“It’s over now, so it doesn’t matter.” I shrug and avoid his astute stare. “I’ll be fine.”

“Man, you look like shit. Are you sure you’ll be fine? Do I need to lock away all the sharp objects?”

“I’m more likely to become homicidal than suicidal.”

“Don’t kill Jamie before Sunday dinner. Tomorrow she’s making her homemade tortellini.” He chuckles. “After is fine, though. I’ll even help you bury the body.”

This earns a smirk from me. Hugo is one of the few people who can bring me out of one of my dark moods. If it weren’t for Hugo back then, when Dad and Jamie nearly destroyed me, I would have gone to a low place and never returned. His annoying ass won’t go away until he’s sure you’re not going to off yourself.

“I really am sorry about your campaign.”

“And I’m sorry about your breakup.” He tilts his head up and stares at the ceiling. “Why God likes to punish us Parks is beyond me.”

“I blame Dad. He sold his soul and each of ours upon birth to the devil in order to make more money.”

“Sold his soul to the devil?” Hugo grins. “Nah, I think he just married her.”

This makes me smile in return. I’m thankful as fuck I can always count on Hugo. The rest of my life may be going to shit, but my brother always has my back and knows just what to say.

“Come on,” Hugo barks out, rising to his feet. “Grab a shower and shave your pretty boy face. I’m starving and you need a stiff drink. Let’s get out of here and go somewhere where we can shit talk all your exes.”

Gemma: I’m worried about Willa. Did she say anything to you when you dropped her off?

My mood, improved by Hugo’s company and a steak dinner, sours instantly. He dropped me off not five minutes ago and I’m already back in this deep, dark hole of feeling sorry for myself at just the mention of Willa’s name.

Me: She was fine when I dropped her off.

Gemma: I went by to grab my stuff today and she was in bed. Her mom was taking care of her. Said she had a bug, but I don’t believe it. Her stepbrother is a prick. I just worry.

As much as I don’t want to care, I can’t deny that I do. That asshole’s smug face pops into my mind.

Me: You’re a good friend. If she seems weird in class on Monday, I’ll ask her if she’s okay.

The thought of talking to her has both a ripple of dread and a slight thrill of desire warring for ownership in my body.

Gemma: You’re the best.