Page 148 of Mad Girl

You quirked a brow. “I noticed you left that bit out of your letter to her.”

“I had to. I couldn’t say anything in front of Michael.”

“And I appreciate that, Elliot, but she has no reason not to out me now that Michael broke up with her, so I had to tell your dad she threatened me. He told me he’d take care of it, and apparently he has, because she’s already moved on to some older guy she met in a coffee shop.”

“But my dad doesn’t know I heard her threaten you? He doesn’t know I know your secret?”

“No. He only knows you caught her hassling me about sleeping with her. And the thing is, I wanted to leave Nic out of it. I wanted to handle this one issue on my own. I know you were worried about it, but I had no intention of letting her coerce me into anything. I wish you’d trusted me.”

I sighed. “Well, I got what I deserved, right? She got to hear me admit how jealous I am of her life. She got to torture me and see this messed-up thing I do that makes me a freak.”

“You are not a freak,” you said.

“Normal people don’t beg for forgiveness so their dads won’t look at them differently, Casey.” I glanced down at my scalloped pillowcase, toying with the corner of it. “To answer your earlier question, I’ve done that many times since I begged Michael to forgive me for stabbing him, and sometimes I am desperate to be forgiven—especially if it’s someone I love—but other times, like with the nanny or Sienna, it’s more about my dad sitting there while someone refuses to believe I feel remorse for my actions, and I panic, worried they’ll convince him to believe it, too.”

What I couldn’t say without crying was: Worried he keeps putting us through that because he’s trying to convince himself I’m not really a monster.

You slipped your fingers into my hand. “As someone who’s quite jealous of the way your dad looks at you, I can promise you have absolutely nothing to worry about.”

I squeezed your fingers and yawned, which caused you to yawn, too. We smiled at each other again.

“Hey,” I said, tugging on your hand. “You don’t have to sit there. You can crawl in here with me.”

You withdrew your hand from mine, your smile fading. “No, I’m okay where I am.”

“It’s not a big deal, Casey.”

“Of course it is. I can’t crawl into bed with you, Elliot.”

“Why not? You’ve been in my bed before.”

“That was different. You were sick—and we had a laptop between us.”

“Are you saying we need a laptop between us?”

You swallowed. “It’s a bad idea.”

My heart sank. “Says who?”

“Says me. I’m saying it.”

“My dad threatened you, didn’t he?”

“No—and he doesn’t need to. We don’t belong in bed together at”—you glanced at the phone on my nightstand—“two in the morning.”

So there it was, Casey—my answer. Apparently, you wouldn’t have turned to me if I’d been brave enough to slip into bed with you. It sounded as if you would’ve kicked me out of your room.

Had I gotten it all wrong? You and me?

The birthday ring. The lingering hugs. Your finger to the crease of my nose. The forehead kiss at Christmas.

Had none of it meant anything?

Had you placed me in the friend zone…with Sienna?

My cheeks burned, body prickling hot all over. Not only had you overheard the most humiliating moment of my life, you’d just rejected me, too.

“Okay, I asked if you wanted to lie down next to me, not fool around with me. Not everyone wants to sleep with you, Casey.”