Aiming to eliminate any possible rumors that something might have gone array between Mike and me, I return to the party. I've still got a half an hour before I should be getting back home, so I take a seat next to Gavin, where he sits nursing a headache, and sip on my Diet Pepsi.

"Where've you been?" he asks, turning his hanging head in my direction, a lazy grin on his tired face.

"My ex showed up," I tell him honestly. Since the rest of the guys already know, I figure Gavin might as well too.

"Uh..." He holds the word out for an exaggerated length of time before scrunching his brows up in confusion. "Aren't we literally at your ex's house?"

I laugh, enjoying the hungover version of Gavin. There's just something about the look on his face that has me squishing myself up against him and snuggling into his side. He chuckles, looping his arm around my shoulders.

"Different ex," I mumble, scanning the crowd for Jessie's familiar black hair. I spot him in the pool, guzzling beer and laughing like he hasn't a care in the world. And in that moment, I hate him.

My chest burns. The desire to confront him for what he's put me through sizzles through my nervous system, jumbling my sensibility. The only thing keeping me from marching right up to him and spitting in his face is Gavin's arm around me. Though, if I'm being entirely honest, even if Jessie confronted me first, I'd probably bury my bitterness and muddle my way through being as polite as possible. I've never been good at confrontation or putting the spotlight on myself, even when I have every right to do so.

"You're so warm," I say, squeezing myself further against Gavin. "Can I get a blanket made out of you?"

He chokes, laughter squeezing out between coughs. "Well," he says, clearing his throat, humor woven into his words. "I mean, you'd have to skin me in order to do that, so I'm just going to say, no, I do not give permission for that, no matter how cold you are. Though, I'll take cuddles any time you need them."

"You're the best," I chuckle, tipping my Pepsi against my lips and taking a bubbly chug.

"Also," he adds. "I do make a mean cup of tea. That might help warm you up. How 'bout it? I think my head could use a cup too."

I think about it for a moment, checking the time before finally giving in.

"That'd be awesome. Thank you, Gav."

"No problemo, my dear lady."

Then he's sauntering off toward the house.

I sit in silence, my knees now pulled to my chest as I work heat into my skin with the palm of my left hand. With the other, I continue to sip on my drink, eyes observing the various people milling around the yard. As horrendous as this evening has gone, I can't help but be grateful that I came. These guys are my best friends. Back in college, Emma was pretty much my only best girl friend. Now that she's married with a baby on the way, and living three hours from here, it's been harder to keep in touch. Though, we do try.

The truth is, when things got bad, I sort of internalized everything. I internalized my pain and my life. I keep to my home and work, not leaving much time for play. Pretty sure that's why my dad was so eager to get me out of the house tonight. My parents want to see me happy, and getting out and seeing my old friends might just be a step in that direction.

"Hey, sis," I hear Chuck say as he walks up the three steps to the porch with his wife, Felicia, beside him. "It's getting late, so we're gonna take off."

"Okay," I say, standing to wrap them each in a hug. I glance down at Felicia, who's about four inches shorter than me, and smile. "Sorry I wasn't very social tonight. I'll definitely try and make my way to Peoria sometime before the baby comes so we can hang out properly."

"Sounds wonderful," Felicia answers, hugging me one last time before the two of them say their goodbyes and head through the door.

A moment later, Gavin returns, struggling to slide open the door with two steaming cups of tea. A girl standing nearby helps him out, her sweet smile not going unnoticed by Gavin. As he approaches me, he tilts his head toward the girl, as if asking if I'd seen their short interaction.

"I think she's the one," he whispers after handing me my drink and settling down next to me.

"Why's that?" I laugh, blowing the steam from my cup.

"Did you not see her?" His eyes are wide, words swollen with awe. "One: she's gorgeous, and two: she's nice."

"So any pretty girl who opens the door for you is 'the one' then?" I ask, pretending to follow his logic with rapt interest.

"Well, yeah," he grunts, shooting me an appalled look.

"So, uh..." I try to hide the smile from my lips behind my mug. "If I opened the door for you...?"

"Then I guess we'd be getting married." He answers so nonchalantly that I can't wipe the amusement off my face.

"You just told me I'm gorgeous, you know that?"

"Uh, yeah," he says, taking a sip from his drink and hissing when it scorches his tongue. "And Gavin Richards does not lie."

I shove him playfully. "You're an idiot."

"Hmmm." He taps his chin thoughtfully. "That might pose a problem for our marriage... unless you've got a thing for idiots."

I just shrug, taking a drink. "Not sure I've got a choice. All men have some level of idiocy."

Gavin turns his attention to me with sharp offense, eyes narrowed and one hand grasping his chest like he's in pain.

"How dare you?" he starts to say, but his voice fades slightly with each word. "Actually," he says after a moment of consideration. "You might be right. Men are idiots. But then again, women are vain, so..."

"We're not vain!" I defend, rearing back with a look of amused horror on my face.

"When's the last time you left the house without make-up on?"

Seconds tick by.

"Okay, fine," I concede. "But we're not all vain."

"And not all men are idiots."

