Page 88 of Scoring Eden

“Well, on that note,” Roman declares, “I need a shower.”

“Yeah, me too.” Leo steps away from me to walk by Roman’s side.

I fake a smile. “I’ll catch you guys in a bit.”

I need some air. I have the strange urge to run back to the place I grew up, just to see if I can get some of that feeling back from when I was young, before death ripped away my innocence and turned me into the man I am now. The one who’s afraid all the time. I want to crawl up on the front porch and press my face against the old wood. See if the thing I used to have is still woven into every grain, as if it’s been waiting there all this time for me to come back and get it.

Leo gives me one final, long look before he walks away. “Stop trying to fight the riptide, man. No one wins against the current.”

TEXT THREAD BETWEEN EDEN AND ASPEN

Aspen: Have you got a cute black dress I can wear to a funeral? Something low cut, but not trashy. Think Princess Diana’s revenge-dress vibes.

Eden: Who died?

Aspen: No one yet, but Alex is gonna if he keeps making you cry.

Eden: I haven’t been crying.

Aspen: Don’t bullshit me. I saw all the used Kleenex and the empty tub of B&J’s on your nightstand.

Eden: It’s just allergies and period cravings.

Aspen: Oh, please. Our periods have been synced for years. We’re not due for another two weeks.

TWENTY-FOUR

EDEN

The front door slams.

I can hear it from the bedroom, the creaking of hinges causing moths of anxiety to catch flight in my stomach. Alex must be home. For the past two nights, I’ve forced myself to fall asleep before he comes in, too chicken shit to deal with the uncertainty of whether or not he’ll knock on the door.

At this point, I don’t even know if I want to talk to him. The sadness of his rejection has morphed into anger, a steady thrumming of rage and disbelief that he could seduce me with pretty words only to throw me to the curb as soon as it was over. As if I’m just one of the many girls he uses to get himself off.

It’s not like I was delusional enough to think I was special or that letting him into my pants would magically flip the switch on our fake relationship. But I did think we had a common understanding. A mutual respect. That, given the nature of our situation and the existence of my ten-year-old son in his home, the least he could do after defiling me in a laundry room is look me in the fucking eye.

Speaking of Macon, he’s been asking about Alex, wondering why he hasn’t been home for two days to eat dinner with us or play video games. He misses him. So, on top of feeling like shit, I’m also waist deep in mom guilt. Because my choices have yet again had a negative impact on my son.

Well, I’ve learned my lesson now. That’s the last time I ever let Alex Wolfe touch me in any capacity outside the boundaries of our arrangement.

There’s a knock at the door. Tentative, light, and unsure. It can’t be Macon. He fell asleep hours ago, and if he’d woken up, he wouldn’t have bothered announcing his arrival, just thrown the door wide open and climbed into bed with me.

It’s Alex, then. I guess he’s mustered up a little courage to finally have a conversation.

I have half a mind to ignore him and give him a taste of what he’s put me through over the last few days. But, evidently, I’m not a woman who possesses much self-control.

“Come in.”

His head appears first, peeking around the door, and I swallow a gasp at the state of him. His eyes are dark and smokey, as if he hasn’t slept for days, and he wears guilt on his face like a second-degree burn.

When he finally steps into the room, slowly, like I’m a lion who could attack at any moment, his arms hang limply by his sides, and there’s an unkept five o’clock shadow ticking across his jaw.

His gaze drops to the floor. “Hi.”

I stare at him in silence.

Petty as it may be, I’m aiming to make this interaction as uncomfortable for him as possible.