can do. This was a bad idea to begin with, and at this point, I’d sell my nads to the devil himself to keep my mom from meeting her.
    Unfortunately, the devil’s not interested in a trade. As Hadley steps onto the front stoop, Mom click-clacks down the front hall toward the stairs.
    â€œOh,” she says as she spots Hadley. “Sam, who’s this?”
    Hadley freezes and turns around. “Hi,” she says, flicking her eyes to me.
    â€œUm, yeah. Mom, this is a friend from school. We were working on a project. She’s just leaving.”
    â€œHi there.” Mom’s voice is as bright as a 150-watt bulb. “I’m Cora.” She holds out her hand.
    Hadley hesitates in the doorway and then I start cracking up. I mean, I’m laughing like a crazy person, because that’s really all you can do when you’ve willingly jumped into a pile of your own shit.
    â€œSam, you’re being very rude,” Mom says, folding her arms.
    I manage to get it together and clear my throat. “Sorry.” Clenching my jaw into place, I take Hadley’s arm and draw her back inside while she looks at me like I could benefit from some psychopharmacological intervention.
    â€œAs I was saying, I’m Cora. Sam’s mom.”
    I watch Mom hold out her hand again.
    â€œHi, I’m Hadley.”
    Mom’s color vanishes. My heart thump-thump-stops in my chest. She holds it together enough to shake Hadley’s hand, never taking her eyes off the dark-haired girl in front of her.
    â€œThat’s an unusual name,” Mom says, her voice more of a 15-watt now.
    Hadley’s perfect mouth slips into a mirthless smile. “My dad’s a modern literature professor at Vanderbilt. Hadley was the name of Hemingway’s first wife, which, if you knew my dad, is really ironic—” She stops and lowers her lashes, her face flushing red. “Um. He’s a Hemingway fan.”
    â€œRight,” Mom says slowly. “Well. I need to take care of