I waited until they were finished — until at least ten seconds of silence had passed. Then I looked up through tear-streaked eyes, trying my best to keep it together.
“It was never like that,” I said miserably. “Not ever.”
“You lied, Brooke.”
“About some things, yes,” I said, my mouth dry. “But not about us. That part was real for me. Is real for me! I— I just…”
I let my sentence trail off, expecting at any moment to be interrupted again. But they were silent now. Emotionally spent.
“It all started out as a lie,” I said. “But then I fell for you. All three of you, each in your own way.” I swallowed hard. The lump in my throat felt like a small apple. “I wanted to be Hannah,” I said. “For you. For me. For all of us. I wanted to live her life, to enjoy things the way she did. The freedom from societal norms. The ability to let go, and enjoy the affections of three amazing people without any guilt.”
Their silence continued, as I scrambled for something to wipe my tears. A few hours ago, they would’ve all rushed to my side. Right now, they only stood to leave.
“We loved you Brooke,” said Adam quietly. “Or rather, we loved Hannah. She was everything we ever wanted. Everything we’d been looking for.”
Through my tear-glassed eyes I could see Dante, nodding soberly. Trey too.
“We’re sorry it went this way,” Adam finished. “But know what’s the worst part? If you’d only told us, we would’ve understood. We could’ve helped you out with your article. Given you the best piece that magazine’s ever seen.”
One by one they filed past me, moving with all the somberness of a funeral procession. In a way, that’s exactly what it was. The death of our relationship.
“Goodbye Brooke,” someone murmured. “And… good luck.”
Sobbing openly now, I felt a soft, hesitant touch. One last lingering hand, tracing lightly across my shoulder.
And then they were gone.
Twenty-Nine
DANTE
She’d deceived us. Used us. Started our whole relationship on one big lie. We had every reason to be absolutely furious with her. To never, ever talk to her again.
So then why the hell did I feel like shit?
“Here’s to another one down the drain,” Adam toasted. “She was a good one, this one. Better than most.”
He was drunk. To be honest, I was getting there myself. Trey was sober of course; Trey hardly put anything in his body that wouldn’t make it stronger or sharper, although in this case he’d actually drank two whole pints.
“Here’s to Hannah,” I said, then stopped mid-toast. “No wait… Brooke.”
“Nah,” said Trey, clinking both our glasses. “Fuck Brooke, you had it right the first time. Here’s to Hannah.”
We grinned weakly and tipped our mugs back, and for a good five or ten seconds all I could think about was how good the beer felt sliding down my throat. Three arms swung down. Three mugs clacked back to the shitty wooden table, and the grim reality of our situation set back in.
Hannah was gone.
“God she had a great ass,” Adam swore.
“A great mouth too,” I acknowledged.
“Every part of her was great,” Trey agreed. “Except her real name. Her occupation. Her reasons for meeting up with us.”
A rogue dart-player stumbled backward, bumping into Trey’s chair. He started grumbling curses under his breath, but only until he glanced down. Once he got an eyeful of Trey’s size and shape, his whole expression changed.
“Uh… sorry man.”
Trey nodded and waved him off. “No worries.”