Page 29 of Hexed & Hazy

I hold up my hands. What I want is to wither away—or at least hide in my bedroom for a bit—but I’ll do anything to diffuse this situation in the meantime. “No worries, Tori. I trust you.”

“I don’t care,” she snaps. “I never asked for your trust. And don’t call me that.”

I exchange a look with Rowan. The situation still doesn’t feel right, doesn’t feel resolved. It’s pretty clear why she ghosted me now.

I still can’t help but ask, “Are you sure I didn’t do anything to upset you?”

Forget the hex. I don’t want to have any problems with Victoria or anyone else. We used to be friendly. What can I do to get us there again?

“No.” The single word is clipped short. “But I knew exactly what I was getting into with you. We went on three dates, and from what my friends told me, I knew there wouldn’t be a fourth. So I cut it off once I was done with you.”

“That’s not true. I would have gone out with you again. We were having fun. Or, I mean, I thought we were having fun.”

“Prove it.” She narrows her eyes. “You only texted me once after I stopped replying. I know you didn’t care then, and you only care now because someone else wasted their magic hexing you.”

“I—”

What’s the point in lying? She’s right. I moved on fast, and even if she did too, it doesn’t matter.

“I’m sorry,” I say instead.

She lifts her shoulders. “I’m still not the one who hexed you. I wouldn’t spend my magic on something so useless. Keep looking.”

And even though anger coats her words, even though there’s something behind what she’s saying—something I can’t quite piece together...

I believe her. Dammit. She may know more than she’s willing to say, but I don’t think Victoria hexed me.

Rowan bows her head. “Thank you for your time. We’ll leave you alone.”

Rowan is frustratingly silent as she leads me to her car. She opens the passenger door and glares at me. Is she opening the door for me? In another situation, I’d call it good manners, but somehow… it feels like a power play.

I press my lips together and slide inside. She shuts the door softly, not slamming it like some people would when they’re—what is she? Angry? Disappointed?

When she slides into the car and grips the wheel, her knuckles are white. “Do you know what you do to me, Seth Bautista?”

I groan and lean my head back against the headrest, closing my eyes. “Just add your name to the list of people pissed off at me, then.”

“I think we have enough lists to chip away at already, thank you.” She pulls out of the icy driveway, watching the little camera on her dashboard as she goes.

“Why are you mad at me?” I ask, shaking my head.

“Mad?” Even though she’s at a stop sign, she doesn’t even glance my way. “I’m not mad at you. I’m worried. You’re a good person, but you’ve somehow given yourself such a terrible reputation that you’re… gods, you’re a danger to yourself, aren’t you?”

“I’m not good⁠—”

“Yes. You are. I know you better than Victoria Welsh does.” She still says her name like she’s trying to spit it out of her mouth, desperate to get away from whatever unpleasant taste it leaves. “I know you care, but you insist upon putting on this act for everyone who doesn’t.”

Warmth melts in the pit of my stomach. “Are you sure?”

“Am I sure of what?”

“Are you sure that you know me like that?” I look out the window. “Maybe I really am just a jerk.”

“You act like one upon occasion.”

“What was I supposed to do? Read her mind, know that she wanted me to keep texting her?”

Her lips twitch, subtly, but I know I’m breaking through whatever barrier she’s trying to put up. “Yes. Exactly that.”