It’s been three days since what I’m now calling “The Incident.” This morning, I woke to the sound of my incoming text alert, only to find I have around fifteen missed calls and about thirty texts—the majority of them from Myla Rose. Her texts start off calm and grow increasingly panicked. Reading through them, I feel a bit guilty that I didn’t think to call her.

Myla Rose: How was your holiday?

Myla Rose: Are you hitting up the mall tonight?

Myla Rose: Hello? Sister-girl!

Myla Rose: Are you okay? Cash just got home from Simon’s.

Myla Rose: Az, I’m getting worried.

Well, that’s a lie. I did think to call her. I just chose not to, knowing it was her first major holiday with her sweet little family. Instead, I took my ass right on home and sulked. I’m talking full-blown messy-bun, Drake’s shirt and sweats, puffy eyes and all. I drag up my keyboard and start tapping out a text to her when a new one comes in.

Myla Rose: AzzyJo, you answer me right this second!

But before I get a chance, I hear someone start pounding on my front door. Pulling back my sheer lace curtain panel, I see that it’s Myla Rose, with Seraphine and Magnolia in tow. I trudge down the steps of my apartment and throw open the front door, squinting at the sunlight.

“Oh, sister-girl, you’re in a bad way,” Myla says, shuffling past me and into the living room.

“Where’s B-Man?” I ask, ignoring her comment.

“With his daddy. Now, spill. I know shit went down with Drake, but Cash wouldn’t gimme any details. Stupid bro code. So c’mon, right now, missy!”

Seraphine tugs a piece of hair that’s escaped my bun as she walks past. “Sometime today! We’re not getting any younger!” She perches on the arm of the couch, next to where Myla Rose is seated, and Magnolia walks over, claiming the empty cushion next to her. Which leaves me to take the love seat opposite them, and holy hell, it feels like I’m facing a really well-dressed firing squad.

They sit quietly, listening as I tell them everything, and I mean everything. I tell them about our hookups, and his sweet words, and how I’ve always been too scared to believe him—too scared to take another leap after the first Kelly fiasco. I tell them how he ignites a fire in my bloodstream that burns me from the inside out, and I tell them about our date at FIRE, and how he took Kelly there first. By the time I make it to the end of the whole sordid tale, all three girls are wearing mirrored expressions of wide eyes and dropped jaws.

“Well, certainly didn’t see all that coming,” Myla Rose mutters.

“You didn’t? Because I kinda did,” Seraphine counters. “I mean, my Lord, you two even being in the same room ratchets the temperature up about twenty degrees. I’ve always thought y’all had a secret thing, and yay me! I was right.”

“No. Boo you! You were only halfway right. Because apparently, all we had was a ‘thing.’ Nothing more. Never anything more.”

“Oh, honey. I’m not so sure. Do you think you might have overreacted? Just a touch?” I train my glare on my best friend, but she’s feeling just as fiery as her red hair this morning and doesn’t back down. “For real, AzzyJo. Did you even let him get a word in edgewise?”

My shoulders droop, and shaking my head, I whisper, “No.”

“Didn’t think so, you stubborn girl.”

I’m about to try to defend myself when Seraphine’s phone starts buzzing up a storm. She glances at the screen and immediately starts for the door. “What’s wrong?” Magnolia asks her.

“Dad’s nurse says they need me back. I gotta go!”

“Is Uncle Dave okay?” Magnolia asks, darting up to follow her cousin.

“I don’t know, but—”

“C’mon, I’ll drive,” Magnolia says, and I cringe just a little because the girl is an awful driver.

“Let us know what’s goin’ on,” Myla and I holler after them. Then it’s just me and Myla Rose. Neither one of us speak. She’s busy texting on her phone, probably telling Cash that something’s up with Seraphine’s dad. Bless her. His doctors aren’t sure how much longer his heart can hold out, and I’m not sure she can handle losing him.

“I’m gonna go shower, okay?” I say, breaking the silence.

“Sounds good, sister-girl. I’ll whip us up something to eat.”

* * *

Myla’s idea of making us something to eat was actually ordering a pizza, but that’s fine by me. We polish the entire medium pie off in no time flat, and then she grabs my brush off the nightstand and begins the task of untangling my hair.

She’s about halfway through when the first text from Drake pings through.

Assface: Can we talk?

Assface: Please, Azalea? Five minutes. Uninterrupted. That’s all I’m asking.

“Is that him?” Myla Rose asks, but before I get a chance to reply, two more messages come though.

Assface: Come on, Bit. It says you’ve read them. I know you’re there.

Assface: Just hear me out, Azalea. I at least deserve that.

“Do you think it’s possible, maybe even a little, that I jumped to conclusions?” I ask Myla Rose as I read and re-read Drake’s texts.

She ponders my question for a few moments before replying, “Yeah, I really do.”

Assface: Okay, Azalea. You win for now. But the minute you’re ready to listen . . .

I have shit to say.

Deep down, and I mean real deep, I know I need to go to him and listen. But I’m scared. It seems like every time I’ve ever tried putting myself out there, it blows up in my face. And I’m so, so tired of shit blowing up in my face.

“Just like you told me with Cash, you need to talk to him and listen to what he has to say,” Myla Rose tells me, her voice soft and soothing.

“What if I don’t like what he has to say?” My lower lip trembles as my mind races with possibilities.

“That’s life, sister-girl.”