17
GAVIN
Whitley wasn’t breathing.
Her mouth was agape, eyes wide and tear-brimmed, and she just stopped. As if time had frozen.
I’d suggested we move to my apartment, thinking that we could have one glass of wine and then we could busy her parents out of the place. That it would be a lot easier to get rid of them if we were in my apartment. I hadn’t considered that they were going to drop a bomb in the middle of my living room.
“Whitley?” her mom said softly.
She said nothing. She stared at her father in abject horror.
“Whitley, honey,” her dad began.
“How … how long have you known?” she forced out.
“About a week.”
“We tried to call,” her mom interjected. “We bought the tickets to come see you when you didn’t answer. The engagement was just … a happy coincidence.” Her smile wide
