I take my drink and sip it slowly. It’s a nice sweet coffee drink that’s probably more sugar than coffee.
“I’ve never done anything excessive in my life,” I state. “But sometimes people get what they deserve.”
Carly bites her lip. She must know that I was the one to send out the Keegan videos, but she hasn’t said anything about it.
Samantha had sat in our kitchen and watched the video over and over that evening, to the point where I started getting sick of the song.
“They haven’t done anything that bad,” she says after a moment. “It’s only words. If I was stronger, it wouldn’t even bother me.”
“That’s not how it works,” Carly answers gently. “Words can sometimes be worse.” She glances down at her coffee. “My dad… I mean, he never beat me. He was worse with Reese.”
Reese—she means Reaper, her brother. He’d sent me a text with a laughing emoji right after I’d sent out the vid of Keegan, so I assume he approved.
“But it was never the fists that made either of us cry. It was the words.” Carly shakes her head. “I don’t even think it was that bad? I mean, I didn’t think it was, but I’ve been talking to a counselor, andshewanted to cry when I told her, so I don’t know.”
Fuck. Now I want to murder her father.
Reaper would probably be on board. I need to figure out who their dad is and if there would be any major repercussions, but I’m sure I could swing it.
There are so many people on my hit-list right now.
Shit-list.
No, wait, I did mean hit-list.
“I’m sorry,” Samantha tells Carly, shifting uncomfortably in her seat. “My brother was always the golden child. I was the one who had to work harder, do better, get more done. Be more devout.” Her smile twists into something ugly, only briefly. “Never mind.”
“That’s bullshit,” I say. “Obviously I don’t know what it’s like, but I can say that itsucks. You shouldn’t have to be more anything.”
“He’s a man,” Samantha says, shrugging. “They just get away with more. That’s how it is.”
“Nope!” I resist the urge to raise my voice. It’s a near thing. “Men aren’t inherently more prone to assholery than women. If they’re dicks, we need to take them to task.” I scoot closer to her. “Carly and I are here for you, Samantha. You don’t deserve to be trampled over or made to feel like shit.”
Samantha sighs. “Yeah.” She doesn’t sound convinced. “Anyway, how did your holidays go, Carly?” she asks.
Carly freezes up, then lets out an awkward laugh. “Oh. Uh, Reese and I drove home. I spent the days with my mom, he was withhis mom and our dad. Dad did want to see me for a few hours. I guess it was fine? He gave me a dress for Christmas. But it was the wrong style. Also the wrong size.”
That sounds like a much worse gift than a gun and the crippling fear that I’m losing my mind.
Not actually crippling. A mild discomfort.
And I’m over it by now.
Samantha seems to realize she misstepped. “I’m sorry,” she says, her voice soft. “You just said… and I…” She looks away from us. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” Carly says just as softly.
“Next year, you should join the Pavone Family Christmas!” I declare. “There’s plenty of space in the house, and Mama will be delighted to know I have friends who understand emotional regulation.” I pat Samantha on the back. “Tell her how great my family is.”
She gives me a look, but then she offers a tentative smile. “It was chaotic, but it was nice. Everyone was very nice to me. I appreciate you taking me there, but I really would’ve been fine on campus by myself.”
By herself, where the Bouchard goonies might have cornered her? Yeah, right. I know Blaze said he’s positive his dad won’t make a move on her, but I’m not going to count on that.
Also, I’m pretty sure she would have been sad and depressed all on her own.
Speaking of.
“So, now that you’re in a somewhat better mood…” I lean closer to her. “Spill. Who was being nasty to you?”