"Fair point—"

"Myself for example," he cuts me off, using his finger to smooth over his eyebrow. Scratching his temple with his thumb, he adds, "I'm a genius."

"Yeah," I laugh. "A genius who belongs on the women's list for vanity."

"Maybe. But it can't be denied. I'm beautiful," he shrugs. "All the guys tell me I've got a face that women envy."

"Yeah," I agree. "Because it's soft and smooth and blemish-free. Who wouldn't envy that?"

He huffs again. "You're no fun."

I nudge his shoulder with my own, laughter dancing between us as we finish off our tea.

"Welp," I say, slapping my thigh with one hand as I stand. "I should get going."

"Noooo," he moans, clinging to my arm as I try to pull away from him. "Don't leave me."

Patting him on the head with a smile, I shake my head. "You're gonna be just fine."

In response, he sticks out his tongue. Then he's standing, snatching my empty mug from my hand and pulling me in for a hug and a chaste kiss to the cheek before shooing me away.

"Call me sometime," he calls after me when I get to the bottom of the porch steps. "We can't keep meeting up just once a year, especially when we live so close. It's too hard on me emotionally."

"You're such a sap," I tease, turning and heading toward Chris as I call 'Love ya!' over my shoulder at Gavin.

"...the thing is, he never even knew!" Chris is saying, his voice boisterous with excitement. "It went on for at least three months. Every morning, same thing happened. He swears it was a ghost." His eyes flicker to mine. "Lindsey! Where were you?"

He yanks me toward him and introduces me to the unfamiliar faces gathered around. I smile politely, though part of me has reached its limit. Tonight just feels overwhelming and I'm ready to return to the welcome softness of my bed, where I'll most likely lay awake staring at the ceiling while I mull Mike's kiss around in my head over and over until it hypnotizes me to sleep.

"Hey, have you seen Andy?" I ask when one of the other guys finally takes over the conversation.

Chris glances down at me for a moment, a brow lifting in thought before he turns to scan the yard. He even pushes up onto his tiptoes to get a better view and then shrugs.

"Nope." His answer is simple, like he hadn't even noticed that Andy was gone. "We call him the Illusionist. He tends to disappear. We think he just hates goodbyes."

"Really?" I laugh. "Why?"

"Who knows," he lifts a single shoulder, returning his attention to the conversation.

"Hey," I say, cutting in once more. "I'm gonna take off. When will I get to see you again?"

"Not sure," he tells me. "Work usually dominates my life, but maybe we could try to make something happen once a month? I'm less than an hour away, so there's gotta be some way that we can plan better. I miss the gang."

"Me too," I agree. "That'd be nice."

I give him a side hug and slip through the crowd. I've never been so ready for solitude. I used to love crowds. I loved people. But with age and responsibility, I've also grown a love for privacy. Maybe a little too much at times.

I'm relieved to make it out of the house without spotting anyone else. Mike must have passed out in his room or something and, thankfully, the party was too busy for Jessie to even notice me. I don't think he left the pool once while I was out there.

Dragging my feet toward my car, I see something white, folded into a very specific shape of a triangle and tucked beneath my windshield wiper. Guess I know what Mike was up to while I was out back. Seems this might be a new tradition for him.

Plucking the note from its hideout, I unfold the paper and let the two words settle into my frazzled mind.

I'm sorry.

That's it. That's all it says, but somehow knowing that he feels some kind of regret or responsibility for what happened tonight helps. Unless he's apologizing for the kiss. I push the thought away and refold the page before tucking it into my back pocket and sliding into my car. Somehow, I feel like so much happened tonight, and yet, nothing really did. I saw a bunch of people I haven't seen in months, some years—one of which I wouldn't have minded never seeing again—and I got to experience the familiar warmth of Mike's kiss, an experience I never thought I'd have again.

It seems surreal. He's always been a good kisser but never extraordinary. I think the thing that keeps me aching for more is the comfort I feel when we share moments like that. Feeling his arms around me, tasting the sweetness on his lips. It offers a kind of nostalgia. It's a sensation I'm not sure I'll ever be willing to let go of even though we've both outgrown the emotions associated with it.

Pulling into my parent's driveway, I shut off my car and make my way to the front door. The closer I get, the more energized I become. It's strange how just a few hours can leave me homesick for all this.

Slipping inside, I find my dad snoring on the couch, the TV still working to entertain him even though it failed its mission long ago. From the looks of it, he's been out for a while. Smiling, I bypass the living room and head toward the bathroom to ready myself for bed.

Tiptoeing into my room, I snag my pajamas off the back of the computer chair and strip off my outerwear. As I slide my shirt over my torso, my fingers skim the lines of my scar. A scar that nearly killed me.

What would the guys think? Lindsey Brewster isn't as innocent and put together as they all believe me to be, because I've got a secret...

And she's sleeping soundly in the crib beside my bed.

---

Yo! How is everyone tonight/today? Tell me something about yourself. :p

From the comments, I don't feel like anyone suspected this ending, but it's hard to tell. Were you surprised? There's a lot we still don't know and I'm super excited to get into the meat of this story. :D