THIRTY

DEVLIN

Well, damn.

Ella’s last jab hangs in the air. The smoke after a gunshot.

With Maria’s directness, Ella was bound to know we have history. And it definitely isn’t friendship.

Awkward is the food we eat. Should have known this dinner was a damn bad idea.

My fork hangs mid-air, while Tom’s fork is frozen halfway to his mouth.

Maria’s smile completely vanishes, replaced by wide, glassy eyes and parted lips. She looks gut-punched.

The silence is so thick, the ...