Chapter 32: Michelle Jones II

Bzzzzzz… Bzzzzzz… Bzzzzzzz…

Michelle aggressively slapped at her nightstand, desperate to kill the noise. Her palm felt the cool plastic of her phone case, the vibrations shaking her nightstand that it almost sounded like a woodpecker. She kept smashing her hand on her phone, but it wouldn't stop.

Michelle flopped in her bed, craning her neck up to see who was the responsible party for calling her at an ungodly hour. She squinted at the screen and saw Peter's cute face lit up.

She sat up, snatching her phone and answered the call. "Peter?"

"Sorry."

"For what?"

"Calling you. Now. At this time."

Something sounded different. His voice… it was nasally. Like he had been crying. "Are you okay?"

She heard a deep, ragged breath from his end. "No."

"What's wrong?" she asked, turning on her bedside lamp. What could have happened since they left the dance?

She heard nothing for a minute. Only heavy breathing of a person trying to not cry. "I'm sorry."

"Stop saying sorry!" Michelle became nervous. What was happening? "Peter—where are you? Are you with Ned?"

"No, I'm not with Ned. I… I'm leaving New York. Again."

Michelle's heart dropped. "What?" she sat up, clutching her phone. "Why?"

"Mr. Osborn—"

"What about that creep?" Michelle never liked Norman Osborn. Even without knowing anything about the man, it only took Michelle a single glimpse to know the CEO of Oscorp was a jackass. His treatment to his son alone was enough to warrant the title douche.

However, she didn't expect him to be labeled a murderer too.

"He killed my parents."

Michelle sat in her bed. She listened to every single word Peter told her. She clutched the phone, staring straight ahead as she comprehended what Peter said. At first, she couldn't believe it, but the more Peter talked, the more it became clear. It made a lot of sense. Norman's persistent talks in regards to Peter, his narrowed focus on him during dinner and his bitterness when Peter wasn't coming to the basketball game. It all added up.

She assumed it was because of his status as a superhero, but it was far darker than anyone suspected. Michelle felt faint listening to Peter unravel the horrible truth of his past.

"Peter…" She wasn't even sure what to say to him. Only his name, hoping it was enough to convey her sympathies for him.

She heard him sniffle. "I need you to do me a favor," he said after a moment. "If you can."

"Anything." She meant it too.

"I need you and Ned to check on Harry."

The phone nearly slipped out of her hand. She forgotten about Harry. Not purposefully. Her first thoughts were of Peter and his feelings about the devastating reveal. Yet, of course Peter would remember Harry. He too would be hurting to know his own father was a worse monster than he thought.

Peter snuffled loudly and let out an unsteady breath. "I need to make sure he's okay," he said. "I-I tried calling him. He's not answering. I just… I need him to know I don't blame him."

"Okay."

"I don't blame him."

"I know."

She waited as Peter gathered his bearings again. "I'm sorry, MJ," he murmured through the phone. "I—I… I don't know what to do."

Michelle wish she could do more than simply speak on the phone. She wasn't much of an affectionate person, but she could at least hold his hand, stand by his side and show she's with him.

She needed to say something though. Something to let him know she heard him. "Peter—"

She was cut off by a muffle of noises in the background. Another voice was talking, someone muttering to Peter. She couldn't quite hear the person as a whirling sound disrupted the words.

"Hey, um, I have to get going," Peter's voice returned.

"Where're you going?" she asked, remembering he said he was leaving New York again. And her.

"A safe house," Peter answered and he let out a long groan. "I'm so tired of it all."

Michelle understood. To be constantly under a microscope wasn't a prized life. The invasive public eye and the strenuous lengths to avoid it all would drag anyone down.

"When are you coming back?" she asked.

"I don't know, but not for long though. I want to be home."

Michelle imagined Peter facing up against the Avengers, fighting to return home. But what was home for him? The Compound? Queens? … her?

"Okay," she uttered. "Just… don't disappear."

"I'll come back," There was a brief pause. "I promise."

And Michelle wrapped that promise around her heart. "Be safe and… Peter?" she said, knowing that despite all the racket going on in the background at his end, he could still hear her, "I'm here for you. Always."

She couldn't see him, but from the way his voice sounded lighter, she pictured Peter smiling. Just a little smile. "Thanks, MJ," he said.

