Page 119 of Shy Girls Can't Date Rockstars
“Enough.” Miranda looks up from her phone. “You’re getting yourself worked up. The report confirms what we already knew. Your parents were in a fatal accident. The presence of a truck, a storm, or a sharp turn doesn’t change the outcome. They’re gone, Alice.”
I gasp for breath. “Yeah, but…”
“No, Alice, don’t.” Her flattened palm stands in front of me like a stop sign. “Dwelling on how it happened won’t bring them back. You’re still here. How about you focus on that instead?”
“But they…”
“I want to move forward,” Miranda says bluntly. “I can’t live in the past. I already made that decision twelve years ago when I distanced myself from you all.”
“But we’re not distant anymore.”
“Correct. So can’t we be civil to each other?”
“I’m not…”
Miranda raises her phone to her ear. “I’m done with this conversation, Alice.”
Miranda’s running shoes thud along the hallway, leaving me, the report, and the crackling of the fireplace.
As I stare at the flames, a new set of footsteps enters the hallway. Heavier and familiar.
I look over my shoulder as Ryder appears in a navy button-down shirt and dark, ripped jeans. The chains against his chest glint in the light, and he holds a mug of coffee.
“Hey.” He takes a sip from his mug. “I heard the car drop you home. How’d therapy go?”
My hands move automatically, folding the police report into smaller and smaller squares. I shove it into my back pocket before he can see what it is.
“It was fine.”
Ryder stops mid-step, his eyes narrowing slightly as he studies my face. “Fine?”
“Yeah. Fine.” I force my voice to sound casual and normal. “Just the usual therapy stuff. Talking about feelings and all that.”
He doesn’t move closer, but he doesn’t leave either. Just stands there with his coffee, watching me with those dark eyes that see too much.
“You sure about that?”
“Never been more sure.” I paste on a bright smile that feels wrong on my face. “So what’s going on with you? How was last night at the Kensington house? Is it super fancy?”
Ryder’s expression doesn’t shift. He just keeps watching me. “Alice, what did Miranda say to you?”
The fake cheerfulness drains out of me instantly. “Nothing. We barely talked.”
“I heard voices.”
My spine goes rigid. “Were you listening?”
“I was in the kitchen.” He gestures with his mug. “Sound carries in this house.”
“Then you already know what she said.” I move toward the stairs, needing to get away from him and this conversation. “So why are you asking?”
“Because I want to hear it from you.”
I stop at the base of the staircase, my hand gripping the banister. “I said I’m fine, Ryder. Can everyone just stop asking me if I’m okay?”
“I’m not everyone.”
The quiet certainty in his voice makes me turn back to face him.
