“So you planned for this? For him to bombard me with this shit so I can reassure you that he isn’t some shiesty man and you can feel better about agreeing to work with him? That’s the business you had to handle up in that suite! You let him do the dirty work for you instead of telling me the whole story yourself!”
“Hell no! I—I’m just trying to protect you.” He tugs at my shirt. “You don’t understand it all.”
“Protect me from what? Huh?”
All I can picture is Cheyenne’s deep dimple, his hands on her, and all the drinks he took to the head. He backs me into a car while I try to cut that imaginary rope between us, but it’s too late and I think I see the truth in his eyes.
“Tell me what happened,” I whisper, gripping his arms. “Tell me what happened with you and her that night on that boat. Don’t dance around the shit. Tell me the fucking truth, Ason.”
He swallows hard and I smell the alcohol on his breath while he tries to string his explanation together. I finally see all those vices Blake talked about.
“What if I told you I couldn’t remember everything that happened that day?” he asks, yanking me into his body. “What if I told you it was one of those days with spots of black every fucking time I try to wrack my brain and go back to make sure itdidn’thappen? I don’t remember shit but Dough pulling me from the side of the boat, telling me the same shit my Mom would tell me—all the shit about me finding you. I don’t remember the partying, the drugs, or her. What if I told you I didn’t even have her taste in my mouth the next day and the only bruise I had came from Dough’s fingers pressing into my neck because he told me he’d never let me drown even if we only met that day? The only thing I remember is waking up on an empty yacht the next day with Pops standing over me. If I had told you all this shit, would you have still stayed home? What happened to our good being whatever we choose?”
He chokes on “home” and it’s just as painful for him as it is for me because my heart tells me that the man I hate and like would never do such a disgusting thing, but what will the world think about me? I’m the girl that still can’t believe that he did something so terrible—even through his sketchy explanation. I feel it in his touch, I hear it in his voice and I see it on his face everyday he pops up at the right and wrong times, but Blake’s right to be skeptical of me.
“I’m going home—to myrealhome, Ason. I’ll drive us there if I have to.”
PART3
THE END OF IT ALL
CHAPTERTWENTY-FOUR
Lourdes
“I’m really rethinking my position as your bestie,” Chelsea rattles in my ear.
I wheeze out a deep yawn while slapping at the space next to me in bed, but it’s empty. The emptiness reminds me of the lingering mess that’s left between me and Ace—all the vices and family secrets fueled by alcohol that no one ever bothered to warn me about. Not even Cree.
I pinch my eyes shut, fighting against the remnants of his taste from the promises he kept breathing into my mouth while we waited on my Uber in that parking garage. He don’t even believe in Ubers, but he still put me in one.
“I’m your real home. I don’t care what nobody says or what happens,”he said, curling his tongue around mine.“I promise I won’t get lost on Earth and I hope you promise me the same, baby.”
I didn’t realize how grim and final his words sounded—not when I relieved Jazmine, kissed Mama goodnight, or shrugged Marcus off when he came in high. I was just going through the motions, but now, with Chelsea breathing in my ear about Splashtown again, I feel the aftermath.
“Man...” I smack my lips. “I told you nothing happened to me that night of the party, Chels. Hang it up. I’m good.”
The line gets quiet and I curl my legs into my stomach, trying to inhale the last whiff of Ace that’s left in his Gallery Dept. shirt I can’t give back.
I wait for her comeback, and her raspy giggle, but nothing happens. She doesn’t even threaten to tell Mother Lenola on me.
“I think you need to log back on Twitter.”
“I’m on a break.”
“Yeah, now I think I know why.”
Serious Chelsea is such a rare occurrence, but I’ve gotten her twice in one semester. She’s so serious this time that I don’t even recognize her voice. It’s stale.
“What’s wrong? Don’t tell me you been on there arguing with Beyoncé STANS again about her history of blasphemous music. I’m not reporting profiles this early—”
“Lourdes...”
My real name? Damn. This reallyisserious Chelsea.
I push up from the bed, rubbing the crust from my eyes. “Chelsea... what’s going on?”
“I don’t know. You tell me. I just found out from the internet there’s nothing going on with you and Bry. There never was, was it? Sheesh, Phat, you even went to a gala with him and you didn’t even bother to tell me?”
