The words flow from me so much more easily than I would’ve anticipated. It’s like they were just waiting for the opportunity to break free from me. I feel this heavy weight immediately lift from my shoulders, and I feel lighter than I have in months. It’s a strange sensation, and I almost smile despite the fact that I just told my ex-lover I’m the reason his brother’s dead.
Dylan stares at me, and the pain in his eyes is staggering.
“You were expecting me to say something like that.” It’s a statement, not a question. “You suspected I had something to do with it all along.”
I realize his bullshit theory about Jenn was likely just bait to get me to tell him the truth. A part of me feels as though I should be furious that he manipulated me so handily, but I’m surprisingly not. I get why he sank to such low tactics, and I really can’t blame him for them.
He moves his head up and down. “Yeah. I thought you were so tightlipped not because you were protecting Jenn but because you were protecting yourself.”
I hold his gaze and ask, “So, what are you going to do now?”
He grits his teeth, his eyes flashing with irritation. “What do you think? Not a fucking thing. The girl I almost ruined my career over just confessed to killing my brother, and there’s not a damn thing I can do about it without risking everyone finding out about our past relationship. Even Angelle wouldn’t be able to bail me out of that mess. You’d likely get a slap on the wrist, and I’d end up behind bars for the rest of my life.”
His words are like heavy fists against my chest.
“James’ death was an accident,” I whisper. “I had no idea he was there that day. You can’t compare—”
“Watch your mouth, you little bitch,” he snarls. “I didn’t hear you complaining when I fucked you.”
I want to retch at the reminder, but I shake the nausea away.
His quick mention of Mr. Angelle sticks out in my mind, and I can’t help but ask, “D-do you still talk to Mr. Angelle?”
“Why the fuck would you care?”
“He’s invested in you, why wouldn’t I care?”
He glares at me, and for a moment I think he’s going to tell me to fuck off, but then he surprises me by answering, “I do still talk to him, actually, and you want to know the strange thing about all our conversations?”
“What?”
His eyes thin to slits. “He only ever wants to know about you. How you’re doing in school. How many friends you have. If his shit son hangs around you or not.”
“Oh.”
He appears almost amused when he replies, “You seem surprised. Here I was thinking you’d wrapped your nasty legs around another man to blackmail. You know, moving up the ladder from backwoods teacher to billionaire.”
I ignore his insult as my mind whirls with questions about Mr. Angelle. Though I’d known that he’d helped Dylan get his job back, the fact that they’re still in contact is stunning, maybe even more so than the fact he’s been using Dylan to get information on me.
“You have to tell me everything Mr. Angelle has said to you,” I urge. “It’s important.”
He furrows his brows and gazes at me in disbelief as fury sparks in his eyes.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” he growls. “You’ve got some balls asking me that after what you’ve done. I don’t have to tell you a fucking thing.”
Oh, shit. I didn’t mean to piss him off.
“Dylan, hold on, it’s not…”
“Get out!” he suddenly roars, startling me. “Just get the hell out of here, Mallory. I’m done with you, so just leave.”
His words are so angry and vehement, that I feel a jolt of fear and turn to leave without argument.
26
I can’t get Dylan’s angry visage out of my mind the rest of the day. Sitting in my room later that evening, I’m sick to my stomach thinking about our encounter. I can’t decide if telling him my role in the fire was really a smart thing to do, especially now that he’s so furious with me.
Why has he continued speaking with Mr. Angelle? What all has he told the man?
Did he tell him about our affair?
My stomach roils at the thought. Shit. This could be bad. This could be really, really bad.
I grab my phone and stare down at the screen, willing Saint to text or call or something. I haven’t heard from him at all today, and I feel this strong urge to tell him what I’ve found out about Dylan and his dad. He might have some insight as to what Mr. Angelle is planning for me.
I’m so lost in my thoughts that I almost don’t hear the knock on my door. By the time I become aware of it, it’s turned into an insistent pounding. My heart leaps at the possibility that it’s Saint, and I jump from my bed and hurry across the room to answer it.
It’s not Saint, though, it’s Loni, and I feel a little shitty that I’m the smallest bit disappointed.
“Hey,” I say, frowning at her look of impatience. “What’s up?”
She releases a deep sigh. “You want to go for a ride with Henry and me? Martha called. She’s at a party, drunk per usual, and wants a ride home.”
I’m so relieved that her irritation isn’t directed toward me, that I immediately reply, “Please. I need to get the hell out of this place.”
I step out into the hall and close my door, and she leads me through the building and out to Henry’s car, grumbling the whole way about Martha being a hot mess. Henry greets me when I slide into the back seat, and then we’re off.
“So, who’s party are we crashing tonight?” I half-tease.
“I’m not sure.” Snorting, Loni piles her hair into a curly bun with the scrunchy around her wrist. “I don’t know why Martha keeps doing this. If she’s going to go out and get shit-faced, she should just prepare herself to pay for an Uber.”
“It probably doesn’t help that you always jump to save her when she calls,” Henry points out, rather boldly I might add.
“I’m not going to leave my drunk, vulnerable friend in the clutches of Angelview fuck-boys!” she cries. “What kind of person do you take me for?”
“I’m just saying.” He shrugs. “When does helping turn to enabling?”
“Oh, just shut up and drive,” she growls, slumping down in her seat.
I stay quiet, figuring it’s better not to offer any of my own input. I lean back and stare out the window, but I don’t pay attention to what we pass by. My mind immediately turns to Saint. Will he be at this party? If he is, then why wasn’t he around all day?
Releasing a tremulous sigh, I realize I’m obsessing over him just a little bit, and I find that fact pretty damn annoying. I’m not that girl. I’m not someone who pines over a guy when he doesn’t pay attention to her—especially one that’s been so cruel in the past.
Even though I know his reasons behind his actions now, it doesn’t make what he’s done to me any less painful, or my feelings for him any less confusing. I don’t want to want him, but it’s like I have no control over that desire.
I don’t want to feel hurt when he ignores me, but here I am, heart aching and stomach twisting, wondering if he’s changed his mind about me after all.