We pull up to the house, but Trips doesn’t unbuckle.
Curious, I stay too. There’s a small trickle of blood from his nose, and I feel no remorse. He almost killed her. A black eye and a busted nose are nothing in comparison.
We stare at the back of the house for far longer than I’d normally let the silence continue when it’s obvious he has something on his mind.
Eventually, he speaks. “Do you think I can ever come back from this?”
“Do you want my honest answer?”
“You’re the only one I trust to have one.”
“In that case, I have no idea. You fucked up. I don’t trust you. None of us do. Not with Clara, and not with the way your family is right now.”
“I don’t trust me either.”
“Then fix that. After, we can talk about forgiveness.”
He runs his left hand through his hair, flinching when he brushes the faded black eye and the new swelling from my second punch. “I still have the number of that therapist my dad got me when I was a kid.”
“Dirty enough for you to tell the truth about what’s been going on?”
“Yeah.”
“Honest enough not to tattle to your father?”
“Unknown.”
I clench my hand around the keys, then pass them to Trips. “Send me the name and I’ll dig up some dirt on the guy to keep him from tattling.”
“Thanks.”
I slam the door, striding through the snow to the house, leaving Trips to stew alone.
Because forgiveness isn’t something I can give right now.
And I’m not sure it’s something I’ll be able to give him. Now or ever.
Chapter 19
Clara
The version of events I give to Emma is sparse on details, but heavy on meaning.
I’ve never seen my best friend roll through as many variations of horror and sadness as quickly as she has while listening to me.
When I finish with the fistfight between RJ and Trips that broke out after dropping the news on the guys and Jansen and Walker’s disbelief and anguish, Emma’s timer dings.
“I’m rinsing this out, but then, we’re talking. Really talking, Clara,” she says, stern and shaking as I take the trash to the kitchen, puttering around like I know what to do in that room.
I end up with two beers and a bowl of popcorn by the time she comes out, her hair so pink she matches the highlighters she prefers.
“It turned out well,” I say, not wanting to keep talking about my situation.
“It did. Remind me to switch my pillowcase to the shitty one before we go to bed.” She takes the beer I offer her. “Now, onto the important stuff. Clara, you can’t marry Trips. One, that breeding shit is creepy as all fuck. Two, you’re in love with the other three too, and three, are you and Trips even a thing?”
I crawl onto the stool beside her, a single piece of popcorn rolling between my fingers. “One, I’m being forced to marry him, and I have an IUD, so that should take care of that. Two, I have no intention of giving the rest of the guys up, but I have no idea how to keep them, and three, Trips and I could have been something. It was headed that way, but now? Now he won’t look at me, and the guys are so mad at him, and I know I should be mad too, but instead, it’s like I’m still frozen on the inside. Where that anger should be, I only feel ice.”
Her arms wrap around me, but the ice stays. I don’t fall apart. Even though I feel like I should.
