When Rivals Lose (Bayshore Rivals 2)

“Okay, let’s have lunch, then we can go home and freshen up.”

“Great.” I plaster a smile on my face, and we head out of the store, but with each step I take, I can’t help but wonder, who is Sullivan Bishop, and why does he think I’m in danger, especially in the presence of my own family?

I try to forget about him and the whole conversation in the dressing room, but I can’t. By the time we get home, my head is about to explode from trying to figure out what he was talking about.

“I’m going to go hang up these new dresses,” my mother says, heading up the stairs.

“Mom?” I call after her, making her stop to look back at me, smiling. “Who is Sullivan Bishop?”

As if I’ve brought up a terrible memory, her face falls, and her eyebrows pull together. “Where did you hear that name?”

Oh shit, I didn’t think about that.

“I-I… remembered it,” I lie.

“Just the name?” Mom questions nervously.

“Yeah, do I know that person? Who is he?”

“Oh gosh, Harlow. Sullivan is a terrible person, he terrorized you all through high school. Bullied you and turned all your friends against you. Shelby, bless her heart, was the only one who stuck by you.” Well, that explains why I have no other friends, I guess.

“His parents are no better. They’ve been trying to ruin our business for years. Those are not the kind of memories I wanted you to remember, honey. Sullivan Bishop is someone you want to stay away from, as far away as possible. He is a master manipulator, and for whatever sick reason he’s always hated you and has tried everything in his power to hurt you.”

Hated me? I don’t know why those words hurt so much, but there is a distinct ache in my chest. Why would he hate me? Why would anyone hate me?

“Harlow, if he ever comes near you, I want you to tell us, okay?” she says, but it almost sounds like a warning.

“Do you hear me, Harlow?”

Blinking from the trance, I say, “Yes, of course.” Though it’s a lie. Sullivan Bishop already approached me, and for some strange reason, I get the feeling that there is more than just hate between us.

2

After looking through my closet for what seemed to be the better part of the afternoon, I’ve managed to find a yellow sundress, and I’ve paired it with a some wedged sandals, that look like they’ve never been worn. Once dressed, I look at myself in the mirror. I feel as if I’m wearing a mask, hiding behind these clothes, and make-up.

This isn’t you, Harlow, whoever you are.

The dinging of the doorbell, though faint, meets my ears. Matt and his father must be here. I apply a small amount of lip balm before I turn and walk out of my room. I wonder what Matt is like. Have we known each other since we were kids? My father never really explained to me how our relationship had come about, and it seems that whenever I ask questions, I get nothing in return, no answers, just more confusion.

If I didn’t know any better I would think that my parents were hiding something, but that’s the thing, everything seems as if it’s a secret, hidden beneath a veil, that’s what it feels like when you can’t even remember what your favorite color is, or your favorite food.

Exhaling as I descend the stairs, each step I take toward the dining room, making me more, and more nervous about this dinner. I know this Matt, whom I’m supposed to marry, even less than I know my own parents, and I hardly know them at all.

This couldn’t be more uncomfortable. Ever since I woke up in the hospital, I feel like I’m in a constant state of being uncomfortable. Not knowing things I should, always feeling behind and left out of every conversation.

All I have to go on are the things my parents tell me, and it’s clear they’re only telling me what they want me to know. Which leads me to wonder…what if that guy, Sullivan, from earlier was right? What if I don’t belong here, what if I was never happy here? And if I wasn’t happy here, where was I happy? Was I happy at all? I need more answers.

The questions swirling in my head start to cause a throbbing behind my eyes that has me dizzy by the time I reach the bottom of the stairs.

“Harlow,” my mother calls for me as she enters the foyer, a shocked look in her eyes as if she’s surprised to see that I actually came down on my own, or I dressed up. It could be either one, I suppose.

“You… you look beautiful, it’s been a while since I’ve seen you in a dress.” Her eyes brim with joy, an infectious smile cresting her lips.