“I never asked you to do anything,” I seethe.
“We gave her a hard time, yeah. But we’re just tired of you promising shit you never deliver. Our place at school? It’s ours. Not yours. We’re not your fucking peons, as much as you may want to believe that. People at the school don’t mess with us — any of us — because of who we are and what we have together. And before Charlotte showed up, we were tight. In control. Are you still in control, Xander?”
“There is so much you don’t understand,” I grumble. “Shit that you could never handle.”
The guys exchange another look.
“This isn’t the Xander Iazetti Show anymore,” Chase mutters. “Because I’m fucking tired of being in your damn shadow. We all have a place. And if you wanna keep yours, you’d better remember that. And remember who your real friends are, the ones who’ve been here the whole time.” He stalks over to the bench and grabs a towel, wiping his face with it.
A loud blaring sound comes from my bag and I jog over to it, grabbing my phone from the pocket. My chest tightens when I see Charlotte’s name appear on the screen. Chase lifts an eyebrow at me, obviously seeing the same thing.
Fuck him. I should’ve cut him before instead of just threatening to.
I stick the phone back in my bag and fling the bag over my shoulder. “I don’t like ultimatums, Chase,” I say in a low growl. “Pull the pole out of your ass and think for yourself, not your father. You want a seat at the top? You’d better remember that consequences do matter, and you really need to start thinking about them before you ever say shit like that to me again.”
I storm over to my car and slide in, tossing my bag onto the passenger seat. I gun the motor, peel out of the parking lot, and drive about a block before pulling over to the side of the road. My heart beats harder and faster, thudding against my ribcage.
Control. It’s the only bit I had and now it hangs in the balance.
I need to get it back.
I need to get my life back.
I pull my phone out of the bag and stare at the screen for a second.
Charlotte. She’s thrown everything into a tailspin and I’ve let it happen.
I’ve seen the aftermath.
But I also know it’s not even close to over.
I stab her number into the keyboard, my pulse throbbing. “Xander?” she says, her voice weak.
I swallow hard. “Yeah,” I rasp. “How are you feeling?”
“Not great. I really…” she sighs, her voice drifting off for the briefest moment. “Xan…I really need to see you.”
And just like that, I become one of those assholes who doesn’t consider the consequences.
Chapter 8
Charlotte
“Charlotte Hawthorne,” the receptionist offers a tightlipped smile as I look up at her from my seat in the waiting room. “Hilary is ready for you.”
“Thanks,” I mutter, grabbing my purse.
Hilary. My therapist from when my life went to shit after Andrew died. I knew this was coming when my mother started acting worried and heartbroken after my accident. With my confusion and memory loss shit, I’m actually kind of relieved to be here.
I walk back to the familiar room. It still smells like sage. The office is warm and cozy — two large armchairs, a worn leather couch, tranquil black and white photographs of lakes. Everything you’d expect from a therapist’s space.
Tapping my fingertips onto the open door, I enter the small office.
Hilary’s dark curls frame her face like a lion’s mane as she turns to me. “Charlotte, it’s so nice to see you.” She ascends from her chair, giving me a warm, short hug before gesturing to the couch. “Please, take a seat.”
“Thank you.” Sinking into the buttery cushion, my eyes dart all around the room.
“How are you feeling?” Her soft voice cloaked in a thick South African accent calms me instantly. She has helped me so much in the past, here’s to hoping she can do it again.
I shrug, “All right, I guess.”
She grabs her leather notebook and a pen. “Is there a place you would like to start?”
I blink at her, blankly.
Is there a beginning?
How far back are we talking?
The accident?
Just before it?
How about all the way to when my parents tossed me aside and shipped me off to boarding school?
Or when Xander rejected me the first time, or the second time?
“I don’t know.” I chew on the inside of my cheek.
Her eyes soften as she closes her notebook. “Okay, well…how about we start with how you’re liking school. Are you happy to be back at Ridgeview Prep? How has it been adjusting to not being in London?”
Happy? No.
Confused and overwhelmed? For fucking sure!
“It’s been okay. I made a new friend. Her name is Ellie. She’s really nice. She’s even been bringing me the assignments I’ve missed while I have been out.” That seems like the most normal answer I can offer.
“That’s really good to hear. Making friends is a wonderful first step into settling back in.”
I curl my lips as I fumble with the hem of my shirt.
“I want to dive right into the accident. Are you up for that?”
I suck in a deep breath while nodding.
“Good. Now what is the last thing you remember?”
I close my eyes as I try to think back. “Xander,” I mutter as my stomach knots. “He was with Melina and I couldn’t stay.”
“Couldn’t stay where?” The low timbre of her words whisk by me.
“I had to get away from him. I remember crying and Blaine comforting me.”
“Blaine Montrose? He was the driver of the car, correct?”
I nodded.
“I don’t really remember much after that. Other than waking up in the hospital.” And Xander being there.
“Take me back to seeing Xander. Why did seeing him with someone upset you so much?”
I tug on the end of my long locks, staring at her black kitten heels. “Because we slept together. The night before.”
As the admission left my lips, I wanted to take it back. Saying it out loud made it so much more real. Now someone else knows. It can’t just be a dark little secret buried in my heart.
“Are you and Xander in a relationship?”
I cock my head to the side, locking my eyes with hers. “No. We’ve never been.”
That one hurt to say. Fuck. I am such an idiot.
“Do you want to be?”
My mouth goes dry. I have no fucking clue. I love him, but I hate the things he’s done. I hate how he keeps saying he loves me and then his actions scream a completely different reality. I love how I feel around him — how my body craves his, how comfortable I instantly am in his presence, how he knows exactly how to make me laugh.
All I can do is shrug.
“That’s fine. You don’t have to know. How about after you’re with Blaine, do you remember talking to him? Do you remember getting into his car?”
“It’s all fuzzy.” I wrack my brain. “I remember crying and him putting his arm around me. I remember seeing his car and him holding the door for me. It’s like flashes of memories though, not fluid. Does that make sense?”