And there it was. I’d done none of the things Evan had accused me of, and even if I had, I didn’t deserve a verbal beat down. “But I promised him grace. Should I have given him time to process?”
How much grace was I expected to give him? At a certain point, what part of his behavior was a knee-jerk trauma response, and how much was just jerk?
Imaginary Chelsea went quiet on me. And I realized I didn’t actually know if she’d identify with Evan or if she’d see him as an avatar for her dad. Victim or bully? Did his trauma excuse any of his behavior?
A horn tooted outside, and as soon as I’d slid into the backseat of the Elantra, I texted Chelsea,Never mind. I’m going to bed. I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Don’t worry about me.
At least one of us should have a quiet date night.
Chapter Thirty
Evan
“O beware, my lord, of jealousy; it is the green-ey’d monster which doth mock the meat it feeds on.”
Othello
When I looked around, everyone suddenly found somewhere else to go. The whole thing was mortifying, and I could only pray nobody had live-streamed it, but that wasn’t my most pressing concern. What had I done?
Had I once again acted without all the facts, like I had with Vicky, lashing out from fear and self-hatred?
I grabbed my coat and ran outside, scanning the street. Elizabeth probably never wanted to see me again, but I couldn’t let her walk home alone on such a cold night, and I wanted to try to undo some of the damage I’d inflicted. The temperatures had dropped and I could smell snow on the air. It would be just my luck for the weather to fuck me, too.
When l didn’t see Elizabeth at the corner, I turned back the other way. Bas lived much closer, and if she wanted to get everyone on her side, she’d probably go there armed with a half-bottle of wine and tales of my misdeeds.
My blood pulsed in my ears as I trudged up the street, hoping I’d catch her before she got to his door. Chelsea’s car sat in the driveway, and the reminder Bas was on a date with a fraud who was using him for her own fuck list reignited my anger. How many times had Elizabeth told me Chelsea was going to hurt him?
With the back of my fist, I pounded on the door. Bas opened it with a look of annoyance. I pushed inside taking in the movie credits playing, Chelsea on the sofa glowering, the dog pawing at my thigh, but Elizabeth wasn’t there. I strode in, pointing at the author of my misery, saying, “Doesheknow?”
Bas followed. “Do I know what?”
Chelsea cocked a eyebrow. “Yeah. What?”
“About your checklist?” I demanded. She and I had never gotten along, and now I understood why. I’d always suspected she was a scam artist.
“My list?” Her face lit with understanding. “What about it?”
“What are you talking about?” Bas looked confused, but then his mouth drew into anoh. “Wait. Their checklist?That’swhat this is about?”
Fuck. I bristled at the betrayal. “So youdidknow? The bullshit conversation?” My voice cracked, and I channeled the sorrow back into anger. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Chelsea stood. “What is there to tell? It has nothing to do with you.”
The hell? “It has everything to do with me. It’s the whole reason Elizabeth’s going out with me. She only talked to me because of that dare.” I kicked the coffee table, and that hurt, making me feel even stupider. I clenched my fists, and Chelsea’s demeanor went from her usual brash dominatrix to small and scared so quickly, I relaxed my hands, wishing I hadn’t come here.
Bas grabbed my wrist. “Come on. You can sleep in Farrid’s bed. He won’t be home tonight.”
I started to protest, but I was bone tired. “Okay.”
In the bedroom, he crossed his arms and asked, “What happened, Evan? Why are you so upset?”
“Why aren’t you?” I grabbed a pillow and hugged it to me. “Everything’s changed.”
“Don’t be so melodramatic. Nothing’s changed at all, man.”
“Easy for you to say.”
“So what started this?”
