The Force of Gravity(50)

“I’ll be right back,” I say, but I don’t think they hear me.

I slip out of my chair and rush down the aisle. I peek around the corner and see Elijah holding the front door open for The Blonde. He turns back to wave at someone, and I duck back behind the wall, my heart pounding. I wait a few seconds before poking my head back out. When I see that he’s gone, I rush to the front door. Elijah is sliding into the passenger seat of her Mercedes, and I feel bile rising in my throat as I watch them interact. He’s laughing at something she’s saying and rests his arm against her headrest. He seems so carefree and relaxed.

“Miss?” a man’s voice says behind me.

Startled, I whip around.

“Can I help you with something?” he asks.

It’s the manager. The one Slate and Blonde Bitch were talking to. I point to the Mercedes.

“Do you know them?” I ask boldly.

His gaze follows my finger, then he says, “Yes, they dine here frequently.”

My limbs go numb. Of course they do.

“Is there something I can help you with?” he asks again.

“No, no thank you.” My voice is hoarse over the ball of emotion hardening in my throat. I want to bolt to the restroom, but I know I’ll lose it. I make my way back to the table, trying to conceal my distress.

Keep it together, Kaley.

“You look pale,” Derek comments as I return to the table.

“Thanks, Larson. You really know how to stroke a girl’s ego.”

He laughs. “I do what I can.”

“Everything okay?” asks Emily.

“Yeah, I just went to the restroom.”

They continue to stare at me.

What are they, detectives?

Our server arrives, presenting us with our delicately prepared dishes, and I’m left alone.



I CONSUMED ALMOST every bite of my meal, and now I feel sick as I climb into the backseat of the Beemer. Eating was the last thing I felt like doing, but I wasn’t about to be rude when Derek was treating me to such an extravagant meal. I did my best to act natural throughout the evening, but with every affectionate exchange between Derek and Emily, it became more and more arduous to sit calmly across the table.

By the time I’m buckled in and Derek’s back on the road, I pull my phone from my purse and scroll down to “Garrett,” my hands trembling as I text him:

Will you be free later tonight? I can tell my dad I’m staying over at Emily’s.

It’s almost fifteen minutes later when he replies:

Not free tonight, baby. Keep texts to emergencies only. See you tomorrow.

Air is involuntarily ripped out of my chest. My vision blurs as I toss my phone aside, and I frantically wipe my eyes before the tears spill over. I fix my gaze out the back window and have to cup my palm over my mouth to stifle a sob.

“Kay.” Derek’s alert voice jolts me from my desolation.

I look up at him as he’s glancing back at me repeatedly while still trying to keep his eyes on the road. When we pass under a street lamp, I can see his face full of concern.

“You okay back there?” He reaches his arm back, giving my knee a tight squeeze.

The small gesture is like a sledge hammer to the tiny dam I’m holding together, and I crumble forward, a sob fleeing from my chest as I drop my face into my hands. I feel a delicate hand on my leg, and I know it’s Emily.

“Kaley.” Her voice is alarmed.

“I’m sorry,” I cry out. “I’m just so . . . confused.”

“About what?” she asks.

I try to control my breath, but my lungs spasm. My voice quivers as I try to speak. “D-does everyone ch-cheat?”

It’s quiet for a moment.

“No,” Emily says softly. “I don’t think so.”

“I-I just f-feel like everyone cheats . . . everyone. M-my mom . . . Tommy . . .” —even me, I want to add.

Even Slate.

“Your mom?” I hear Derek ask.

“Her mom had an affair,” Emily whispers to him.

After a moment, I lift my head, wiping my face with my sleeves.

“I’m fine,” I say, sniffling. “I’m sorry. I know you guys have your own thing you’re dealing with, I don’t mean to—”

“Shh,” soothes Emily. “It’s okay.”

She waits, her eyes compassionately patient.

I nod. “I’m okay,” I assure her, managing a weak smile. “I promise. It’s just been a rough couple of weeks . . . for all of us.”

She gives me a gentle smile, then faces forward in her seat, and I go back to gazing out the window, letting the tears flow as I try to steady my breaths. I feel Derek look back at me again, but I don’t meet his eyes. I can’t.

I can’t believe he’s seeing her tonight. And behind my back. I’ve been such a fool. He probably went to Scottsdale thinking he wouldn’t get caught.

So, is this what I get? Is this karma biting me in the ass?

