“I don’t have any misconceptions.” She plants her hands on her hips. “These children are too young to understand what it means to be gay, and you’re confusing them. I won’t stand for it.”
I ignore her comments because nothing I say will get through to her—certainly not here, with an audience.
Instead, I stick my hands in my coat pockets, mainly to keep myself from strangling her right here on the sidewalk. “Well, I just wanted to come over here to say thank you. You’re the one who inspired me to start this organization. Your bigotry and hatred made me realize what’s lacking in this community. I wouldn’t be standing here with all of these people without you, so thank you.”
Several of her friends murmur to each other, while Molly sputters.
I lift one of the cups and hold it out to her. “Are you sure you don’t want some? My boyfriend made it, and he’s a self-proclaimed hot chocolate connoisseur, so it’ll probably be the best hot chocolate you’ve ever tasted.”
She scoffs. “Your boyfriend? Which one? It’s hard to keep things straight with the way you’re spreading your legs to multiple men.”
Cassidy steps forward, but my hand shoots out to grab her wrist and pull her back. “Oh, he’s right there.” I point my index finger at Stephen across the street. “The six-foot tall ginger who’s wearing the fuck out of those gray sweatpants.”
Molly’s cheeks redden. She’s clearly rattled that she isn’t getting a rise out of me. “You’re a whore, you know that? That’s what all the moms at school are saying about you.”
My heart rate spikes, but I hike a nonchalant shoulder to appear unfazed. “They don’t say the nicest things about you either, Molls, though I’m sure you’re already aware of those rumors.” I haven’t heard any rumors, but she doesn’t know that, and now she’ll be wondering what everyone’s saying about her. “It’s such a shame that women behave like that, isn’t it? In this kind of political climate, we should be banding togetherand supporting one another instead of tearing each other down. They’re playing right into the hands of the patriarchy.”
“This is just the beginning. You won’t get very far with what you’re trying to do. I won’t allow it.” Molly balls her hands into fists and speaks through gritted teeth. “You’re a poison in this town, Presley. I can’t wait to put you down like the bitch you are.”
God, how easy it would be to lay her out with one punch.
I swallow down the words itching to climb out of my throat. “I’m so sorry for the hate you’re harboring in your heart. I truly hope you find happiness in your life.”
She scoffs. “I am happy. You don’t know anything about my life.”
I gesture to the group before me with their insulting posters, and start walking backwards. “This isn’t what happy looks like, Molls.”
She continues yelling, but I spin around and link arms with Cassidy—mostly to drag her ass across the street with me so she doesn’t hurt anyone.
“You have a lot of self-control,” Cassidy says, shaking her head. “I don’t know how you let her speak to you like that, and remained so calm. My blood is boiling for you.”
“She’s not worth it, Cass. Besides...” I direct her attention to the camera crew who no doubt recorded the whole scene. “The whole city is going to see her true colors, and know that we are nothing like that.”
Scanning the field for Avery and Alyssa, I find them together as they teach Giuliana how to play kickball, and my heart squeezes at the sight of Chance laughing with Alexander as they watch the kids from the sidelines.
Today is one of the best days I’ve ever had, and I get to spend it with the most important people in my life. I feel so fortunate that the universe brought me back to Stephen and Chance.
I pity Molly. I truly do. How awful it must feel to be her? To wake up filled with hate every day. To always be so twisted up with anger. To need to tear others down because you can’t find love from within yourself.
“Pres!” Celeste shouts my name from the far side of the field. “They’re ready for you.”
I suck in a deep breath and straighten my shoulders, tipping my face to the sky.
Wish you were here, Allie.
Hope you’re watching.
“Who wants to go first?”
“Me.” Presley shoots up out of her seat like an overexcited kid. “It’s been so long since I’ve gotten a tattoo; I’ve been itching to get a new one.”
Quinn, the tattoo artist, laughs and waves us into the room. “Come on, then.”
We’re led down the hall into one of the rooms. Colorful artwork hangs from the walls, some of them on sketch paper and others framed.
“Did you draw all of these?” I ask.
Quinn gestures for Chance and I to sit in the chairs against the wall. “Some of them are mine, but I like to collect original pieces from other tattoo artists when I travel for conventions.”