So, my up-front attempt to reclaim my friendship with Justin failed miserably. I should've known better. You can't just roll up to somebody's house after three years and expect them to just invite you in. But it was Justin. He's my boy. We go way back to the Gap. I never had to deal with that pissed off side of him. Sure, he's been angry with me, raising his voice and cursing every now and then. Yet, the hatred and disgust in his eyes were something new to me. The man hated my guts. Not that I blame him though. I did hop on a plane right before our anniversary. God, I bet he planned something too. Ugh, I'm such a jerk.

"Still beating yourself up about things?" Tiffany's sympathetic voice breaks the silence in my bedroom. I look up and see her leaning against the door frame, a mug of coffee securely cupped in her small hands. I groan loudly as I bury my face into my pillow.

"He hates me, Tiff. He really hates me." I whine as I suddenly feel the bed sink in from Tiffany's added weight.

"He doesn't hate you," she assures as she turns to place her mug on my night stand, "He's just completely pissed off." I rolled over on my back, staring up at my newly painted ceiling. It was a baby blue now. Tiffany had done some redecorating while I was away. The color only deepened my guilt. Justin's favorite color was baby blue.

"I know that," I tell her with a sigh, "I'm just trying to figure out how to make him. . . unpissed." Tiffany mocked my actions by flipping on her back, accompanying me in my aimless staring.

"Do what you did with me," Tiffany said, "Talk to him. Explain what happened."

"Been there, done that," I say, "He kinda kicked me off his property and threatened to get me arrested." Tiffany snorted.

"That's crap," she said, dismissively, "He was just screwin' with ya to scare you off."

"Well it worked," I pouted, "I'm not going back there. He's changed."

"Yeah," Tiffany giggled, "He turned into a freakin' ape, man. What's up with the beard?" Her giggle filled my ears and I couldn't help but crack a smile.

"I was wondering the same thing," I confess, "But talking about his beard isn't going to get me anywhere." The conversation was halted by the steady ringing of our telephone. We both laid there, not wanting to move from our comfort zones. I poked Tiffany's side, egging her to get it, but she only swatted my hand away.

"You haven't answered the phone in three years, it's the least you can do." Tiffany said sternly as she raised a brow, daring me to argue. I simply rolled out of my bed and dragged myself toward the kitchen. Whoever this was, it better be important.

-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-

Trace sighed as he paced around Justin's kitchen. His hands ran over his newly shaven head and he sucked his teeth as he fought over what to do. Trace knew Justin better than anybody besides his mother. He knew that Justin wanted to know what made Alonsha leave the way she did, but was too stubborn to set his pride aside and let her in. Hell, everybody wanted to know what she was thinking when she up and left. But he didn't want to intervene. The last thing he wanted was to cause some hostile feelings from Justin to be directed at him. Yet, he couldn't ignore the nagging feeling that was telling him intervening was the right thing to do.

"God, I hate being such a good friend," Trace mumbled to himself as his hand grabbed the phone off of its based and dialed the ten digits of Alonsha's number. He was surprised he hadn't forgotten it after so long. As the phone rang for the third time, Trace was beginning to worry nobody was home. His courage to do this might never come back, so someone better pick up.

"Hello?" Trace let out a relieved sigh as he leaned against the kitchen counter.

"Alonsha?" he questioned, as he struggled to remember exactly what she sounded like.

"This is her," Alonsha answered slowly, "Who's this?"

"It's Trace," he began, only to be interrupted.

"Hey, Trace. How have you been?" Alonsha's cheerful tone caused his smile to involuntarily spread across his face. He quickly dropped his grin when he realized it was forming.

"I'm good, I'm good," Trace informed her, "What about you?"

"I'm doing alright," Alonsha replied, "Minus the whole Justin flipping me off scenario last week." Trace was tempted to tell her she deserved it, but opted not to. He didn't want to be an enemy here.

"Well, I'm actually calling about that," Trace shifted uncomfortably, "Look, I know Justin hates you right about now, but I'm willing to help you change that." Alonsha smiled to herself.

"Really?" she asked, "How?"

"Justin wants to know why you left and so does everybody else," Trace explained, "But he's too stubborn to admit that. That's why I'm willing to listen for him."

"Okay," Alonsha nodded as Trace continued.

"I wanted to come over and allow you to explain to me what happened and why things went down the way they did. If I think it's a good enough explanation, I'll do what I can to convince Justin to hear you out."

"Good enough?" Alonsha questioned curiously.

"Yeah," Trace said, "I'm not going to convince him to do anything if you give me a bullshit excuse."

"I understand," Alonsha told him, "I appreciate it, Trace."

"Don't try to be all nice and stuff either," Trace stated firmly, "You're definitely not my favorite person right now either, so don't lie to me. I need a genuine explanation and that's all. Honesty is all I'm looking for, okay?"

"Yeah, okay," Alonsha balanced the phone between her ear and shoulder as she opened up the fridge door.

"I'll be over in a few," Trace told her, "Just give me the address." Alonsha obliged to his request and they said their goodbyes.

-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-

Well, Trace's call didn't ease my nerves. Knowing that he's nowhere near on my side only caused my stomach to fill with butterflies as I replayed my excuse in my head over and over again. It seemed like it was less convincing every time I did that. I decided to stop, hoping it would ease the nervous feeling that's slowly consuming my sanity.