The sound in the background grew louder. Like an engine was ready to take off. "I have to go, but… please—Harry's going to need you guys. Make sure—"

"I know," Michelle said, not wishing Peter to go. "We will."

"Bye, MJ."

"Bye."

Michelle didn't hang-up right away. She noticed neither did Peter. She thought she could hear his breaths, breathing in over the speaker and wondered if he heard her breaths too. Probably.

It wouldn't be another minute before Michelle heard the line go dead.

The morning news was explosive. Almost every channel, newspaper and social media concentrated on the arrest and shooting of Norman Osborn. Every news anchor, journalist, and blogger focused on the crazy scene revolving around Osborn. Forget the Accords. Forget political disarray. Hell—forget climate change! The biggest news piece of the decade had everyone up in arms and gossiping nonstop.

Michelle went over to Ned's house right away. Her parents initially forbid it. Her brothers already called and told their parents that she was all over social media. Apparently, her dance with Peter made it onto Instagram, Tumblr, Twitter and—now—on television screens. Her parents freaked and didn't want her out of the house. Out of sight, out of mind, was her parents' motto. It was not Michelle's, so she snuck out her window and went on her way to Ned's house.

Ned was downtrodden. He looked as depressed as he was when Peter first went away. He didn't even change out of his pajamas when he let her inside their dark home. His mother pulled the blinds, blocking any journalist's attempts to catch a story from them.

Ned sat on his bed, head in his hands. "I can't believe it. I just can't."

"Have you tried calling Harry?"

Ned nodded. "Yeah. I did—I mean, I tried. He didn't answer."

Harry hadn't answered her calls or messages either. "Probably trying to process everything that has happened."

Ned snapped his head. "Do you think this is what he meant? When he had to leave for that family emergency?"

Michelle pondered. "Possibly. Probably."

Ned sunk further into the mattress, curling his shoulders over and almost looking like a ball. "I should have followed him. I should have made sure he was okay. The other night... when he told me... God! I didn't even ask what—"

"Hey!" She snatched his wrist, pulling his hand away from his face. "It's not your fault. You didn't know! None of us knew."

Yet her friend remained distress. Poor Ned. Always taking things to heart, thinking of all the ways he could have done better. If anyone could have done better, it would be her. Michelle didn't even realize Harry left until Ned told her. She honestly should have known something was up when Harry didn't text her at night like he always did. But, again, she didn't noticed.

If the news wasn't favorable to Norman Osborn, it didn't shine a good light on Harry. People questioned whether Harry knew about his father's insanity and obsession with the famed child-superhero. They even wondered if Harry was in on it the whole time, which Michelle found ridiculous! How would Harry be responsible for killing the Parkers when he was 5 years old? Yet, ignorant reporters doubted Harry's and Peter's friendship, some even suggesting that Harry only befriended Peter on his father's order. If any of them ever met Harry, they would know he would never follow his father's orders.

News outlets kept making links, connecting all sorts of mere coincidences between Harry and Peter (although, Michelle figured that Norman put Harry up in Midtown for the sole purpose to find any tidbits on Peter's whereabouts at the time, but again, she doubted Harry knew about it). It frustrated her that people were buying such tabloid nonsense! Particularly that scathing, uptight, blonde-bimbo Christine Everhart.

It only got worse the next few days. A few reporters staked out her house, irritating her father to the point he called the police. Cop cars pulled up and escorted the reporters away from their premise, but not off their block. An hour later, someone in a black SUV arrived, knocking on their door. He was a member of the Avengers' security detail, sent over to them by Stark's orders, to discuss security and privacy. Basically, don't say anything and keep doors locked.

And, one more thing. The official handed Michelle a phone. "Mr. Stark asked that you do not lose this," he said. "Better to break it than lose it. Although he asks to not do either."

Michelle stared at it. It was a regular mobile phone to her. A bit fancier than her iPhone, but still a phone. "Jeez, thanks, but I already have a phone," she said, handing it back to him. "I don't need it."

The official smiled, like her stubbornness was adorable rather than serious. "It's a Starkphone," he said. "It gives you a certain amount of... let's say, privacy. You can talk to anyone on the phone without being overheard by anyone else."

Michelle looked back down at the phone in realization. She turned it on and checked the list of contacts. Three names and numbers. Peter Parker. May Parker. And, emergency only. Michelle scrunched her nose, pondering the emergency contact briefly. She doubted it was the simple 9-1-1. Probably an Avengers emergency.

