MASON
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It took Claire all of ten minutes to clear everyone from the house, her excuses ranging from tiredness to noise complaints from the neighbors. She ushered each person out the door with a performance worthy of an Oscar--smiles, hugs, nothing to worry about here--then grabbed a garbage bag as if she wanted to strangle it, and dived into cleaning up the place like a woman possessed.
Andy disappeared straight after the last guest had gone, announcing he was heading off to bed so the two of us could talk. Asshole knew exactly what he was doing. Not only had he avoided the whole clean-up process, but he'd passed the job of pulling his fiancée from her shitty mood on to me.
Now the house was quiet, it would have been the perfect time for Claire to start talking, apologizing, maybe groveling for forgiveness, but she seemed intent on shooting glares my way instead.
The last scowl as she stalked by pushed my patience to its limit.
I shifted one of the couches back to its usual position as she bent over the coffee table to shove some cans and paper plates into the bag. An angry action followed every one of her movements, like she needed a form of physical punctuation to remind me how annoyed she was with me. It probably would have made me smile if I hadn't been so pissed.
"Claire."
She grabbed a napkin and threw it in with the other crap, but it mustn't have made a satisfying enough sound because she kicked the bag against the leg of the coffee table.
When no answer followed, I spared the ceiling a glance and blew out a sigh, wondering why I was even bothering. The silent treatment had always been a major downside to having a girl for a best friend.
Just as I opened my mouth to try again, Claire dropped the bag and sank onto the edge of the sofa. She threw me a resigned look and hid her face in her hands, groaning through her fingers.
Well, at least now we were getting somewhere.
I stood there looking at her, trying to pinpoint the moment when she'd changed from the friendly, easy-going girl I used to know to this stressed-out version today. We'd been friends since we were ten, and I knew everything about her. No major life events had triggered the shift, I wasn't aware of any mental health issues. She'd always been popular and well liked--which in my experience didn't necessarily mean the same thing.
It made zero sense.
I took in her defeated posture, the way her blue dress dipped low in the back, her bent position highlighting all the bumps in her spine. She looked fragile now rather than fierce, and the anger I'd felt toward her and this entire clusterfuck of an evening suddenly faded to nothing.
With a loud breath, I stepped around the couch and sank into the spot beside her. She'd pulled her hair into a knot on top of her head, and a few loose strands had got tangled in the catch on her necklace. My palm came to rest between her shoulders, and I flicked the wisps free with my thumb. She didn't react.
As time went on and the silence continued, it became increasingly obvious she wouldn't be the one to speak first.
Claire and I could be as stubborn as each other, but I didn't have the time or energy to get into a standoff with her. I wanted to ease her mind, make her understand everything between Sadie and me would turn out fine. There were only a handful of people in my life I'd do anything for, and she'd been at the top of my list for a long time now. Being alone with her in my room had only solidified those feelings.
"I love her," I finally said. Sadie should have been the one to hear those words first, but I needed to get through to Claire and make it clear this wasn't just some passing thing. "I'm in love with her. Have been for years."
"I know that, doofus," she said, her fingers muffling her words.
My hand froze as I stared at her profile. I'd told her about my interest in Sadie a few times, but I'd never gone into detail about how strong those feelings were. "How?"
She lifted her head and sent me a sideways glance. "I've seen the way you look at her. It's always when you think no one's watching, and every time it just... it makes me want to go into a full-scale panic attack." She straightened, chewing on her lower lip the same way Sadie did whenever something bothered her. "She feels the same way about you. I'm guessing you know that by now."
"She talked to you about this?"
"No." Claire gave me a fleeting smile. "She sneaks looks at you as well. It's so pathetically romantic I can barely stand watching the two of you."
I frowned and tried to get my head around what she'd told me. If she could see how much we cared about each other, shouldn't that make her happy? "If you know all this, why are you trying so hard to keep me away from her? I don't get it."
She blew out a breath and shifted her attention to the blank screen of the TV. I expected her to rattle off reasons related to her and I being friends and concerns over the friction it might cause somewhere down the track, but she came out with something unrelated instead. "Because she looks at you the same way I looked at him."
Her shoulders tensed at the mere mention of 'him'. Pity I had no idea who she was talking about. She'd been with Andy for the past six years, and I knew without asking that she wasn't referring to her fiance. "Who?"
Claire shoved her hair from her forehead and gave me a look that made me think of a cornered animal. "Do we have to talk about this? I really don't want to talk about this."
The way her gaze kept bouncing from one object to another said otherwise. She wanted to get it over with, to experience the relief of no longer carrying it around. It was just the first step that scared her, and she needed a push. "Fine. Let's not talk. I could be sleeping anyway." Or calling Sadie, or a million other things instead of sitting here testing how long my patience could hold out.
When I made a move to stand, she grabbed my forearm right on cue and stopped me. "Wait. Just... wait. I need a second. If I don't get this out now, it'll be hanging over my head for the rest of my life."
A tad dramatic, but since we were making progress, I held back from commenting. I sank back against the couch cushions again and waited for her to kick off a conversation I hoped would make everything clearer.
"I'm referring to Justin," she said, keeping her eyes averted.
I didn't need a surname or a physical description to jog my memory. She was talking about Justin Roberts, the idiot she'd had a thing for back in high school. Spiked black hair, leather jacket and a shit-eating grin came to mind, along with the familiar urge to punch his weasel face. The combination of him and Claire had never made sense, but I'd given up trying to figure out teenage girls back when I was still a teenager myself.
