Little Lies

The door opens, hitting me in the back and causing me to stumble forward. And of course, because nothing can be easy, Kodiak tries to push his way into the front hall, which was already crowded with me and River and the seven million stinky pairs of shoes on the floor. These guys and their shoes.

“What’s going on?” His T-shirt is wet with perspiration. His hair is drenched, and beads of sweat trickle down his temples. He’s clearly been for a run. He should look disgusting, but he doesn’t.

“Lavender’s moving out,” River spits. “And it’s your fucking fault.”

“I can’t deal with this.” I use their momentary distraction to slip past Kodiak. Lacey and Lovey dance their way around him too.

“How is that my fault? I’m only here for a few weeks, and then I’ll be back in my own place,” Kodiak scoffs, but he sounds unnerved.

I drop the box in the trunk and turn to face them. River and Kodiak are standing with their arms crossed, barricading the door. I’ll come back for the rest of the things I need tomorrow, when they aren’t home.

I pin them with a glare. “I need a damn break from the blame game and all the bullshit.” Lovey and Lacey drop their boxes in the trunk, and I slam it shut.

“What about your sewing machine?” River’s eyes are wide with panic. “And what about Mom and Dad? Do they know? There’s no way Mom is gonna be cool with this.”

“I already talked to Mom. She fully supports my decision. As for my sewing machine, I’ll deal with it later. Let’s go, girls.”

We get into the car, and I lock the doors because River is on his way down the steps. He tries to open the driver’s side door as I put the car in reverse. He knocks on the window. “Come on, Lav! You can’t seriously be moving out!”

I ignore him since there is no other option, and I’m not stopping to discuss this. I’m not giving him the chance to try to convince me to stay. He chases me halfway down the street before he finally gives up.

I’m gripping the steering wheel so hard, the vinyl creaks, and my knuckles are white. It’s really to prevent my hands from shaking. I’m aware that this is probably going to make things worse with River and Kodiak, but I can’t deal anymore. Pandering to River isn’t helping either of us.

“Are you okay?” Lovey asks.

“I don’t know,” I admit.

“That was seriously badass,” Lacey says from the back seat.

“Thanks.” I blow out a long breath, trying to find some calm. My cells feel like they’re vibrating on a high frequency.

“Kodiak looked like he was going to shit a brick,” Lovey says.

“Good for him.” I didn’t tell either of them what happened last night. Or about the conversation I had with my mom before I met up with them, or what River admitted to me about blocking Kodiak’s number. I still don’t know exactly what to think about all of that, other than it shifts my perspective on everything. Kodiak can be very rigid. He’s always been that way, unless it’s me. I’d been the exception to his rule.

He had a hierarchy, and hockey had always been at the top of that list, followed by his mom, schoolwork, me, and then Maverick—until everything fell apart. And as the pieces of this puzzle fall into place, his behavior begins to make a lot more sense. But it sure doesn’t excuse him for acting like a complete asshole the past two years.

We arrive at Hartford House, a seven-story building of apartment-style dorms. I pull into an empty space in the short-term parking, and we each grab a box.

A guy who is most definitely a student sits behind the desk. Based on the way his head is bowed, he’s messing around with his phone. It takes so long for him to lift his head that Lovey clears her throat. When he finally looks up, his sour expression turns into wide-eyed surprise. His gaze bounces from Lovey to Lacey and then to me. He fumbles with his phone and drops it on the desk, faceup. He’s watching some kind of drunk-fail video. Classy. He quickly flips it over and adopts a casual pose. He’s wearing a school branded T-shirt. “Hey. Hi. Hello. I’m Mitchell.” He taps his name badge. “How can I help you?”

It takes me about three seconds to find my voice, which doesn’t sound long, but when someone is waiting for an answer it seems like an eternity. “I-I—”

“There’s a room available here for Lavender Waters. The housing department said she could move in today,” Lovey rushes to fill the silence.

I half appreciate it and half hate it. If she’d given me another second, I would’ve been able to get the words out.