But what was the point? To clear his good name?
What a joke. His Ma died alone, afraid, and was left like a pile of yesterday’s trash. He hadn’t been able to save her. To inspire her to save herself.
He just hadn’t been enough.
He hung his head, alone in the dark. As far as the world knew, his name was mud.
And he needed to pay for all of his crimes.
Chapter Fifteen
Margot slipped as the chair she was standing on tipped forward. “Crap!” she cried, reaching out to brace her hand on her closet door. Sure, all men—and women—die.Valarmorghulisand all that jazz. But when the day came for her to shuffle off her mortal coil, here’s to hoping that it wasn’t breaking her neck while digging her senior year yearbook from the top of her closet.
She grabbed the blue leather-bound book and jumped down to the floor, heart pounding.
Walking to the edge of her bed, she sat down and cracked open the cover, flipping through the faces. She’d been out of high school for how long? Nine years? Ten? For a time in her life that felt so intense, so all-consuming, now she couldn’t even remember the names of all the faces she glanced over.
But there was one.
She’d never forget Chad Taylor.
In one picture a girl is walking down the hall; she’s wearing a short skirt, part of the dance line school uniform on game days. That girl walking away while Chad crouched behind, baring his teeth like a mad rodent; that girl was her. All around him were guys doubled over. The caption read: Football star considering enrolling in Oregon State. What an Eager Beaver!
Even the Yearbook Club had been in on the joke.
“Ea-ger Beav-er,” the team would chant as she lined up for hot lunch.
“Ea-ger Beav-er,” they’d holler as the bell rang and they filed out to the school buses and parking lot.
Her friends got sick of all their catcalling. Inexplicably, a few got jealous and acted as if Margot was lucky to get the attention of the hottest guy in school.
She resorted to eating PB&J in the library. At least she’d been able to raid her stepmom’s novels and escape for forty minutes a day to worlds populated by devastating dukes, suave assassins, heroines who always had perfect comebacks and no men who ever made a woman feel degraded after sex.
She’d come so far from those days, from being that bewildered girl. Worked her ass off to feel confident in her sexuality and choices.
Her senior year picture stared back at her. It had been taken a month before the homecoming game in a studio near her childhood home in Portland. A home that was sold when her stepmom and dad divorced. That girl in the photo had no idea what was ahead of her in life. The good, the bad, the ugly.
Margot was surprised to find tears welling in her eyes. It was so easy to be critical about herself. But when she looked at her earnest, seventeen-year-old face with that questionable haircut and shy smile, she could summon more empathy. If she wouldn’t blame the younger version of herself in the photo for her troubles with guys, then she shouldn’t be annoyed at her present self for poor dating decisions. If a dude turned out to be a jerk, that was on him. Not her.
Picking up her phone from beside her legs, she didn’t hesitate. She deleted all the dating apps one by one. For so long she’d been looking for a guy who seemed worth it to quit playing the field, to settle down and risk commitment.
She deserved good things in life, and a good guy, and for once she really felt like she’d found one.
As the last app vanished from her smartphone, there was a knock at her front door.
She stood, knowing who it was before taking a single step.
Hewas out there.
She slid the yearbook under her bed. She hadn’t spoken to him since their phone sex.
With a deep breath, she opened the door.
“Margot,” he breathed, and his gaze didn’t leave her face.
“I watched the game last night.” She stepped aside so he could come in.
“We did good. Coach was happy.”
