I stand for a long time in front of the door I sent her through. I shut my eyes and try to feel the shadow of her presence in my room. There’s a part of me—a raging, senseless part—that wants to throw the door open, rip her clothes off, and fuck her until she can’t walk anymore. She’ll be stuck in my bed, the smell of vanilla and cinnamon surrounding me forever.
But the part of me that actually cares about her wins. I wasn’t lying when I told her she deserved the whole package. Elizabeth DeVille is selfless, kind, beautiful, smart, good, and in so many other ways out of my league.
I don’t know what she sees in me, but I shut my eyes and try to hang onto the peaceful feeling I get whenever she’s around. It’s like the amplification of that feeling I had the very first night I saw her, with the broken Porsche. Peaceful. Pleasant. Beautiful. Good.
As I listen to the room around me, I think that I can hear her voice. She sounds upset, and it kills me that I’m the reason why.
My body’s sore, so I sink down to the rug, leaning over my knees with my head propped in my hands.
“I fucked up... I fucked it all up... I fucked up...”
Sometimes when I close my eyes, I can hear myself sobbing and my dad yelling.
I inhale deeply.
Libby. Think of Libby.
I’ve got her face pinned to the forefront of my mind like a motherfucking screensaver when the phone rings. Not my cell phone, but my land line. Shit.
Chapter 27
Elizabeth
I DON’T WANT to leave, but I’m not sure what else to do. Hunter doesn’t want me here, and I can’t force him to. This is the second time he’s said I should leave, and Priscilla was just here. He has a whole life outside me, and if he means what he says about not wanting to take things any further, I don’t see the point of trying to force myself on him.
I’m packing my bags, feeling numb and desolate, when Suri calls.
“Lizzy—hi.” She pauses for a second. “How are things?”
“They’re good. I’m headed home.”
“Really? Wow. So I guess things must have progressed quickly.”
“Kind of,” I hedge. I don’t even try to go into it, because I can tell by her voice that something’s wrong. My stomach jerks into a knot.
“Is something going on? You sound weird.”
She sighs. “Girl, you always know, don’t you?”
“I’m your best friend. That’s my job. So spit it out.”
“It’s Cross. He’s saying... He told me that what happened that night wasn’t an accident. That someone did it. He’s upset, like he pulled out all his IVs and cursed at Nanette, and then he told me to leave because he needs some time to think.” Her voice breaks on the word ‘leave’ and I just know something is going on with the two of them.
“Wow.” I clutch the phone tighter. Cross has had some serious issues with his father, but I don’t think he has any real enemies. Does he? I lean against the bedpost, feeling sick—over this, over Hunter. Over everything. “Is he doing better now? I mean, when you left was he...”
“I didn’t leave. I’m outside in a waiting area. I think they sedated him. He was really upset.” She drags in a teary breath and I can hear a sniffle, followed by a rustle I’m sure is a tissue. “I’m sorry to burden you with this while you’re at Hunter’s, but I didn’t know who else to call. He said that when he left to go...after the fight the two of you had, there was this guy messing with his bike. Like, touching it and stuff. The guy told him he liked the bike. It doesn’t sound like much, but Cross says when he got onto the road he had trouble controlling it. He said the steering had been messed up, and the brakes seemed messed up too, but not completely gone. So he didn’t flip like he might have, he just lost control of the steering...because of how much he had to drink, but mostly because the bike was ruined.”
“Holy shit. Did he know this guy?”
“Cross said he looked like someone he used to know. I asked if it was an enemy or something, and he acted kind of weird. I don’t know if we can trust him, though, Liz. He thinks you two had a fight because he was jealous over you messing around with Hunter.”
“He was jealous,” I whisper.
Suri huffs her breath out, and I can feel her censure. Her irritation that I kept it from her. “I guess I don’t know all the details.” The next second, I’m standing with the dead line in my hand, and no way home. How nice.
A few seconds later, a phone rings, and I assume it’s Suri. It’s actually the landline on the table in the corner. It rings once, twice, three times before I reluctantly lift the earpiece.