I put my friends through hell the last couple months, and all for what? A stupid, naïve infatuation with my math teacher. Damn, he’s convincing. He should be teaching theater instead. Our relationship is a joke—I’m a joke.

I pick up my phone, tempted to text him again. Just cancel plans for tomorrow and be done with him. I blow the air from my lungs and toss my phone aside—I’ve already made such a fool of myself; I don’t want to text him when I’m this upset. Especially when he’s with her doing God knows what.

His text keeps flashing in my mind: Keep texts to emergencies only.

And finally, it all comes together. He can call and text me whenever he wants, but I can’t do the same. He can go a week without giving me the slightest bit of contact, acting like it’s all too risky—yet, when Friday rolls around, he approaches my desk asking me to come over. And calls me baby! His mercurial nature had me fooled into thinking he was just being cautious and then losing control at times. But now I know what it really is: power. He’s in charge . . . and I just played right into his game.





CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR



I’M READY TO DUMP SLATE. I’m ready to dump his lying, cheating, stupid, sexy, perfectly sculpted ass.

Okay, I’m totally not, but that’s what I keep telling myself.

Everything is set into place. My dad thinks I’m staying the night at Emily’s—I know she’ll be at Derek’s late tonight, so I’m pretty certain she won’t blow my cover. I need my dad to think I’m staying the night so he won’t wait up for me. That way, if I come home “sick,” he’ll be in bed and I can slip into my room unbothered. If things go the way I imagine they will, I won’t feel like doing much besides lying in bed anyway, so it shouldn’t be too difficult to pull off.

I’m wearing my best jeans and a purple blouse—a more adult look. My hands shake as I pack my bag. Why am I even bothering? While I don’t know for sure how this night will go, both possible outcomes have my stomach in knots. First, I have to confront him. The thought of it makes me nauseated. And if for some miraculous reason he has a reasonable explanation for what I saw—yeah right—I will be spending the night. This is different than spontaneously showing up to his house intoxicated—this time, it’s planned. I push the butterflies down, positive it won’t be a happy ending.

My phone chimes with a text from Elijah:

Bring your bathing suit.

My heart skips a beat. Bathing suit? Last time we were together, he could barely handle my dress and wanted to hide my body in a potato sack. . . . Does he expect tonight to be the night? Blonde Bitch flashes before my eyes. Did he have her in a bikini last night? Okay, I’m ready to cancel the entire evening. Maybe it’s not such a good idea to be face-to-face. Maybe I should just text him and cancel. No, you’re doing this! I take a deep breath and open my dresser drawer, fishing for the perfect suit. I doubt the evening will even get this far, but if it does, I need to look my best. As I shuffle through the drawer, my phone chimes again:

The one you wore at Miller’s.

My mouth goes dry. Okay, he’s after something. I’m tempted to text back asking how exactly a bathing suit constitutes as an emergency. Controlling dick. With my pulse racing, I snatch up my black bikini and shove it in my bag. If I don’t leave now, I’ll chicken out. I grab my bag and fly down the stairs, hollering good-bye to my dad as I dash out the door.

“Hey!” he calls after me. “What’s going on?”

I spin around. “I’m going to Emily’s, remember?”

“You look like you’re running from a fire.”

“Oh, sorry. I’m just excited.”

“Excited to drive your new car, I bet,” he says, smiling.

“Uh, yeah. Definitely.” I clench my teeth as I pin a phony smile on my face.

“You know, Kay, Tommy’s a really nice boy.” His smile fades. We never talk about boys, and I squirm inside. “You should give him a chance.”

I silently count to three before speaking. “Yeah. Maybe.”

That seems to pacify him, and his smile returns. “All right, Kay, have a good night—be safe.”

“You got it.”

I bolt to my car, toss my bag in the passenger seat and slam the door shut. “Arghh!” I scream, releasing my pent-up frustration as I start the engine. “Did you know he banged some other girl on prom night, Dad?” I shout as I press on the gas. The deep throttle of the engine satisfies my adrenaline as I continue to yell into the empty space. “But, hey!” I let out a humorless laugh. “He made my car all shiny and new, so I should just take him back, right, Dad?” I laugh harshly again at the craziness of my life—I am literally driving to my math teacher’s house for a sleepover and have to confront him about a gorgeous blonde chick. Suddenly I miss the days of Barbie dolls and Nickelodeon.