Free Suffer Love by Ashley Herring Blake Page B

some things upstairs.” She cuts her eyes to me, slicing deep. “Nice meeting you.” And she’s up the stairs, two at a time in her heels.
    â€œYou too,” Hadley says, a little divot digging between her brows. “Is she okay?”
    â€œYeah. She’s just tired, like I said.” I stuff my hands in my pockets. I feel like a complete asshole. But what did I expect? I set out to use this girl as a human cannonball and fire her at my mother.
    And that’s exactly what I did.
    â€œLook, I’ll see you tomorrow, all right?”
    â€œYeah.”
    She doesn’t move, and when I glance up, her eyes are on me, all darkness and questions.
    â€œAre
you
okay?” she asks.
    I blow out a long breath. Inhale again. It’s still not enough. I need a sky’s worth of air. And then another and another.
    â€œI’m good.” I smile. She smiles back, but it’s closed-mouthed and sideways. I don’t think I’ve convinced her. “It’s been a long week, with the move and all.”
    â€œSure. I guess we can talk soon about when to meet again? And we should probably watch the movie, too, just to see the play performed.”
    â€œGreat.”
    â€œThanks for the cake.”
    I nod and watch her walk to her car. Watch her climb in and drive away until she’s just a little speck of silver among all the reddening maples. She’s long gone before I remember she left still wearing the apron.
    When I finally close the door and turn around, Mom’s already at the bottom of the stairs. Her eyes are rimmed red, but her expression is ten degrees of pissed off.
    â€œWhat is that girl’s last name?” she asks before I can sidestep her.
    I look down at my Vans. My favorite pair. Too small for me now, really. The toes are ragged from when Dad and I used to work on my changeup at the park. That was almost a year ago, before everything went to crap.
    â€œSamuel. What is her last name?”
    I look up at her and shrug. “Why do you want to know?”
    â€œI think you know the answer to that.”
    I smirk at her. I can’t help it. I know I’m the asshole here, but I wouldn’t even be in this position if it weren’t for her. None of us would. “Then I think you know what her last name is.”
    She sinks down on the step, deflated. “Oh my God. Oh my God, they live here?”
    â€œApparently.”
    â€œI didn’t know . . . I swear I didn’t know.” Her eyes widen. “Does Olivia know?”
    â€œNot yet. But I’m going to tell her because she’ll find out eventually. Hadley goes to our school and she’s . . . pretty well known.” Her locker flashes in my mind. I still haven’t asked her or Josh about that whole mess. I’m not sure I want to know.
    â€œShe doesn’t know who you are?”
    â€œI don’t think so.” I have no idea which St. Clair found the papers on their front door. All I know is what happened before, in our house in Nashville on a rainy afternoon. All I know is that afterward, my mother took a phone call and fell apart to the point that she stopped eating for a few days, Dad moved into the spare room, and Livy slept on the floor of my room for the next three weeks.
    â€œAre you going to tell her?” Mom asks.
    â€œNo, I’m not.” I wasn’t sure about this until the words were already out of my mouth, but it feels like the right decision. What would be the point? She clearly has no idea who we are and I don’t need a Ph.D. in psychology to figure out that she’s still dealing with the repercussions of all this crap. I guess we are too. I can be civil with her, finish this project, and then pretend she doesn’t exist. Easy. “But for her sake, and Livy’s, not yours.”
    Mom frowns and opens her mouth, but snaps it shut without speaking. Then, after the awkwardness has taken up most of the oxygen