It seemed like the shittiest second chance ever.
I struggled to keep my body, and my voice, calm as I told him, “I’m not going to tell her I won’t talk to her.” I didn’t care if that meant I’d lose my job or lose the sixteen hours I’d worked so far—I refused to ignore anyone like that.
Coming to this conclusion made my heartbeat race because the other Willow—the Willow Dave was basing this conversation on—would have shrugged it off even if it made her feel like shit. Apparently, there was less of her in me than I’d realized.
“I won’t refuse to speak to Hannah if she talks to me,” I said, this time my voice steely.
Dave gave me a courteous but frustrated smile. “We wouldn’t dream of asking you to do that. Why don’t you call it a night and we’ll talk to everyone staying here with us this evening?”
He wasn’t firing me, but it still felt like I was losing. “Sure,” I said.
“Willow,” Dave said in a soft voice. “We’re not trying to hurt your feelings, but at the end of the day, our top priority is helping the women and kids who come into our shelter.”
“I understand,” I said. And I did. To him, I was the flighty actress with two trips to rehab before the age of twenty under her belt. I could see why Dave wouldn’t want me to be around the residents of the homeless shelter.
Understanding the reasons behind his decision only made the pressure in my ribs squeeze harder, suffocating me.
As I did the march of shame to the exit, I sent Miller a text message. Come pick me up, please. He wrote me back almost as soon as I hit send.
6:38 p.m.: Already in the parking lot.
Even though he was especially chatty about a fight he’d broken up at the strip club he worked at, I didn’t talk much as Miller drove me across town to my lesson. I nodded in the right places and laughed when he said something funny, but I was barely listening.
I was still thinking of Hannah, the kid who liked cartoons full of adult innuendo and had a tween crush on my ex-boyfriend and how my boss had slapped my wrists for talking about both with her.
For the first time since my surf lessons began, nobody was in the shop area at Cooper’s place or coming out of another part of the house to greet me—probably because it was so late in the evening. When I stepped inside and the little bell hanging over the doorway rang, Paige yelled from the kitchen, “In here, Avery.”
Following the mouthwatering scent of marinara sauce, I found the three of them—her, Eric, and Cooper—at the round kitchen table with heaping bowls of spaghetti in front of them.
“You’re early,” Cooper pointed out, but there was a smile on his face, extending all the way to his clear blue eyes. For a brief moment, my throat felt dry and all the stress from this afternoon started to blur. Then he linked his fingers, slid them behind his head, and asked, “How goes the toilet cleaning?”
Way to yank my ass back to reality, I thought as I gave him a sarcastic smirk. I crossed the room and sat on one of the stools behind the granite counter. “At least I don’t have to practice popping up to grab the cleaner and toilet brush.”
“Careful or I’ll send you out back to practice now,” Cooper said, his blue eyes issuing a challenge.
Eric snorted. “Cooper’s bedroom is upstairs, second door on the right. I’ll totally give you guys all the condoms I’ve got if you take your verbal hate f**k up there,” he said, and Cooper and I broke eye contact to glare at him. “What? That’s what you’re doing.”
Paige smacked the back of his head, hard, and practically knocked over her seat jumping up to make me a plate. “Come sit with us. There’s plenty for—”
“You don’t have to do that for me.”
But she was already standing on her tiptoes, rifling around in a high cabinet. “Don’t tell me you’re on a low carb diet or something?” She closed the cupboard door, holding a red plate in front of her like she’d go all Tangled on me and hit me with it if I argued with her.
I thought of the whole wheat waffles I forced myself to eat every morning and the personal trainer I’d never called, despite Kevin constantly texting me about doing so. “No, no diet.”
“You should call Hulk back and see if he wants any,” Paige said as she spooned the pasta onto my plate. When I told her that Miller was probably already in the gym, she motioned her head from the counter to the table. I slid in the spot between Cooper and Eric.
“You look like you lost your best friend,” Eric said.
I held back a snort. Jessica was still the only friend I’d spoken with since coming to Honolulu and contact with her had been sporadic at best. She was in the middle of filming a pilot for a new TV show—at least that’s what she swore whenever I called and she rushed off the phone a few minutes later.
“No, I . . .” I was grateful that Paige chose that moment to slide the plate of spaghetti onto my placemat. My stomach rumbled painfully because it smelled so good and I hadn’t eaten anything since my waffle and egg whites this morning. Three sets of eyes burned into the top of my head as I dumped a bunch of mozzarella cheese onto my pasta and then dug in.
“We’ve got seconds, Wills. And thirds if you’re that hungry,” Cooper teased, and I shot him a look. When he flinched, I groaned.
“Sorry, it’s just been a bad day,” I said.
He frowned, sunk his fingers into his blonde hair to scratch his head, and then said hesitantly, “Did someone say something to you?” The dangerous tone that had been in his voice when I told him about Tyler had returned, and out the corner of my eye, I saw Paige and Eric’s eyes dip to their laps.