Her parents kept talking, asking question after question with the man. The official was polite and patient, answering all their questions with seriousness despite the absurdity of her parents' questions.

"The press has been made fully aware to not to harass your family," the official said. "Mr. Stark and company will file charges against any person or organization that goes after you or the Leeds' family."

With that securement, the official departed and Michelle went to her room. She fiddled with the phone, debating whether to contact Peter or not. After all, she hasn't kept her promise. She hadn't reached Harry.

Her trip to Wakanda was coming up too. With all the controversy, Michelle wanted to cancel it. Too much was happening at home that needed her attention. Her parents thought otherwise. Perfect time to go, they claimed. Get out of the city and away from the attention. Michelle argued against it. She claimed her friends needed her, but her parents only allowed a two day extension on the departure. No more.

She worried of her chances of ever getting a hold of Harry. The news persisted in spewing lies about him and his friendship with Peter. Hatred grew for the Osborn family. Protests occurred outside Oscorp to the point employees stopped going to work until they received police escort into the building.

Norman's condition remained a mystery. All anyone reported was that he was in critical condition. A few people have tried to locate the hospital he was treated, but no one could pinpoint the evil reincarnated individual. Of course, they all knew former Secretary Ross's location. He was promptly arrested and charged for child endangerment, conspiracy, bribery, kidnapping, extortions, peonage, and more that Michelle didn't care to get into. All she knew was that the former Secretary probably wished he didn't survive his home invasion a few months back.

In fact, she wondered if Norman Osborn preferred to be dead rather than return to life only to be thrown in jail for the rest of his life, his name and reputation ruined.

In any case, the people truly hurting from this ordeal were Peter and Harry. Those were the only two people Michelle was concerned about and drew all her focus on. If only Harry would answer his goddamn messages!

Harry finally reached out. He texted back to Ned, who immediately called Michelle. Harry was staying at the Mark Hotel. More like hiding out, according to Harry. Nonetheless, he invited them both to his room and that was where they found themselves that very afternoon.

The two of them arrived at the lobby together, dressed in their normal day clothes that highly offended the employees and visitors alike. She was certain the desk service wanted to escort them off until they listed the secret name.

Only then did they grudgingly allowed them access to the elevator with the room number. They stood patiently and quietly, both busy thinking what to say upon seeing their friend. The chimed rang and the doors opened for them to leave. They didn't have to search the door as an officer stood right outside one particular hotel door. That was enough for them to know who resided on the other side.

The security officer spotted them and knocked, addressing to the person on the other side that young Mr. Osborn's friends have arrived. Unlocked, Michelle and Ned entered to find another adult in the room, greeting them. He led them through the suite, coming to another closed door and telling Harry his friends were here.

The door immediately opened and Michelle saw a frail boy with unkempt hair falling across his forehead. Rings underneath his vivid eyes, wide and active as he glanced between her and Ned. He jerked his head, sweeping aside to make room for them to enter.

"You guys made it," Harry said as Ned stepped through and Michelle followed.

A whiff of alcohol and staleness stayed pungent in the room. The exact scent of despair and loathing. Harry himself looked untidy as his hotel room. Clothes stuffed in a trunk or thrown in the open closet. Newspapers spewed on the table and some fallen to the floor in wrinkled garbage. Dirty plates from breakfast and lunch were discarded and left to be used as paperweights.

For an expensive hotel, the suite resembled a wasted studio. Not that Michelle cared, but it showed how far Harry fell from the edge.

Harry closed the door and moved passed them. "Welcome to my humble abode!" he wildly gestured to the dirty suite. "Take a seat! Anywhere! You want something? I got everything. Vodka, rum, Jack Daniels… anything in the mini bar."

Michelle shook her head as she took a seat on a lone ottoman. "Nah… beer is disgusting."

"So… wine then?" Harry remarked before he pointed to Ned. "You gotta try a Coke and rum, buddy. You'll love them. Hold on."

Harry zipped right to the mini-refrigerator, digging through the ice-box to pull out miniature bottles of alcohol.

Michelle and Ned glanced to one another, troubled. "Ah, nah, dude," Ned called to stop Harry. "I'm not, um, thirsty."

"Really? This is good stuff." Harry waved the little bottles up in the air.

"Um… yeah, I'm sure," Ned responded. "Besides, pretty sure my parents will kill me if I come back smelling like alcohol."

