“Or, you could tell your parents,” Astrid says. “Get him removed from the list.”
I stand, yawning and stretching my arms over my head. “Not gonna happen. Business is business.”
And even though I know it’s the truth, I hate how that makes me feel. Powerless, something I’ve worked hard to avoid feeling, but this one is possibly outside my wheelhouse and would open up too many closed subjects with my parents.
Besides, I must give myself a bit of leeway. I’m a strong girl rookie. I’ll get there.
Still, I wonder if Dad would’ve removed Lewis from the guest list if he did know what happened between us. Maybe I should’ve told him.
Ugh.My head aches just behind my eyeballs, and this is too much thinking even for a girl who’s a veteran overthinker. I’ve always wondered if there was an overthinking limit. Guess I’ve answered that question.
“I love you both, and I’m so thankful you’re here and love me like you do,” I say. “But would you mind if I take a nap for a little bit? My eyes are burning from the crying and driving.”
Gianna nods. “Sure. Pick a room. Just close the door and no one will bother you.”
“And I think I will stay here tonight, if you don’t mind. The thought of driving any more today makes me ill.”
“Oh, Auddie. You don’t even have to ask. You know that.”
Astrid shrugs. “Fuck it. I’m staying, too. We’ll have a sleepover.”
I hug each of my friends, keeping my composure until I’m nestled in the purple bedroom at the end of the hall. Then I cry. Because I might not be broken, but damn it if my heart isn’t pretty banged up.
Lewis Lemon took away my safety and instilled terror, and I survived.
Seth Cranton stole my confidence and I made it.
Brooks Dempsey gave me sexual confidence and a few days of bliss, but I’ll survive that, too.
But it’s okay to need a minute to get there.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-EIGHT
Brooks
“I figured I’d find you here,” Hartley says.
My fists pepper the heavy bag, popping the leather and making the chains holding it from the ceiling clank.
One, two, three. One, two, three. One, two, three.
Three punches—a jab, a cross, and a hook.
Predictable combination. Familiar sounds. Concentration required.
“Well, congratulations,” I say, wiping sweat off my brow with my uninjured forearm. “You found me.”
“Doesn’t this place open after school? It’s just noon.”
I turn back toward the bag. “What do you want?”
“I don’t really know.” He wanders through the darkened gym, keeping his eye on me. “I got a call from Gray, asking me to check on you.”
One, two, three. One, two, three. One, two, three.
“Are you supposed to be hitting the bag with a fucked shoulder and thread holding your forearm shut?” Hartley asks.
