I wink suggestively. “You like it?”
Now it’s Grant’s turn to change color. I laugh.
“Is this what girls usually do when they stay in?”
“What? Guys don’t dress up and have dance parties when they hang out together?”
“Uh, no. But maybe we should.”
I laugh again. “I miss you.” Yup, the words just came out. Maybe because they’re honest. I do miss him even if it’s only been a day.
“I miss you too,” he says like it’s easy for him to admit while I continue to struggle with being emotionally vulnerable. “Is Ashton … okay?”
I glance at the door and lower my voice. “Um, yeah. She seems like it. I mean, Brendan’s still ignoring her and treating her like crap. Makes me glad I told you everything yesterday. I don’t want our … thing … built on secrets. Even if you decided you couldn’t be with me because of it, it’s more important to me that you know.”
“I’ve been thinking about that. The risk you took, confiding in me. It says a lot, that you trust me. And it hasn’t changed the way I feel about you. If anything, I—”
“I think I should tell her about Brendan,” I blurt, not ready to hear what’s coming next. It’s one thing to understand that the feelings are there, but it’s completely another to hear them out loud. And I’m not … ready. Not yet.
“Uh, what?” Grant looks confused, his face gradually flushing because he knows that I know what he was about to say. And I just intentionally cut him off before he could say it. “Tell her what about Brendan?” He recovers smoothly, hopefully because he gets me.
“Or … maybe not about Brendan.” I let my shoulders slouch, conflicted. The music is blasting so loudly from her room; I’m not worried she’ll hear me. Still, I move as far away from the door as possible in the small bathroom, which puts me on top of the toilet. “I hate that she doesn’t know what he’s doing. I mean, I don’t exactly know either, but it’s still messed up. So I have to tell her about Morgan. I care about her. And I can’t treat her like Brendan does. Even if she ends up hating me, she deserves to know the truth. Or else I’ll always feel like I’m lying to her.”
“When do you plan to tell her?” He sounds concerned, recognizing this is a big deal.
“Tonight.”
Grant’s brows lift. “Really? Are you sure?”
“Yes. I’ll tell her tonight.” There’s conviction in my tone, like I’m deciding and committing to it at this very second. “Right now, actually. So I should go.”
“Oh, okay,” Grant fumbles, taken by surprise by my emphatic declaration. “Um, good luck, I guess. Call me if you need me.”
“Thanks.” I smile weakly, my confidence already waning. “I’ll talk to you later.”
After hanging up, I lean against the wall, swiping the wig off my head. I can do this. I will do this. She deserves to know. And I’ll accept however she feels about me after.
I take in a breath of courage and return to the room.
Ashton’s singing loudly into a hairbrush in time with a song about a girl doing what she wants while strutting in an exaggerated catwalk across the room in six-inch stilettos. She’s dressed in a metallic silver skirt and a matching bra with a sheer fuchsia cape flowing after her. I smile at her adoringly. I really do care about her. She’s become one of my closest friends in such a short time. Like Grant. And yeah, maybe I love them both … even if I can’t say it. So I really hope I’m not about to screw this up.
She spins around and tilts the hairbrush toward me to finish the chorus.
I press my lips together in a nervous smile. “Um … can I talk to you about something?”
Ashton studies me with narrowed eyes, suddenly aware that I’m serious. “Sure.” She stops the music and sits down on the couch. “What’s going on? Everything okay with Grant?”
“Oh, yeah. Everything’s great,” I reply, waving off her unwarranted concern. “This is … about us. You and me.” I sit across from her, peeling off the go-go boots and tucking my legs beneath me. “I have something I want to tell you, and you might hate me after. And I’ll totally understand if you do.”
Her mouth puckers. “Is this about Brendan? Did you sleep with him?” She takes in my horrified expression for all of a second before bursting out laughing. “Of course you didn’t. What was I thinking?”
I continue to frown like I just vomited in my mouth, which only makes her laugh harder. It takes her a full minute to pull herself back together.
“Sorry. I’m sorry. I know you’re trying to be serious, but you should’ve seen your face.” She releases another giggle, dabbing the tears seeping from the corners of her eyes. “Okay. I’m ready.”
I exhale. Maybe I shouldn’t tell her. And for a few seconds, I nearly don’t.
“I knew Morgan Wolfe. He grew up downstairs from me.”
Any remnant of a smile is immediately erased from Ashton’s face along with her color. She doesn’t speak. So I do. I recount how I knew him. My stupid adolescent crush and how he used it against me.
Ashton’s eyes don’t leave mine the entire time. And I can’t look away, anticipating the pain. The anger. The resentment. The blame.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t brave enough. That I didn’t name him when the police asked me who did it. I’m so sorry.”
I’m braced for her to scream at me. Or punch me. But … she hugs me. Fiercely. I’m stunned into immobility. She might as well be embracing a slab of stone.
“You don’t hate me?” I choke out.
Ashton releases me, her eyes shining with unshed tears. “I love you.”
“Um,” I falter. Hearing her say those words would have knocked me on my ass if I wasn’t already sitting. “You do?”
“I do.” She smiles softly. “You didn’t have to tell me, but you trusted me with your secret. And that’s a gift. Thank you.”
I want to ask if maybe she took something while I was in the bathroom, talking with Grant. This is not how I imagined this happening. Not ever.
“I lied about why I’m at Blackwood, about it being the time I OD’d at the club in LA. I mean, I did do that, and my parents spun a stupid story about me having the flu. But no one knows about what happened to me in New York, except for Brendan, my friend Hala and you. Of course, my parents and Niall know. But you are the only one I’ve told. We didn’t go to the police. And I lied to the doctors, so they never did a rape exam. I didn’t want anyone to know. And if he hadn’t gotten murdered that night, he could have gotten away with it and maybe assaulted someone else. Because I don’t know if I would have had the courage to report him.
“So I don’t blame you, Lana. I could never blame you. What he did is his fault. Not yours.”
I gawk at her for a full minute, in shock at her admission. “I love you too,” I breathe out, my heart aching with just how much I do—the words aren’t nearly as hard to say as I thought they’d be, probably because I mean them.
Ashton opens her mouth with a gasp; her eyes light up with excitement. “Do you know what we should do?”