Harry shrugged his shoulders and returned to the sitting area, jumping over the side and flopping on the couch with a bounce. He had a Heineken in his hand, relaxed as he took in his friends. Did the officials outside not give a damn he was illegally drinking?

"So—why're you here?" Harry started as he cracked open his beer.

Michelle's brows cocked up, side-glancing at Ned. Was it not obvious why they came over? "We wanted to see how you were doing," she answered. "With everything happening… seemed like you need friends."

Harry scrutinized his eyes, peering at her like her words were lies. "Uh-huh," he said and he took a long gulp of his beer. "Of course! That's what friends do."

He didn't sound grateful or sincere. He kicked back his legs onto the messy coffee table, tipping back his beer. His eyes blinked, blandly and uninterested. Like they were strangers rather than friends.

Ned shifted nervously in his seat. "How you doing, man?" he started off. The most common question to ask in such stressful situation. "Is, um… how're you holding up?"

"Pretty good."

That surprised Ned. And Michelle. Neither expected him to respond with such an answer.

"Good?" Michelle questioned.

Harry nodded. "Yep," he said with a pop.

He said nothing else. Michelle and Ned shared a concerned look. It was abundantly clear that Harry was not in the right place. The state he was living in and his own appearance proved he was at a lost.

Ned cleared his throat. "Oh, well, that's good," he mumbled, unsure what to say next. "We were really worried about you. Tried calling and texting. Even Peter tried to get a hold of you."

"I know."

Great. Harry was being uncooperative. Not that she entirely blamed him. His life was one big car wreck at the moment. "Seriously, Harry," she said, hoping to get some kind of response from him. "How are you? Really?"

"I told you."

"We've seen the news and we know it's just a bunch of BS," Michelle said, remembering all those journalists spewing lies after lies. "So does Peter. He doesn't blame you at all for what happened. He wants to make sure you're okay. We all do. We're here for you. We want to help."

Harry didn't bat an eye at that. "I'm fine," he said. "Don't need help. Doing great."

One look told them that was a lie. It was clear Harry was far worse than he ever was. But, he wouldn't admit it. Not now and probably never. Pride bullshit.

"How's, um, your father doing?" Ned asked, tentatively as it was most likely a sore topic. "He's recovering then?"

Harry looked surprised. "Oh—him?" he said, casual. "He's dead."

"What?" Michelle and Ned said together.

Harry checked the clock on the nightstand. "Yeah, died ten minutes before you came," he said, nonchalant about the dire revelation. "Finally—the bastard should have died at the penthouse, but damn… he wanted to fucking string everyone along with him." He crossed his ankles on the littered coffee table. "I'm sure it will reach the news soon though. Everyone around the world will know that the great Norman Osborn is dead."

Michelle gaped at Harry. She knew he hated his father, but it was still his father. There had to be some kind of love or respect. "Harry… I'm so sorry."

"Why? I'm happy he's dead."

"You don't mean that."

"Sure I do," Harry said.

"He was your father though," Ned said, shocked that Harry wasn't even depressed of his father's passing. "It still sucks. To lose your dad."

Harry's eyes glowed. "Dad? Funny. The man never seemed to believe I was his son," he said, his tone not humorous at all. "On the contrary, I'm nothing more than a squatter to him."

"That's not true."

Harry smiled devilishly. "Oh, Ned," he said. "So blindly optimistic about the world. Norman didn't give a shit about me. He only kept me so that his good name wouldn't be tarnished. Honestly, I think he secretly believed I wasn't his son."

"Don't be ridiculous, Harry," Michelle said, not wanting to get into the drama of Norman Osborn. "Your dad may not have been a good parent, but he still considered you his son."

Harry snickered, finding it all too amusing. "Did you know that there isn't a single photo of me in his office?"

Michelle did not know that, but Norman didn't seem to be the sentimental man to even have photographs in his office.

Harry lamented on. "Not a single photo of me," he said and he took a swing from his beer. "But lord and behold, the police found hordes of photographs and drawings and videos of Peter Parker."

Wait… what?

"Huh?" Michelle replied, confused. "W-What do you mean?"

"Oh? Did that not make it to the news?" Harry sarcastically commented. "Norman kept Peter's entire life in his office. Had thousands of pictures and videos of him. From when he was a baby to now. What? You didn't know that?"

