“Well, alright, then.” Alana looks crestfallen, and I hate myself just a little bit more than I already did. “Maybe another time. Don’t be a stranger, okay?”

“Okay.”

The Porsche slips into gear, and I hit the throttle, putting as much distance between us as I can. Trying not to think about Kail and what she did is a full-time job.

A fucking virgin.

Part of me wanted to be relieved when I found out. Hell, maybe I was. She was only ever meant to be mine. But that relief washed away in a flood of anger a second later. She’s been punishing me for that night, treating me like a monster. Threatening to mace me and plotting out her revenge.

It’s funny how easily I wanted to forget her motivations. But now all I can think about is how she took the money and ran. Her actions then should have told me everything I needed to know. But once just wasn’t enough for me. I had to go and give her the opportunity to do it again. And she will. I don’t doubt there will be another demand for cash any day now.

It doesn’t matter if I felt something. It doesn’t matter how much I might have wanted it. Kail is and always will be the girl who betrayed me. And now, there’s only one place I can go to for answers.

Carson is still out of school, but he’s due to come back next week. I haven’t checked in on him as often as I should have, and it’s just another reason I’m an asshole. When I get to his house, his dad is gone like always, and I find him practically living off his sofa. Empty fast-food bags and dirty laundry surround him, and it doesn’t look like he’s showered in days.

He blinks up at me as I take a seat in the ugly floral chair across from him.

“I would ask how you’ve been, but you look like hell.”

“Yeah,” he mutters and tosses an empty can of beer onto the floor.

His face seems more sunken in than the last time I saw him, and his eyes have a glazed quality that reminds me of Suzy. Clearly, he’s been eating, but it looks like he’s lost a bit of weight too.

“What’s up with you?” I ask. “Are you feeling alright?”

“I’m fine,” he grunts. “Just bored as fuck.”

It feels like a lie. Something heavy hangs in the air between us. More than just the normal tension since Kail tore us apart and sent him spiraling into a state of self-destruction. We’ve both struggled with the reality of that night. Carson has been moody and withdrawn ever since. He’s done some pretty stupid and reckless things, but it’s not like I can judge him. The scars on my elbow are a permanent reminder of the terrible decisions I’ve made. Mine almost cost my life. I’d like to say I’ve changed since then, but Carson’s vacant face feels like a reflection staring back at me. Are either of us getting any better?

“I heard you were out with Audrey the other night.” He shoots me an irritated glance. “Don’t tell me you’re hitting that again.”

“Where did you hear that?” I grimace.

“She was snap chatting pictures of you all night. Party at the Eager Beaver?”

Fucking Audrey.

“I wasn’t at the strip club.” I sigh. “I went to Spark’s Curve for some coffee. I was sitting there when some of the guys from the team came in, and they wanted to party. Audrey tagged along with them because she was all over Robertson like a bad rash.”

“It didn’t sound that way to me.”

He seems pissed, and I really don’t get what his deal is. I would have told him to come over if I thought he actually wanted to leave this depressing hole.

“Why is Audrey snap chatting you, anyway?” I ask.

He looks away and shrugs. “No clue.”

Another lie. Maybe he wants to fuck her. If that’s the case, he can have her.

“For the record, I’ve never hooked up with Audrey.”

“Yeah, right.” He snorts.

“I haven’t,” I deadpan. “Ask her yourself if you want.”

Carson’s brows pinch together, and he still doesn’t look like he believes it. But I didn’t come here to waste my breath talking about Audrey. She’s enough of a headache as it is.

“I need to talk to you about that night with Kail,” I tell him.

His eyes darken, and he reaches for the bottle of pills beside him, emptying two into his palm. “The last time I tried to bring it up, you plowed your car into a ditch at ninety miles an hour.”

His observation poisons the air with resentment. We haven’t talked about it. Not really. It isn’t like him to be so harsh, but I suspect the pills are talking now.

“I want to hear your side of things,” I push.

Tags: A. Zavarelli Romance
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