Abby’s face is stark and earnest and Fitz is completely focused on her.

Doubt fills me. They have a history that I shouldn’t get involved in.

I know he said he’s not going back to her, but . . . what if he changes his mind?

“There you are. I got you a drink.” Duke is suddenly right next to me, too close in the crowded space, handing me a bottle of beer.

I drag my eyes away from the scene outside the window. “Thanks.” I pop open the lid using the edge of the bookshelf and take a long drink before wiping my mouth with the back of my hand.

“You okay?” He nudges me with his shoulder.

“I’m fine.”

“Is the beer okay?”

“I guess. I don’t drink very much. Only when I have to.”

His eyes crinkle at me. “And when do you have to?”

“To test the moonshine.”

A surprised chuckle escapes him. “You’re full of surprises, aren’t you? Tell me, Einstein, what do you know about poker? Can you play?”

Granny taught me when I was six and I’ve been beating her nine out of ten times ever since. It wasn’t hard once I figured out how to calculate the odds and count cards in my head. Statistically, it isn’t a guaranteed win, but it does increase your chances.

“I can.”

“Do you want to play with us, or are you gonna break my heart again?”

“When did I break your heart before?”

“Well, you know I’ve been betting on you every time and you’ve lost the past two Bedlams.”

“Sorry about that.”

“Hey, no biggie. You can make it up by playing a couple games with me.” His smile is slow and assured.

I shoot a glance back into the yard.

The crowd moves and shifts and there’s Abby again. Still with Fitz. Leaning into him. His hand is on her arm as they head around the side of the house.

I smile at Duke. “I can play.”

16

I have decided to stick with love. Hate is too great a burden to bear.

—Martin Luther King Jr.

Fitz

Immediately after the laser tag, Reese disappears into the crowd.

I have no idea what’s going on with us. Well, actually, I know exactly what’s going on and I want to pick up where we left off before I accidently shot her.

But instead of seeing her in the throng of partiers, I see a different female who’s the opposite of what I want.

Abby.

She’s with Kevin.

His face is a thundercloud and hers is wan and tired but it’s an improvement over hammered and stumbling.

She says something to him that makes the thundercloud darken into a hurricane, and he storms off.

But still . . . she doesn’t quite look like herself. After our talk the other night, I thought she was doing better. Even though I don’t want to ask, I have to.

“Abby, what are you doing here?”

“I know you don’t want to see me. Kevin picked me up earlier and I swear I didn’t know he would bring me here.”