I blink and another catches on my lashes.
Fuck.
This is bad.
This is so bad.
No… it's worse than bad.
It's over.
That look in his eyes…
He hates me.
He hates me and there's nothing I can do about it.
"Hey." Heels click on the pavement. "Shit." They stumble. "These stupid shoes are too loose." Leighton catches herself. She takes a shaky step forward. Forces her raspberry lips into a smile.
"I appreciate whatever this is, but—"
"You want to take the bus?"
"How did you…"
She motions to the bus stop to my left.
Oh. Duh. I'm way too out of it. "I'll be fine."
She pulls her keys from her purse. "I'm leaving. This is my last offer."
"I…" I press my lips together. "Did you hear everything?"
"Enough."
"You think I'm a liar too?"
"It's none of my business."
"You really believe that?"
She presses her lips to one side. "Depends on the day." She motions to the street to our right and nods follow me.
I don't want to take the bus.
And she isn't looking at me like I'm the scum of the Earth.
I follow her down the side street. We walk in silence for a few blocks.
She hits her key fob and an old silver sedan's lights turn on. "Go ahead." She motions to the passenger side door.
"Thanks." I open it. Slide into the car. Click my seatbelt.
She gets in, slides the key into the ignition, looks to me. "You, um… You live in Brentwood, right?"
"Yeah. It's easiest to take eleventh to Wilshire."
She nods sure, turns the key, puts the car in drive.
Music flows through the speakers. Something familiar. It was popular when I was in high school. Well, Leighton looks about my age, maybe a little younger, so I guess it was popular when we were in high school.
I lean back in my seat. Smooth my dress. Press my heels together.
She's quiet as she pulls onto eleventh.
I watch the sun sink into the horizon. The pink sky is beautiful. But it doesn't stick.
"Can I ask you something?" My voice is soft. Unsteady.
She nods. "Shoot."
"Do you think Walker will forgive me?"
"Honestly?"
"Yeah."
"No."
My stomach drops. She's right. I know that. But hearing another person say it…
Fuck.
She turns onto Wilshire.
"You think I'm an asshole?" I ask.
"Did he really lay on that 'the past doesn't matter' shit?"
"Yeah."
"Then no. You're not an asshole. You made a mistake. Everyone does."
"Will he ever see it that way?"
"I hope so." Her fingers tap the dash. "But I really don't know."
Chapter Thirty-Six
Walker
"Either you're an idiot or you have a deep appreciation for irony." Brendon hoists my arm onto his shoulder.
"He's an idiot." Dean grabs the other.
Fucking assholes.
I don't need their help.
I can get wasted and stumble home on my own just fine.
Dean drags me up the steps to my apartment.
"Fuck you." I try to pull my arms to my sides, but there's two of them and one of me. It isn't happening.
Fuck this.
Fuck the entire universe.
"Didn't work the first time." Dean motions to the door. "Hand me your keys or I'm digging through your pocket."
"You're holding my arm." I grit my teeth.
"You're being a child." He shoots Brendon a look and releases my right arm.
"Thanks." I flip him off, dig into my pockets, take out my keys. The pewter Millennium Falcon, the one Iris bought me, mocks me.
I can see her soft lips pressing into a smile. I can hear her nervous giggle. Do you like it? Tell me you like it.
Was she high?
Thinking about getting high?
Did she mean a single fucking thing she said?
Dean grabs the key. Slides it into the lock and kicks the door open.
"I can walk." I place both feet on the ground.
They share a look. Can he?
I use their distraction to pull my arm free. Stomp into my apartment.
All right, I stumble.
I'm drunk, yeah, but not drunk enough.
I won't be drunk enough until the entire fucking world is a blur.
I can't think about this. I need it far away. I need to forget every time Iris ever smiled.
I need to forget how badly I want her.
How much I meant it when I said the past is the past.
I did. I really fucking did. I was sure there was nothing ugly in her past. I was sure there was nothing like this.
I…
My head pounds.
My heart aches.
Brendon fills a glass of water and hands it to me.
I drink. Even though they're both assholes.
There. I set the glass on the counter. The damn thing only makes me think of her.
Her lips on mine.
Her thighs wrapped around me.
Her groans in my ears.
She's all over this room.
And my bedroom.
And the shop.
Even the fucking ocean—the one place where shit always makes sense—makes me think of her.
"We should hide his wallet," Dean says. "So he can't go out again."
Brendon shakes his head. "He won't."
"Go fuck yourself." I press my hand against the wall. The room is spinning. But it's not from too much whiskey. It's my world tilting on its axis.
I know all the signs.
They were there.
It was obvious. How cagey Iris got about Bree. How she kept alluding to some secret I'd never forgive. How she looked at me when I tore her clothes off—like it might be the last time.
But I didn't see it.
I didn't have a fucking clue.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Iris
I wake up with a familiar headache. An I've been crying all night, my body is deprived of sleep, salt, and water headache.
Coffee and sugar only make it worse.
I'm a zombie at school. I absorb nothing in my classes. I fumble over walking undergrads through experiments. I stare at the results without a clue as to what they mean.
Work is the only thing that makes sense to me.
And even that is fuzzy.
A long walk helps. The pounding fades to a dull ache. My thoughts settle. The world comes into focus.
I manage to sleep. To get up on time. Shower. Eat breakfast. Drink coffee. Pretend to pay attention at school.
I even make it to the gym. And manage to read a little.
But, all day, I think of him.
He might hate me.
He might never want to see me again.
But then he might not.
He might forgive me.
He might still care about me.
I wait until I'm home. Until I'm fed and showered and ready for bed.
And I text him.
Iris: I'm sorry.