When the hour is over, I swiftly make my way into the hallway, but I’m swarmed by a small army with requests to join study groups, attend a fundraiser, join a frat, and party hard. I don’t know what else to do, so I say thank you and rush to my next class.
By the end of the day, I’m losing hope I can attend school like a normal student, but I refuse to accept this is real. My life is not getting weirder by the minute. Nope. Not happening.
By Thursday afternoon, my hope is on a rocket ship to the moon. Gone forever. My psychosis is spreading like a disease to the entire student body.
That night, I’m drained. Done. Toast. I need to sleep. River texts and says she has to talk to me in person. “New info.”
Me: I can’t right now. I have to…
I look up at the stained ceiling of my room, phone in hand, thumbs ready to lie. But I don’t want to lie to her, yet I don’t have the energy to confront these feelings I’ve been having about her.
Me: Rough week. Have early class. Talk Sunday night after I get back?
She knows I’m heading straight to the airport after my last class tomorrow.
Riv: ~ . ~ . ~
The dots wiggle on my screen longer than they should. Finally she replies.
Riv: Yeah. But it has to be Sunday night. No later.
Me: Cool. Be safe. Stay away from Keni.
Riv: She moved out of the house.
I know there’s more to the story, but I’m emotionally tapped. I have just enough energy to crawl into bed and pull up the covers.
Me: Just tell me you’re OK.
Riv: I’m OK.
Me: And you’re safe?
Riv: Yeah. Say hi to your parents. Love you.
I stare at the words on my screen, and for the first time ever, I don’t want to say them back to her. Not seeing her this past week has made me realize that I can’t imagine my life without her in it. And I don’t mean having her somewhere in the background. I’m talking fixture. I can’t imagine not hearing her stupid voice or seeing her smile every day.
But what does it mean? We’re best friends. Yeah, she’s my hot best friend for sure. And I won’t lie; her body really does it for me. But I can’t consider crossing that line.
Say she was into a little “exploration,” and we both decided to screw around. Or, let’s take it to another level: Say we decided to date. Boyfriend, girlfriend.
Then what?
People our age break up all the time. They get bored. They figure out the other person isn’t a fit. Hell, someone like me hasn’t even kissed a girl before, so how would I know what I need in a girlfriend?
Then there’s River. She can have any guy she wants. She’s smart, fun, loyal, and drop-dead gorgeous. But let’s be optimistic for a second and pretend that River had a moment of temporary insanity and decided she wanted me. The chances of it lasting are one in a hundred. Maybe in a thousand.
In the end, I’d lose her, the only woman I can’t live without.
The words ring through my head: The only woman I can’t live without.
I pause for a long moment, contemplating taking the risk and testing the waters by texting back something like, Love me how? I even type it in, but my thumb refuses to press SEND.
I’m not doing it. I backspace, erasing the message and typing in I love you, too.
I hit send and stare proudly at the screen. There. Status quo. Moment of stupidity averted. I mean, come on. I can’t risk what I have with River. No way.
What I really need is to find a new dream girl.
The thought pushes my mind toward Keni. I have to question what I saw in a person who accuses River and me of murder. I’d say I was under the influence, and she was the first hot girl to pay attention to me—besides River—but that’s not it. There was something dark inside her I connected with.
Why?
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Friday evening, despite the massive storm rolling into our area, I do not have a panic attack during the bumpy takeoff or for the rest of the flight home, but only because I am distracted.
For starters, I’ve never had an older woman hit on me. The flight attendant is pretty, too. Late thirties. Blonde. Nice body. And very friendly. She even serves me a beer. On the house.
I accept the drink to be polite, but the last thing I need is to show up at my parents’ house smelling like alcohol. Also, I need a clear head when I get there. It’s not every day you ask your parents: Am I having a psychotic break, or do I look like I’ve put on fifty pounds of muscle mass? Also, can I lift your car?
So while I can’t say the flirtation from the flight attendant is welcome, she does help me get through the flight. It’s the easiest thing I’ve done all week.
“Bye, Huff! Come see us again real soon!” The attendant waves as I exit the plane, toting my carry-on.
I give her the brow salute and make my way to the ride-share pickup zone. Mom and Dad know I’m coming, but they think it’s only for moral support. They’ve had a lot to digest this week with the fallout of the civil suit. Kyle won’t give details until he sees me in person because, according to him, there’s still one loose end to tie up before the judge will make the jury’s verdict public.
Whatever that is, I’m not sure I want to know. We’ve already been through so much, and it’s time to put the past behind us.
I catch my ride, and time starts moving slowly. Traffic. A huge accident, and I’m stuck on the freeway only ten miles from the exit to our house. “How long do you think this will take?” I ask the driver, a nice older woman who keeps her eyes on the road and not me. A blessing.
“No idea. You might want to call ahead and let your party know you’ll be late.”
That’s not such a bad idea. I dial Kyle, and he answers after two rings.
“Where you at, Huff?”
“I’m not far, but there’s an accident. Could be a while.”
“Really? But we’re all waiting for you so I can announce the big news.”
“Nothing I can do. But what big news?”
“Hold on. Let me go outside.” There’s a pause, and I hear our front door creak. “Okay. I guess I can put you out of your misery. We won.”
We won? “What does that mean exactly?”
“The named parties caved at the last minute and made us an offer,” he says.
“Offer? Like what? To place themselves in prison?”
“No, Huff. They’re never going to do time unless a witness steps forward. This is the second-best outcome.”
I can tell his voice has switched to salesman mode. It’s what he used on the campaign trail. “Which is?”
“They offered us a deal at the last minute, before the jury came in. It’s thirty million dollars.”
I can hardly find the words to express my disbelief. “They’re giving our family thirty million?”
“Yep. The only condition is that the records have to be sealed, but it’s a solid win, Huff. We sign off on Monday morning after our lawyers make a final review of the settlement.”
My hand goes weak. I try not to vomit. “What was that last part again?”
“Sign off on Monday. But that’s merely a technicality. It’s over, and we—”
“No. I meant the part about the records being sealed,” I say.