I did.
I fucked up.
And everyone here knows it.
Even Maisy.
“Did you break something, Bark?” she asks, concern in her voice.
“Sure did,” Pen mutters.
“I… t...ol..d you—” Tyler growls. One look at him, and adrenal glands fire. He wants to beat the shit out of me, and I’m going to let him.
Still, I put up my hands. “I just need to—” But that’s as far as I get. Not because Tyler lunges at me like he’s poised to do.
But because something small bounces off my temple. I frown at the blueberry that lands and rolls across the floor.
I turn to the table. A dish of blueberries and strawberries sits in front of a glaring Livy.
“What the—”
“Nice aim, honey, but you’re supposed to throw it through their door,” Pen says enigmatically.
“Oh. Darn.” Livy’s tone is flat, ringing false. “I forgot.”
I raise both hands now. “Guys, I know I messed up. I just—”
“How manyguysyou see here?” Livy fires off, scowling around the room. “I just see one. He’s about to slaughter a pig, but everyone else in here identifies as female.”
“You’re right. You’re right—” I stammer, knowing I don’t need more than one battle to fight right now.“Friends,I know I messed up. I just need to talk to Stella.”
“You will do no such thing,” Pen says, stepping in front of me and crossing her arms over her chest. “Not until shewantsto talk to you.”
Stella’s just two rooms away, hating me, I’m sure, and I have to fix this. I have to make her understand.
“Look, you don’t get it. I have to talk to her.” I cut right to by-pass Pen, and quicker than I thought he could move, Tyler is in my face.
“No.” The word comes out through clenched teeth. His hands are fists at his sides.
I meet his eyes, wanting him to see I’m not a threat. Not to him. Not to Stella.
“Tyler, just let me by. We’ll talk. I’ll clear things u—”
“G...et… f...uck...ed.”
His bared teeth and flared nostrils are feral. Yeah, I deserve the beating he wants to give me, but not here in Stella’s kitchen. Not in front of Maisy. Not in front of Nina. Livy and Pen would probably thrill at the prospect, but the other two would be traumatized.
I take two steps back. “Fine.”
I sweep my gaze across the room and find no quarter. All eyes—even Maisy’s—condemn me. As they should.
“Fine,” I say again and back out of the room.
I’m hot with humiliation, sick with self-loathing. I need to get in my car and just drive, but to do that, I’d have to go out through the swinging door, the one that also leads to Stella’s room, and I know that’s not happening.
I’m out the front door, aiming for the corner. My plan? Walk down the back alley, get in my Jeep, and go somewhere to sort out my head.
I’m at the turn onto Convent Street when cathedral bells peal through the Sunday morning air. Nine a.m. mass is starting.