Misbehaved

“Alone?” He stretches. I think I hear his heart skipping a beat as I follow him to an oak tree—a huge thing the size of my house, probably—in the corner of the cemetery. We both stand in the shadow. I fiddle with the hem of my dress. Now that we’re alone, I drop my close-lipped smile and my soft eyes and become sharper around the edges. People are close enough to see what we are doing but far enough not to hear what we are saying. Pierce shoves his fists into his pockets and breathes in.

“I’m so sorry, Remi.”

“Thank you,” I say.

“You know it has nothing to do with me, right? I would never wish something like this upon my greatest enemy. And Ryan wasn’t my enemy. Not anymore. He was…” I think Pierce is about to say “yours,” but he stops himself if he does. Good. I don’t want to hear it, and I definitely don’t want to think about it. It’s not even true.

“Before he died,” I say, leaning my shoulder against the cool trunk of the dark brown tree, “he started acting different. Good different. Like the old Ryan. He was waiting on a call for a bed at an inpatient rehab center. He was trying. And then he was killed for it.” My dad was told that they suspect someone was upset that he wasn’t selling anymore. That, or he owed someone money.

Pierce nods. “We had a talk. I was hoping to get through to him. He really loved you, Remi.”

“You did?” My heart shatters, but flickers back to life. I’m not sure why. Maybe because hearing something I didn’t know about Ryan makes him feel more alive and the hole in my chest a little smaller. I’ll shove everything into that hole inside my heart. Even Pierce’s words, the most dangerous weapon of all.

“Yeah.” He nods faintly. “I told him if he really loves you, he should take a step back. And he did,” Pierce says. I swallow down my tears and shake my head.

“I can’t live without him,” I admit. It’s true. He is—was—such a huge part of my life, I didn’t even bother to check if he had a negative or positive effect on me.

“You can, and you will. I’ll help you through it. Through everything.”

“I don’t want your help.”

“I’m not asking.” His voice is dry. “I quit my job.”

My eyes fly up, and I blink. “You did what?”

“Quit.”

“Why?”

“Because I decided to pursue you. And pursuing you while holding onto a job where I had so much more power over you wasn’t fair. Or moral. Or right. I needed to refocus. You gave me what I needed. Now I’m going to give you what you need.”

“And what is that?” I ask, leaning against him without meaning to.

“Peace.”

I sit on Remi’s bed, wondering if I did the right thing or the spectacularly wrong one.

That’s what I loved the most about debate. There is no right or wrong in this world. No black and white. Remington and I live in the gray area. Logic is pointless. Gut feeling is dangerous. The only way to know whether you did the right or wrong thing is to ride it out and see it to the end.

Remi is in the living room talking to her dad. I make calls in the meantime. I call my mother to tell her I’ll be coming to Dad’s birthday with Remington—even though I haven’t run it by her yet. I call Shelly, but she doesn’t answer. Then I text Drew, my friend who’s been begging for me to join his law firm since we first met when I moved here.

Me: I’m ready to go back to the dark side.

Drew: You mean practicing law?

Me: It’s better than self-employment. Slightly.

Drew: You’ll get a corner office if you decide to work with me.

Me: That’s bad negotiation on your part. You don’t even know what I’m offering.

Drew: You’re offering yourself. Anyone would be a fool not to take that.

Tell that to my girlfriend.

Just then, Remi enters her room. She sees me smiling and pauses. She is still suspicious of me. I don’t blame her.

“Everything okay?” she asks.