Page 67 of The Lucky One
“No, that’s a lie. Jon and I went swimming at a lake. I’m sorry for not texting you and asking for permission.”
Gena and Henry exchanged a knowing glance before erupting into laughter.
I rubbed the side of my arm. “You guys aren’t mad?”
“Jon texted us, honey,” Gena explained. “But we asked him not to tell you to see if you’d be honest. You both passed the test.”
“You—” I fumbled for the right words but they didn’t come. “I can’t believe you would do something like that!” I laughed out loud, grateful I hadn’t stuck with my initial excuse.
“So sue us,” Gena joked. She reclaimed the popcorn bowl as Henry wiped tears of laughter from his eyes. “Wanna join us? We’re watching a football game.”
I nodded. “I’ll ask Paul if he wants to come up too.”
Gena and Henry gave me thumbs-up before gasping at something dramatic on the screen. Despite the passing months, football remained confusing to me.
I hesitated in front of Paul’s door—so much had happened since he’d massaged my feet on the couch this afternoon. The look he gave Jon outside... I barely even recognized him anymore. I cleared my throat and knocked.
“I’m busy!” Paul said in an annoyed tone.
I was familiar with Paul’s default response when he wasn’t in the mood to talk to his parents. “Too busy for me too?” I pushed open the door and stepped down the stairs.
“What do you want, Emi?” he said from his spot on the couch, not even looking up from his phone.
“Um... I feel like there’s some stuff we should talk about?” I asked nervously, settling on the other side of the couch. His scent reached me—the ocean breeze that was my home, my safe space. But I couldn’t feel drawn to it anymore.
Paul huffed. “What would we need to talk about?” He emphasized the we like it was some sort of infection. My breath caught; I hadn’t expected him to go cold on me. Especially not this cold.
“Because you’ve got bandages on your hands.” My voice trembled slightly. Why was I so nervous? This was Paul, my... not my Paul. A distant echo of Gena’s and Henry’s laughter bounced into the room, a reminder of what we used to have.
“Oh, that?” Paul stretched his fingers briefly. “Just a football injury. It’ll be fine.”
I narrowed my eyes. He had apparently forgotten that only a few hours had passed since our conversation this afternoon. “Don’t lie to me, Paul. We can talk, we—”
He threw his phone on the coffee table, and I flinched. Not only because of his reaction, but because of the empty bag of chips and burned-down candle next to it. I let my eyes wander through the room: the TV screen was paused on movie credits. Did Kiki and him have a date?!
“Sorry, this... it’s all so much.” He tugged his fingers through his hair.
“What is?” I asked, my palm magnetically pulled to his shoulder. He winced when I touched him so I let go.
“I mean, I accepted that you and Jon are...” He paused, and his Adam’s apple rippled up and down. “A thing now. But every time I see him it’s triggering, especially when he won’t even talk to me.”
I sighed. They felt the same way about each other, which didn’t make it any easier. “I wish he would talk to you too.”
“Why won’t he then?” Paul gave me a pleading look—the caring person I admired him for being. I closed my eyes for a moment.
Pro: He deserves to hear the truth.
Con: Jon told you that in private. It’s not your right to say anything.
Pro: But it would help Paul understand.
Con: But it’s on Jon to say it.
“This is useless,” I mumbled.
“What?” Paul asked, and I shook my head.
“Nothing. I just think you’re both currently a trigger for each other.”