I don't even know why I'm so nervous. It's Trace! Well, I thought the same thing about Justin and we all saw how that went down. It's like everybody's inner bitch came out while I was gone. Maybe that'll change once things get explained. That's if my excuse is "good enough" for Trace. What the hell does he want me to tell him? That one of Justin's crazed fans held a gun to my head and told me to skip town or else? I don't even know where to begin to explain myself. It's all jumbled up in this gigantic head of mine, just dying to get out, but I could never find the right words.

"Yo, I'm gonna head down to Scott's, sugar. I'll be back later," Tiffany babbled as she scurried back and forth through the living room and the kitchen.

"Now?" I asked, "But wouldn't you rather stay here and. . ."

"Explain things to Trace for you?" she added, "I'll pass." She flopped down on the cushion next to me, bending over to tie her shoes.

"Well, no, but you can be a support system," I reasoned. Tiffany rolled her eyes and smiled.

"You'll be fine," she assured, "Just tell him what you told me." I watched as she stood, grabbing her keys off the coffee table.

"What if it's not good enough?" I asked as Tiffany walked toward the door.

"It'll be good enough," she said hurriedly, "He'll tell Justin and all will be forgiven." She swung open the door and jumped back slightly.

"Sorry," I heard Trace's voice said, "Some old lady let me in the building." Tiffany laughed and shoved Trace into the apartment.

"That's Ms. Dubose," she informed him, "And go easy on her." Tiffany gestured toward me and Trace smiled softly.

"I'll try," I didn't like the sound of that, "Good seeing you." Trace called after Tiffany's retreating figure.

"You too!" I heard her shout back before Trace shut the door behind himself. The smile that was on his face disappeared and an emotionless expression took its place.

"I'm glad you came, Trace," I started nervously, "Thank you for giving me a chance to explain things," He nodded and took a seat on the cushion beside me. His eyes traveled around the room curiously before landing on me.

"Didn't you have a dog?" he asked suddenly.

"Yeah, he's with Jared and Allison though. Farah loves him." He nodded before taking in a deep breath.

"Okay, let's hear it," He turned toward me, leaning on the armrest of the couch, "Make it good." I sighed and turned to face him.

"It's a long story. . ."

"I'm all ears," Trace said, "Just start talking." I bit my bottle lip and sat Indian-style on the couch. I calmed myself down, trying not to blurt everything out in an incomprehensible speech. I was going to be honest and help him understand.

I looked at Trace, who's annoyed stare only intimidated me more, before deciding it was now or never.

Well, here goes nothing.

-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-

Justin pulled his sunglasses over his face as the bright sun stung his eyes. He looked around the resort and waved at his stepdad as he walked inside the rented home Justin got for their stay. He had decided to spend some time with his parents and Cameron for the weekend. He loved being with them and speaking of Cameron. . .

"Yo, Cam!" Justin called, sticking his head back inside the door he had just stepped out of, "Come on, I wanna get some ice cream!" He could hear Cameron laugh as she made her way down the stairs, her blond locks flowing over her shoulders as she shook her hair back into a ponytail.

"So do I," Cameron told him, "But Lynn's not ready yet." Justin rolled his eyes and sighed. He bet that she was dolling up for Paul.

"I swear, she's acting like it's their first date or something," Justin smiled, "It's annoying."

"It's cute," Cameron argued, "She loves him. Just like I love you," she cooed as she sauntered over to him, draping her long arms over his board shoulders. They giggled and brushed noses before being interrupted.

"Ahem," Paul coughed, "Hope I'm not interrupting anything." Cameron and Justin laughed, pulling apart, but grabbing hold of each other's hands.

"Well, dad, you are," Justin joked, "But don't worry, we'll finish later." Cameron laughed as she swatted his arm playfully. Paul smiled and shook his head.

"I'm ready!" Lynn announced as she made her way down the stairs. Her spring dress hung loosely from her body and sandals adorned her small feet. She looked so cute with her hair newly straightened.

"Lookin' good, mamas," Justin complimented as Paul walked over to her and offered his arm.

"Gorgeous, actually," Paul said as he planted a tiny kiss on her forehead. Justin pretended to vomit before his cell phone rang.

"What?" he asked into the phone, seeing that it was Trace's number on his caller id.

"Dude, you're gonna kill me, but I had to do it." Justin raised a brow and guided Cameron outside with him as they made their way to his car.

"What, man?" Justin asked, "You didn't break anything, did you?" Justin went over to the passenger side of his Hummer and opened the door for Cameron.

"No, I didn't break anything," Trace assured, "But I did talk to Alonsha earlier this week." Justin hopped into the driver's seat and made sure that everybody was inside.

"What the hell did you do that for?" Justin asked angrily, "I told you I didn't want anything to do with her." Cameron's ear caught onto Justin's words and she curiously leaned over, trying not to seem too obvious.

"But she explained everything," Trace said, "I really think you should hear her out."

"What is this? Are you on her side now?" Justin started to pull out of the parking spot and headed down the road.

"No, of course not," Trace said, "But I think it's best that you talk to her and work this out."

"There's nothing to work out," Justin growled, "I hate her and always will regardless of what she has to say."

"I don't believe that," Trace argued.

"No, I don't believe you!" Justin yelled as he turned the car sharply, causing everyone to grip their seats, "How could you go behind my back and do this?"

"Don't be so dramatic," Trace groaned, "You know you want to know what happened just as much as I want you to know."

"What I want to know is what happened to my best friend because he wouldn't be an ass and talk to some bitch I can't stand."

"Justin!" Lynn said, "What is wrong with you?" Justin took in a deep breath and sighed.

"Sorry, mom," he whispered, "Trace, you are an ass. I'm gonna beat the crap out of you when I get home." With that, Justin hung up his cell phone and focused on the road ahead of him.