No. She didn't and she knew Ned didn't either. She wondered if Peter knew about that dark tidbit. All she learned was that Norman was involved in Parkers' deaths and the kidnapping attempt. Not that he kept a detailed record of Peter.

When she shook her head, Harry scoffed. "Yeah, Norman fucking loved Peter Parker," he grumbled. "Everyone fucking loves Peter Parker. Boy Wonder. Spider-man!"

Michelle thought the air in the room got heavy. The tension elevated and Michelle became guarded. Instincts told her to be ready. Something about the way Harry held himself warned her of an impending burst.

She had to snip this in the bud.

"Who cares?" Michelle tapped Ned's shoulder to get him to agree. "We don't care what everyone else thinks. We care about you."

Harry viciously snorted, his chuckles sounding more like growls. "You're not a good liar, Michelle."

She was taken aback. What did that mean? "I'm not lying," she said. "You're our friend. We're here for—"

"You're Peter's friends."

Michelle's face contorted into deep confusion. "What?"

"We're your friends too," added Ned. "Both you and Peter are our friends. We're here for both of you guys."

Somehow, that only made Harry's eyes sharper. "You're here because of Peter."

"How are we here for Peter?" Michelle was getting irritated. They have repeatedly told Harry they were here for him. They wanted to know how he was doing. "We've been trying to reach you! Wanting to talk to you and see how you're holding up—"

Harry groaned loudly, rolling his head in exasperation. "Oh, please—you don't give a damn about me," he muttered. "You came because Peter asked you to."

"No—"

Harry laughed, but it was cold. It made Michelle shiver. "Jesus Christ!"

Michelle frowned. She thought she would be dealing with a disheartened teen, but not a drunk-ass boy. She wasn't in the mood to deal this type of abuse. "Okay, fine. Don't believe us," she said and turned to Ned. "I guess we'll leave then?"

Harry stopped laughing. "Why? Aren't you here for me?"

"Yeah, but you think otherwise."

"So—you're going to run off?" he snarled. "Back to Peter?"

Michelle groaned, tired of Harry speaking about Peter. He's not here!

"What the hell is your problem?" she asked. "Why are you acting like a jerk? Ned and I came here to see you. To talk to you. And you keep bringing up Peter!" Michelle blew out a whiff of heated breath. "Listen—Peter doesn't blame you! For any of it. He still considers you his friend—"

"Well, I don't think of him as my friend."

Everything came to a screeching halt. Michelle had to take a moment to recover, reviewing what she just heard. "W-What do you mean? You guys are friends."

Harry's face went taut. "Peter Parker is not my friend," he repeated, firmly. "Never was."

Michelle couldn't believe it. How many times did they all hang-out? She's seen Harry and Peter talk to one another, share interests and goof around like any other boys. They went to each other's homes! Played stupid games and got into fun arguments! They played volleyball and basketball. They geeked over silly things like Star Wars and Lord of the Rings.

How could Harry say Peter was never his friend?

Ned appeared to think the same. "What are you talking about, dude?" he questioned. "We're all friends!"

"No… you're all friends," Harry pointed at them. "You and you and… and Peter! The trio! The Big Three! And me? I'm not one of you guys."

Seriously? A pity party? This was not how Michelle thought this would go. "You're being ridiculous," she said. "We'll come back when you're sober."

"Don't bother," Harry grunted. "You don't have to fucking worry about me. It's pretty clear that you pick Peter, so… don't bother coming back."

Michelle turned sour. "What the hell is wrong with you? Why are you acting like a douche?"

"I'm calling it as I see it."

"You're being a prick."

Harry only shrugged. "Yeah, well, it's still the truth, right? You'll always pick Peter's side before mine."

"There're no sides!" Michelle shouted, frustrated that he persisted on the matter. If he kept going, it was certainly going to be true. "Ned and I came to help out a friend, but you're too drunk and obnoxious to even see that. We want to help and be supportive, but you're not letting us."

Harry got up, his legs a bit wobbly, but he stayed balanced. "Don't bullshit me, Princess," he snarled. "I fucking know! Okay? I fucking know!"

Michelle was thrown in a loop. She was completely lost as to what Harry ranted. "You know what?" she humored him, although she didn't really care to stay much longer. It was clear Harry was in no mood for visitors.

"That you fucking love Peter."

Michelle's heart skipped, but she kept her face stoic. No outward emotional signs. "You're drunk."

