My therapist said it’s okay not to be the same Scarlett I was before, because I’ve been through something that is life-changing, but I can’t help but reach for that girl who stood up for herself and was fearless.
“Except a free place to live?” I bat my eyes innocently.
Cross bares his teeth, and I bite the inside of my cheek. My mouth fills with blood, and my pulse thrums violently.
His phone vibrates, and he pulls it out of his pocket. A familiar number flashes across the screen, and he instantly becomes irritated. He lets a growl out right before he answers.
“Hello?”
I lean closer, trying to hear what my father is saying. I’m almost so swept away in eavesdropping that I don’t notice Cross dragging my suitcase away from me.
“What are you doing?” I hiss.
He ignores me and continues talking to my dad. “Yeah, she just arrived. I’m helping her with her suitcase right now, actually.”
He is?
Just when I let my guard down and think he’s going to put my suitcase in the other bedroom, he winks and chucks it down the stairs.
My jaw falls open with a silent gasp.
It thuds against every step until it finally stops on the landing then bursts open. I stare at it silently then turn and face Cross. I catch a glimpse of his smug expression as he slips past me into his room.
“You…fucking…asshole–”
He flips me off without turning around.
With anger guiding my steps, I lunge toward him.
His door slams in my face. I jerk back just in time to save my nose, and that just pisses me off more. The lock cuts through the pounding in my ears.
I let out a shriek and slap the door.
My hand stings but not quite as hot as the embarrassment coloring my cheeks.
It’s okay, I tell myself woodenly. I descend the stairs and crouch next to my bag. I slowly close and re-zip it, warring with my emotions.
Being stuck in a house with Cross is still better than going back to Yale.
Barely.
But it is.
[ 3 ]
CROSS
“Something got you twisted up?”
As a reply, I hit the bag Tyler is holding with extra power, causing him to let out a hard breath. He waves me off, takes a step back, and plants his hands on his hips. The look on his face is pure stubborn, middle-child energy. He’s not moving until I start talking.
I straighten from my stance and sigh. “It’s nothing.”
His expression morphs into worry. “Your dad hassling you again?”
Tyler has been my best friend since second grade, when I was the new kid in class with a black eye–the one that came from my father. He made me practice lying, even at seven, before I was allowed to leave the house. It left me with some, uh…anger issues.
Perfect for taking out on bullies.
