Page 77 of Fake Crown

When I asked him to do something, he flat out refused to get involved. Newsflash, he’s the reason I’m involved. Orgasms and lattes do not make up for a trashed reputation in my last year at Northern. Thankfully, my plan has always been to return to Bellerive, where this mess is a tiny blip in the grand scheme of my life, but if I ever get TV famous, this whole incident will resurface. The internet never forgets.

“Is it possible to hate someone and also feel something so much bigger for them?” I ask.

It takes Julia a moment to answer. “Yeah,” she says. “It’s possible.” She collapses onto the end of my bed. “If you really like him, it might be worth talking to him when you get back in a couple days?”

What would I even say to him? I curl onto my side, and Julia meets my gaze across the expanse of bedding. “He said he felt protective of me.” A tear slips down my cheek.

“Then maybe he went to Val to tell her to back off.” Julia crawls up the bed and wraps her arms around me. “Don’t be like the assholes on the internet and assume things before you talk to him. If you really like him, you should talk to him.”

I untangle myself from her, and I grab my phone from the nightstand. The message is still there, and I hover my finger over it. I can read it or delete it without bothering. Even if this doesn’t look good, we spent too much time together for me to make assumptions.

After I read it, a tiny spout of hope pops up inside me. Maybe he did go to her apartment to talk to her, to tell her to back off. He hasn’t sent me any other messages or tried to reach out to me beyond this one. But what he’s sent me isn’t nothing either.

I’m at the airport waiting to board my flight back to Michigan when Destiny sends me a text with a screenshot attached. Before I open it, I can already tell it’s Brent. I’d recognize him anywhere, even before I knew him so intimately.

I scan the photo, and I realize how starved for him I’ve been. He’s sleeping in his bed, and the dying light must be streaming through the windows in his room. A sheet is artfully draped across his middle. It’s a scene I’ve taken in more than once myself. He looks strong and peaceful...and naked. It’s the kind of photo that—the thought draws me up short, and I open the picture to see the entire screenshot.

My blood runs cold.

It’s the kind of photo Val would have taken, and it appears she has. This isn’t a photo I’ve ever seen before. Waves of hot and cold are moving through my body as I open the app she’s used and click to her profile.

The caption is simple and heartbreaking.

Forgiveness takes many forms. But this one is my favorite.

Forgiveness? What a joke. My heart is spasming in my chest, but instead of letting that feeling take over, I allow the rage to rise in me. If he got back together with her, I will murder him.

I scan through her feed, searching for this same photo elsewhere, but there’s nothing. If she’d had this one when they broke up, she’d have posted it to stave off Brent’s thirsty fans.

This must be new.

The announcement to board comes over the PA system, and I rise from my seat. My hand shakes as I close my phone and tuck it into my purse. My original plan was to go to Brent and tell him none of this was fake for me either, but it’s clear he’s slid back into old habits without a second thought.

I’ve never been good at letting an injustice go, and I’m not about to start today.

Brent

It doesn’t take long for me to realize going to see Val was a miscalculation. Jess is the first one to text me to let me know I’m going viral again because someone posted photos of me and Val entering her apartment. A bunch of other people message me after that wondering if Val and I are back together.

Fan-fucking-tastic.

Here’s hoping Posey is still on a social media break. When I called Val from the parking lot, she left her apartment without a coat. I got out to speak to her rather than being in the close confines of the car, but the wind was biting, and I’m not an asshole. She was clearly cold. Which, now that I think about it, the missing coat was likely a ploy on her part to get me into her apartment. There, instead of listening to me and hearing me out about Posey, she tried to get into my pants—quite literally.

I used to lead with my dick, so maybe her assumption would have been reasonable in the past. But I’m not looking for shallow anymore. I’m ready for the deep waters, even if I haven’t quite figured out how to navigate them. Right now, I’m drowning in a sea of misinformation.

Jaxon wanders into the kitchen from his bedroom. He returned to campus late last night, and he heads for the coffee maker.

“Man,” he says, “your life is like The Northern Campus Enquirer come to life. Did you see Val’s post this morning? Why is that girl so desperate?”

I rub my forehead and suppress a sigh. The post must be about me, but I’ve been trying to avoid the swirl of lies. “My chat with her the other night didn’t go well.”

“No shit. Wouldn’t know it from her post this morning. She’s running a mile with those photos of you entering her apartment. She’s mastered the art of spin.”

Reluctantly, I open my phone on the island and click on the app she’s likely used. I can feel my jaw harden at the photo of me. “She took that the day you left the apartment door unlocked.”

“Hmm.” Jaxon pours himself a coffee. “That sucks.”

“That’s one way to put it.” Far too mild for what I’m feeling inside right now. Instead of all this bullshit grinding to a halt, Val is wringing every drop out of it.