Even Ned tried to intervene. "Hey, man… come on," he said, smoothly. "Let's tone it down, yeah?"

Harry shook his head, violently. His lips formed a scowl. "Don't you bullshit me," he growled at Michelle, ignoring Ned altogether. "Don't you bullshit me, Princess."

"Whatever you think—" Michelle started, but Harry's feral yell shut her silent.

"I saw you fucking shove your tongue down his throat!"

Every part of Michelle's body froze. No one was there. No one was in the hallway. They checked. It was only her and Peter. How in the hell did Harry see them kissing?

"What are you talking about?" came Ned's questioning voice. Poor Ned didn't know anything. That meant Peter kept his word. He didn't tell anyone anything about what happened between them in the school's hallway.

Harry glared at Michelle. His eyes never leaving her as he spoke. "Yeah—what the fuck am I talking about, MJ?"

Something flared within her. The moment she heard Peter's nickname for her everything came back into her control. She breathed deep through her nose. Her heart burned with a fresh anger at his sneer.

When she didn't answer, Harry turned back to Ned. "At the dance," he started to relay the tale. "I saw little, Miss Princess making out with the Prince of Queens." He took another drink. "Not surprising though, right Neddy? Why wouldn't even the stubborn Michelle Jones fall for the famous hero? Every other girl wants to drop their panties for him. Why not her?"

Ned flushed red, eyes down to avoid looking at either of them. It was an incredibly awkward and horrifying moment for her. For Ned. Not Harry. He didn't give a damn about anyone or anything. He only took another drink of his beer, acting chilled despite the aggravating demeanor hinted in his eyes.

"Um… Harry? Maybe you ought to stop drinking," Ned advised. "You seem a bit drunk."

That was a nice way of saying it, Michelle thought. Her description would be that he was pissed drunk.

Harry purposefully tipped the beer back and chugged until empty. Real mature.

He leaned over the couch, pupils abuzz. "So? Did you fuck him?" he questioned her. "Show him your pussy?"

Michelle shot to her feet. Glare fixed on Harry with nothing but contempt and disgust, she uttered her last words to him.

"Fuck you."

No other preamble, she stormed out. Rage pulsed through her veins and nerves. Too enrage to even wait for the officer and helper open the door. Too busy fuming to even hear a word around her. She was wrong about Harry. Her first instincts about him were correct. He was a selfish prick. Another stereotypical, rich teen who thought he deserved the world because of name, money and power.

She thought he might be different though. He came to Midtown, quiet and secluded, with no care to brag about his name. He was considerate of Ned, supportive of him during those trying times. He was a nice person. A bit flippant and obnoxious, but Michelle put up with it because he was there for them. He was kind and smart. He was their friend.

But the moment Peter returned to their lives, he changed. He became conceited, envious and dangerously reckless. He boasted his name, his money and his lifestyle. Nothing that seemingly mattered beforehand until Peter came back. Now, Harry was the exact arrogant asshole Michelle thought he was.

She got to the street. The cold air hitting her in the face hard, making her tears become icicles on her cheeks. She didn't even realize she was crying. She's never been so embarrassed in her life. In front of her friend no less.

God! She was so thankful her parents didn't make her quit the trip to Wakanda. She's never been so excited to get away from her friends.

"Michelle!"

She turned to see Ned running as fast as he could to her. Cheeks red and breaths ragged from running, but he didn't quit until he got to her. Panting, he stared up to her as the sweat along his brows cooled.

"Hey… hey," he said, calmly. "It's okay."

She didn't realize Ned wrapped his arms around her and she rested her head on his shoulder. Tears kept coming down her cheek, chilling her skin. She wished she stopped crying. Stop the sniveling mess, but the more she tried, the more her eyes got watery.

Ned kept her in a warm embrace, saying nothing. He didn't need to say anything to her. Having him with her was enough to let her know that he was her friend. He wouldn't abandon her.

"Everything's going to be okay," Ned said after a long moment. "Harry—he's hurting. He didn't mean it."

Michelle shook her head. Ned may be hopeful, but she knew better to believe the lies hearts told. "He did, Ned. He meant it," she said through the heartache. "He's jealous of Peter. Always was."

Ned rubbed her back as they both ignored the pedestrians that walked around them, annoyed that they took up part of the sidewalk.

"Yeah. I know," he said with great reluctance. "We'll get through this. Just like last time."

Michelle squeezed Ned back, hoping that he was right.