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Seven
     
    Tobin
     

     

     
    “ That’s great,” I say. The sarcasm hangs heavy in my voice. I can’t fight it. I wonder how much of her happiness is genuine and how much is because it’s the right thing. The safe thing. The complete opposite of what she had with me.
     
    “ So, what about you? Are you seeing anyone?” she asks. She won’t look up from her hands, folded neatly in her lap.
     
    I laugh because it’s all I can do. She can’t be serious. Screw the daring tough guy image. What happened with us broke me.
     
    “ D, let’s not even go there.” I shake my head and she just nods.
     
    “ It’s this one coming up here on the right,” she says.
     
    “ I know which house it is, Delia.” I’ve been here a thousand times. Helped her sneak out. Caught her as she slid out of her window. My hands would glide up the length of her perfect body. She trusted me so implicitly. She knew I’d never let her fall, never let her get hurt. Christ, I’ve got to stop.
     
    “ Why didn’t you call me when it happened? With Eamon, I mean,” she asks.
     
    She peaks out from under her dark lashes. She has too much makeup on. I want to tell her to wipe all that shit off of her face. You can’t even see her. Not the real her, anyway. Course, I don’t even know who the real Delia Gentry is now, maybe I never did. She was a completely different person with me than she was with everyone else. That daring girl from the boat launch was a secret. Something that only I brought out in her.
     
    I thought it was a good thing, but based on how quickly she moved on, I guess it wasn’t who she wanted to be.
     
    “ I wasn’t really in the frame of mind to go tracking you down, Delia.” Also, I’ve sort of spent the last year trying to forget you ever existed. “And you don’t really have the greatest track record with answering my calls,” I say. The words come out much more harsh than I’d intended, stinging even my tongue, and I can tell by the look on her face she’s feeling it too. I don’t know what the point of this was. We don’t have anything left to say.
     
    It’s been a year since I’ve driven down this road. The houses on this end of Crawford are massive and immaculate. Pristine lawns with sprinklers on timers. Gaudy, illuminated fountains in each of the yards. My noisy, beat up truck doesn’t belong here. I stop three houses down from hers, the brakes squeaking and the engine idling rough until I give in and shut it off.
     
    I don’t even have to explain.
     
    She shrugs and nods. “Yeah, it’s probably better this way.”
     
    I stare straight out the windshield, trying to make sense of the night. Trying to think of a way to say good-bye to her. Again.
     
    Then I see them. What the fuck is he doing here? Mr. Gentry, looking as pompous and full of hair gel as I remember the asshole. I squint to make sure I’m seeing correctly. The boyfriend. Weston. Here.
     
    “ I think you’d better go,” I say. Each word is clipped and controlled. Not revealing the rage I feel right now.
     
    She bites her bottom lip and looks confused as she stares out the windshield.
     
    “ Okay,” she says. “They weren’t supposed to be here. I’m so sorry, Tobin.” She knows. How could she not?
     
    “ Just go, D,” I say. I wonder if it sounds like begging. Its how I feel.
     
    She slips down out of the truck, but leans back into the cab, her jaw tight, her eyes fixed on me.
     
    “ You have no idea what kind of pressure I’m under, Tobin. You don’t know how hard it is out there, being a senator’s daughter . Being the country girl in D.C.”
     
    I can’t look at her.
     
    “ You left me first,” she says.
     
    I want to scream bullshit , but instead tighten my grip on the steering wheel, and try not to see the younger version of Delia’s dad in the driveway. The guy she’ll probably end up marrying—I just hope she doesn’t end up like her mother. That I couldn’t