Blair’s features harden. Her eyes gloss over with tears, red as Tabasco.
“She’s upstairs, probably screwing some guy—or girl,” she hisses. “She doesn’t seem too picky. Hope you have a fantastic unhappily ever after.” Blair hits the door and disappears like a phantom.
Upstairs? Probably just some device to land me near a mattress. I take the stairs two by two and open and shut doors at random.
I make my way farther down the hall until the noise from the party is quickly replaced with deafening silence. Voices murmur from behind the walls of an adjacent room—a guy and a girl. The door is cracked open, so I peer inside.
A familiar mane of dark hair stands before a tall, very bald douchebag.
There they are, Kenny and Cal.
“It could just be this one time,” she purrs, running her hand down his shirt. Her fingers work on unbuttoning his jeans, and my chest constricts at the sight. Kenny just threw a brick at my heart. “I won’t tell if you won’t,” she coos.
I lean up against the wall and try to catch my breath. Kenny giggles from the other side, and her voice drills through me.
The sound of her laughter chisels down a toxic brand of misery right through to my bones, and I get the hell out of Dodge.
Late the next morning, I make breakfast for Kenny while she’s still sleeping—eggs and bacon, toast with strawberry jam, her favorite, and I’m heavy with agony every step of the way.
I glance out the kitchen window at the grey corrosive sky—all rust and iron locked in hurt and disbelief much like my heart.
Fresh air seems mandatory to clear my head out of this gutter of despair I’ve landed in. I grab a pen, and my hand trembles as I leave her a note.
Going for a walk, be right back. I scrawl it on a napkin quick as possible—afraid if I stall, my true feelings might bleed out.
It’s almost afternoon, and she’s still knocked out. She didn’t get in until three. I kept hoping she’d come to my room and ask why I was in my own bed, but she didn’t. Not sure what I would have said if she did. I just laid there all night, wide awake, wondering how the hell my heart wound up crushed under the sole of her pretty little foot.
I guess Blair was right—Blair who was the first to gouge my heart out, or so I thought. The misery Blair caused was nothing in comparison to the utter desolation that set in after hearing—seeing Kenny in action with my own freaking eyes.
But I know she loves me. You can’t fake emotion like that. Can you?
I head outside and a crisp breeze knifes through my clothes in cold steely jags.
The late February sky holds a stainless shade of grey as if someone were about to place a lid over Carrington, cover us up for good and a part me wishes they would. The pines still manage to cast detailed shadows over the snow in blues and lavenders, deep navy, dark as night. The strong scented evergreens light up the air, fresh and cleansing.
My phone goes off just as I arrive at the stream. It’s a number I don’t recognize, but I stop to take the call before I hit a dead zone.
“Hello?”
“Cruise? I’m so sorry to bother you. It’s Rayann, Blair’s mother.”
Every muscle in my body tenses as my bloodstream fills with concrete. What if Blair hurled herself off a cliff? Or what if she stuffed a bottle of pills in her stomach? I’m sure there would be hell to pay, and undoubtedly it would start and end with me.
“Nice to hear from you.” I manage to fake the kind sentiment. “What’s going on?”
“It’s Blair.” She wails when she says her name. “She’s been such a mess. She doesn’t eat anymore. All she does is mope about how she ruined things between the two of you. Is there any way you could talk to her? Maybe you could take her to dinner and get this whole thing straightened out.” Her voice rises with hope. “You do know that Stan and I think of you like a son. People make mistakes, Cruise—big ones. I really pray you’ll find it in your heart to forgive her.”
I blow out a hard breath.
Is that where this is headed? Can anyone really expect me to walk away from something so fantastic with Kenny and step back into a dead relationship with Blair again?
“I’m sorry she’s having a tough time.” I do mean that. Blair and I weren’t always riding on the crap wagon. “I really hope the best for her, but I’m pretty sure what we had is long over.”
We exchange niceties before hanging up, and I mute the damn phone.
Dad waves from the porch before making his way over—so much for time to think. On second thought, it’s probably best I don’t.
“Morning.” He says with an ear-to-ear grin, and I’m almost afraid to ask why he’s so ungodly jubilant. It looks like one of us got lucky with a Jordan woman last night and it sure as hell wasn’t me. “Mind if I join you?”