And there it is. The guilt he carries around like an anchor. Now it’s for thinking he’s the reason Kodiak and I are such a mess. “First of all, me relying on you instead of Kodiak wouldn’t have made anything better. The problem was me relying on anyone other than me. And I still don’t see how this makes what happened your fault.”
“So, I did this thing with your text messages.”
“You did what thing?” This whole conversation is making my head hurt.
“I blocked his contact on your phone so you wouldn’t get them.”
“You what? When did you do that? Why?” My throat is suddenly tight.
“Just after Kodiak’s family moved to Philly at the end of sixth grade. I knew it would only make it harder on you if he kept texting when he was so far away, so when he messaged after they moved, I saw it before you did and I messaged back.”
“As me?”
He nods. “At first I know it was hard for you, but you were better without him. Every time he messaged, you cried and had another meltdown, so I told him it was too hard to be friends with him and he needed to stop messaging. I knew it was wrong, but it was so hard to watch you struggle. I just wanted it to stop. And I know it got worse for a while, but then you got better, and I thought I’d done the right thing.”
I hold up a hand, feeling sick. “You had no right to interfere.”
“I know, Lav. I’m sorry.” He runs both of his hands through his hair.
“Right now, you’re not forgiven.” I sling my backpack over my shoulder and push past him.
“Where are you going?”
“Away from you and the rest of the stupidity happening in this house.” I don’t even know how to process what’s going on, or whether it means anything anyway. It doesn’t change the fact that Kodiak’s been horrible to me. But maybe it explains it. I don’t know.
Kodiak calls my name as I pass his room, but I ignore him and keep going.
The living room is empty for once. No Maverick, no random dudes, not even BJ passed out on the lounger. I shove my feet in my shoes and am out the door, cutting off the sound of feet pounding down the stairs as I slam it shut. I hit the automatic start button and thank the karma gods that I remember to unlock it before I reach the car. I yank the door open, toss my bag on the passenger seat, and practically dive inside, pulling the door closed behind me and slamming my finger on the lock button.
I get my key in the ignition and my seat belt on as the front door opens. I remember I also need to turn the key to be able to get out of here, and when I do, the car is filled with the sound of another damn audiobook. Thankfully this time it’s not in the middle of a sex scene.
Kodiak stands on the front porch in a pair of sweats. I can tell he’s yelling something because his stupidly gorgeous mouth keeps opening and closing. He grabs his hair with both hands and spins around as River joins him. I catch a glimpse of a teeth-mark-shaped bruise on his side. I must have bitten the shit out of him last night.
I shift into reverse, wishing I’d been smart enough to back in so my getaway could be smoother. I pull onto the street and fire the bird at them as I drive away.
I’m not supposed to meet Lovey and Lacey until eleven thirty, so I make the impulsive decision to stop at the housing office. There were at least ten girls already on the housing waiting list, but people drop out all the time. The last time I went in for an update, there were still four girls ahead of me. My luck seems to be pretty crap, but it doesn’t hurt to check.
When I arrive, a middle-aged woman sits behind the desk, looking less than impressed about whatever is on her computer screen. I catch the reflection in her glasses and realize she’s on Facebook. She types furiously for a minute and stabs the enter button aggressively before she gives me her attention. I focus on remaining calm by counting all the yellow things on her desk.
She forces a smile. “How may I help you?”
“Hi. I’m on the waitlist for the dorms. I know I’m supposed to get a call when something opens up, but I was passing by and thought I’d stop in to see where I am.”
A hint of annoyance makes her cheek tic, and a hot feeling creeps up my spine. I hate irritating people.
“Let me have a quick look. I’ll need your name and your student ID.”