Page 23 of Downfall

“What do you want, Declan?” Now there’s a slightly irritated lilt to her voice.

It’s also at this point that she’s illuminated enough for me to see the redness surrounding her eyes, which are swollen and glassy.

“Why were you crying?” It comes out as more of a demand than a question, making her lips purse in defiance.

“I wasn’t.”

“Don’t lie to me, Skylar.”

She scoffs. “Or what?”

I let out a deep breath, attempting to soothe the mounting anxiety in my gut. It doesn’t help, but it buys me a second to soften my approach. “Or nothing, Sky. Can I please just come in?”

To my surprise, she opens the door wider and moves aside to let me past. “Will you tell me what you’re doing here now?”

I cross over the threshold and stand next to the couch. There’s a show paused on her TV—some reality bullshit by the looks of it. I didn’t peg her for a fan of that stuff. The Skylar I knew refused to watch anything made after the nineteen sixties and kept books of sonnets on her nightstand, but I guess we all have our guilty pleasures.

Turning around to face her, I run my hand up the side of my head. “I’m returning your text.”

“You’re…what?”

“None of the dates you sent work for me. Guess we’ll have to find a different lawyer with better availability.” Spying a frame on the mantel above the fireplace, I walk over to get a better look. “I think we can do better than Joseph Jonas anyway.”

“You came to my house to tell me this?” She snatches the frame I’ve picked up, moving it out of my reach. It’s a picture of her and Ash at a diner after our high school graduation. I remember watching her mom snap the picture, acid burning in my gut as she forced a smile. Most Baybridge Prep students went out to fancy dinners with their parents after graduation, but Skylar’s mom insisted on taking her and Ash to their favorite spot—a greasy twenty-four-hour diner between Baybridge and Emberfield. It was our favorite spot until it wasn’t. I’m not sure why I followed them there. Maybe it was the hope that I could see with my own eyes that she was okay, or maybe it was the flask of whiskey I downed during the ceremony. Either way, I got into the black car that was supposed to take me to my own fancy dinner—a facade carefully constructed by my father to appear doting—and told the driver to take me to the diner instead. I never went in. I waited and watched outside like a complete creep until they left.

“Do you not understand how texting works?” Skylar’s voice breaks through the stark memory.

“I’m not much of a texter,” I admit as I move on to the next picture on the mantel. This one is of her with her mom and another man. Not her dad. Maybe her mom got remarried? “I prefer face-to-face interactions.”

Skylar takes that one from my grasp too. “Your fingers literally almost fell off because you texted so much in high school. Your phone was glued to your hand.”

“Things change.” I let the words hang in the air for a moment, hoping that she’ll pick up on the hidden meaning. I’ve changed. She’s changed. Her eyes ping-pong between mine for a brief moment, and then she reaches out, moving all the picture frames away from me.

“Well, when you didn’t answer about the dates, I made an executive decision and chose one. Which I sent you. Which you ignored.”

Her movement draws my attention to her bare wrist. “You got your cast off.”

She looks down. “Yes. Not that it’s any of your concern.”

“Why were you crying?” I ask again.

“Seriously? Can you focus on one thing at a time?”

“I am. Tell me why you were crying.”

“I told you, I wasn’t.”

She makes a sound somewhere between a scream and a growl, stepping around me so she can flop down on her couch. Then she presses a button on her remote, and the show she was watching starts back up. I sit next to her, picking up the remote and pressing pause.

“Are you serious?” she fumes.

“We were in the middle of talking.”

“I decided the conversation was over.” She goes to grab the remote again, but I hold it out of her reach.

“Oh my God. I can’t do this. I have to figure out another way.”

My brows knit together. “Another way for what?”