“You’re sending me to boarding school? No. Absolutely not. I’ll just … drop out and get my GED and—”
“If you refuse to finish your high school education the proper way, I’m afraid my offer to pay your tuition will be off the table.” His chin lifts as he peers down his nose. I know that look. It’s his way or nothing, and I don’t exactly have eighty grand lying around to pay for college. “Eight months and then you’re done. You’ll emerge a better person, with more discipline, more respect, more poise and grace.”
“I can’t believe you’re doing this.” My eyes burn, but I refuse to cry. “You’re all I had. And you’re just shipping me away, like I’m not your problem.”
“You were never my problem to begin with,” he says. “But I took you in because you’re family. And I love you. I know it may seem harsh, Halston, but I’m doing this for you. This is going to change the entire trajectory of your life. And someday, you’ll thank me for it.”
Chapter 33
Ford
Sweat beads down my forehead Sunday afternoon, my shoes pounding the pavement as I push forward, running harder, faster, rounding the corner to my house. I pass the Abbotts’ place, slowing down once I reach the foot of my driveway. Slowing to catch my breath, I stretch my arms behind my head before heading inside.
I couldn’t sleep last night.
Hell, I couldn’t function this morning.
The run was a last-ditch attempt to do something productive with my day, but none of it matters. All I keep thinking about is how I lost her. And how fucked up it is to even think of it that way because she was never mine to lose in the first place.
Five minutes later, I’m standing motionless under the spray of a cold shower, the water harsh and unforgiving. But I’m not sure what I expected. If a sleepless night and a long run couldn’t quell the maelstrom raging inside, a frigid shower isn’t going to help.
When I’m finished, I accept my defeat.
With a towel wrapped around my hips, I give myself a long, hard look in the mirror.
And then I find my phone.
From: [email protected]
Subject: Please read
Time: 1:21 PM
Message: If things were different, I’d have made you mine the moment we met. Wait for me, Absinthe. Eight more months and I’ll make you mine forever. I love you.
Placing the phone aside, I change into clean clothes. When I return, the message shows as ‘read,’ but there’s no response.
Chapter 34
Halston
“Who’s Kerouac?” Bree barges into my room Sunday afternoon, my phone in her hand and a smug sneer on her thin lips.
I’m pretty sure my heart stopped beating for a second, but I manage to keep my shit together. Closing my copy of East of Eden, I sit up on the edge of my bed and shoot her a dead-eyed stare.
“Who?” I play dumb.
“Apparently the two of you have had a lot to talk about over the past couple of months.” Her thumb scrolls up and down the screen, her mouth twisting into a wicked grin. “Who is he, Halston?”
“Nobody I’ve ever heard of.” I exhale, lying back down and unfolding my book.
Her dull blue eyes flick up. “If he’s nobody, then I probably don’t need to read you this email he sent about ten minutes ago.”
My heart races.
“It was really sweet too,” she adds, her tone mocking and saccharin.
“You’re bluffing,” I say. Kerouac doesn’t do sweet. He never has.
She flips the screen toward me, though from here I can’t read it.
“No, no. It says right here. Sent today at one twenty-one PM.” Bree presses the phone against her chest. “I’ll show it to you if you tell me who he is.”
“It’s an anonymous dating app. We’ve never met.”
“I knew it. And you’re such a liar.” Her face is pinched, yet there’s a satisfied gleam in her eyes. “Just last night you two were chatting about a kiss. Fess up.”
“I’m not telling you a damn thing.” My fingers twitch, my skin boiling just below surface level. I’m tempted to lunge at her and rip the damn thing from her bony little hands.
“What’s eight months from now?” She glances up at the ceiling, counting on her hands as she whispers, “October … November … December … January …”
May.
Eight months from now is May.
The end of the school year.
Oh, god.
I need to see that email.
“May,” she finally says. “What’s so special about May?”
“How should I know? Guys say a lot of shit that doesn’t make sense.”
Lifting the phone to her face, she smirks. “If things were different, I’d have made you mine the moment we met. Wait for me, Absinthe. Eight more months and I’ll make you mine forever. I love you.”
He loves me …
Kerouac loves me.
My stomach flutters, yet at the same time all I see is red.
“Give me my phone,” I say, teeth clenched. “Now.”
“Never.” She shoves it in her back pocket. “It’s no longer your property.”
“Give it to me!” I’m not one to scream. I generally find it pointless and weak, a last resort that does nothing more than declare to the other person that you’ve lost all control, but I do it anyway. I don’t recognize my voice like this, but it’s me, screaming at the top of my lungs like a crazy person.
I suppose love makes you do crazy, insane, lose-all-control-of-yourself things.
He loves me.
And fuck. I love him too.
Charging at Bree, I reach around, attempting to take it back, but in the process, I push her against the wall, knocking down a gaudy abstract portrait that falls to the ground and shatters on the hardwood floor, sending the two of us to our knees.
We’re surrounded by glass. Tiny invisible shards dig into my stinging palms.
“If you don’t tell me who it is, I’m going to show this to my father,” she says, carefully flicking broken glass off her bloody knuckles. Bree’s out of breath, but she doesn’t seem deterred. “If you tell me who it is, I’ll delete the app. Nobody will ever know.”
“I’m not negotiating with you.” I will not be blackmailed by this bitch.
“Fine,” she says, pushing herself to a standing position. Brushing the hair out of her face, she holds her head high. “Eight months from now is May. May is … Mother’s Day, Memorial Day, and … graduation. This guy says he can’t be with you until May, so … is it a teacher?!”
I say nothing.
“Oh, god,” she says, expression fading. “It’s Principal Hawthorne.”
My nose wrinkles. “No, it isn’t.”
“He couldn’t stop staring at you that night at dinner. He got all weird watching you and Thane, and then he left when you guys left. And that one time, after school, when he needed to talk to you alone … and I saw you two talking at the drinking fountain that day …” She paces the room, stepping over the shattered art. “Wow. Oh my god. Wow. This is … this is major.”
“Aren’t you a real fucking Nancy Drew.” I roll my eyes. “Too bad you’re still wrong. You’ll never figure it out.”
“It’s absolutely Hawthorne. I see it on your face. Your nose twitches and your voice gets a little higher. You’re lying,” she says. “As a future education administrator and mandatory reporter, I need to report my suspicions to the appropriate authorities.”
“Bree.” The broken, guttural tone in my voice is both a plea and a threat, though in this moment she doesn’t appear to care either way.
“I’ll tell my father what I suspect and let him take it from there.” She heads to the door, only it swings open, banging against the wall and startling us both. “If he’s innocent, as you say he is, then he’ll have nothing to worry about.”
My uncle stands in the doorway, eyes bugging. “What’s going on up here?”
His gaze lands on the shattered frame, and I suspect he senses the thickness of contempt in the air.