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Realizing Dowley is still waiting for me to continue, I drop my gaze to the carpet.
“I don’t need pity, and I don’t want forgiveness. I just want…”
“Yes?” she pushes, and this time, I don’t have the answer to give her. The end of that sentence used to be so clear. I just want Everest. Now, it’s not just the fact I have to speak in riddles that’s holding me back. It’s that once I’ve spoken the words circling my mind, I’ll have to admit to Everest that his plan has worked. He’s got me to sympathize with her, start to see her as something other than an obstacle, and as much as I love him, I don’t want him to win. Not on this.
“I just want her gone,” I lie, leaning back in the armchair as if physically pulling back will convince my mind to do the same. My temples are throbbing now, a dull ache behind my bruised eyes and a tendril of anguish I’ve never felt before threading through my chest. To her credit, Dowley appears wholly unconvinced. Maybe she’s not as gullible as I’d originally thought.
“And if that’s not a possibility?”
My fingers tighten around the arm of the chair, nails pressing into the leather. My injured hand screams in protest, but I hold it there anyway.
“Then I just want it to stop feeling like there’s only room for one of us,” I admit finally, each word scraping its way out of my throat. This time, Dowley says nothing, but her silence isn’t heavy. I continue to stare at the floor, my jaw locked tight against whatever else might try to crawl its way out. I don’t know why I came here, but it wasn’t to admit how I’m tiptoeing too close to the edge. The last thing I need is for Dowley to write me up for another psych evaluation. However, she retreats against the back of her chair and draws my gaze to her small, uncondescending smile.
“Thank you for seeking me out this morning,” she says, clearly reading that I’ve already started closing myself off again. “It shows real progress, Reid.” The breath punches out of me. Amongst the revelations and conflictions, I’d almost forgotten who I was supposed to be. Who she thinks I am. A cold dose of reality floods my veins, reminding me that it doesn’t matter what I say in here, Dowley will only ever know half-truths.
With a pinch of my brows, I nod once and stand, attempting to slip back into the unbothered posture of Reid Wilder. The mysterious and aloof emo kid. Yet, for whatever reason, the slump of my shoulders and cold detachment of my features doesn’t take. Dowley picks up her notebook now, returning to her precious notes as I see myself out. However, I don’t make it past the threshold, my good hand tightening against the frame.
“Don’t call me Reid next time,” I state without looking back over my shoulder. The room behind me is silent, but I feel the heat of Dowley’s attention spearing my back. After a beat, she speaks.
“Okay. What would you like me to call you?”
“Cody,” I reply, leaving before I can take it back. For whatever reason, whatever pathetic notion, I want someone on this campus to call me by my real name. To know who I really am, even if that is Dowley of all people.
Stepping into the rain, I push my sunglasses back in place, quickly coating my vision in blurred specks. Much like before, I walk without a destination. Goosepimples cover my tattooed biceps, droplets pressing through my T-shirt as I shove my hands into my pockets.
I don’t know what I was thinking, opening up like that. What I thought I would achieve, but one thing has become clear.
I can’t keep living like this. I can’t keep measuring my worth by how much Everest chooses me. I can’t keep being backed into a corner like a feral dog and attacking with malice. There has to be another way.
Chapter Twenty Three
Damage control. That’s the objective getting me through the day without chasing after Cody. That, and plotting on spreadsheets, sips of whiskey, and an unhealthy amount of brooding. I haven’t allowed myself to think about my confession to Cody. How I feel about Meg is irrelevant.
My father has demanded we appear together in public, that we build up a reputation based on more than just captaining the team, so that’s my mission. The why becomes more lost with every passing day, Cody slipping further and further away as I do whatever it takes to keep him safe.
I’ve never seen my father lose his temper like he did at the dinner party, but I’m fully aware it was a regular occurrence whilst I was attending Hollowbrook as a freshman. If it wasn’t for Cody’s insistence that he was fine and I should enjoy my year of school, I would have gone back for him, and we wouldn’t be in this mess. I’d never have met Meg.
Which brings me to the here and now, partially tipsy at practice, trying to show my face and retreat back home to obsess over more plans that won’t go my way. That is, until I saw him. The asshole who turned up last night by taxi, standing outside the stadium with flowers and puppy dog eyes. As if I didn’t have enough to deal with.
Thiago, that’s what Meg calls him as she practically runs into his arms without a trace of fear or hesitation. I stood far enough back that neither of them saw me, sweat cooling across my skin. She never looks at me like that, but I suppose I’ve never brought her flowers. I’m not sure what happens next, the world blurring around me. One minute, I’m wondering if my efforts to make Meg hate me were for her own good or mine. The next, I’m sitting in the back of a restaurant with another whiskey in my hand, wearing the shirt I have stashed in my locker in case my father calls for me with no notice.
It’s a charming backdrop, as far as off-campus small Italians go. The walls are softly lit, aided by candles on the tables. Thiago’s flowers have been given pride of place on the windowsill. Fucking Thiago. Swooping in to pick up the chips I was about to cash in. I’ve spent years laying groundwork with Meg, pushing her to succeed and inserting myself just enough to ensure she stays single. No one else would dare to ask her out while I was around. Until now, apparently.
I keep to the corner booth, partly hidden by shadow, nursing another drink while the staff pretend not to recognize me. Everyone recognizes me. That’s the curse of my surname. It enters rooms before I do.
The next time the waitress comes around to ask if there’s anything else she can do for me with a suggestive flutter of her lashes, I order two cocktails to Meg’s table and dismiss her. In the interim, Thiago reaches across the table for Meg’s hand, a warm flush coating her cheeks, and he asks for the bill. My hand tightens around my glass, threatening to crack it. Instead, I have flashbacks of glass smashing across my father’s head and through Cody’s hand, and I drink until the image fades instead.
“Oh, um, we didn’t order those,” Meg frowns as the glasses are placed down before them. Gesturing in my direction, the waitress smiles politely and steps aside for Meg’s eyes to land on me. Her blue eyes taint with irritation, confusion, and a splash of dread. I shiver, that old delight rousing. Any attention is good attention, right?
Lifting my glass, her spine goes rigid. Thiago turns a second later, assessing me with the kind of easy confidence that set me on edge the first time I met him. He smirks at me like I’m a puzzle he’s already solved. We might as well get this over with.
Standing, I stride across the restaurant, fully aware that my shirt is open at the collar and of the whiskey sitting warmly in my veins. Meg tracks me with mounting disbelief as I grab a spare chair from a nearby table and drag it toward them. Turning the chair around, I sit on it backwards.
“Well, this is cozy,” I drawl, glancing from one to the other. Meg doesn’t seem inclined to agree.
“What the hell are you doing here?!” she snaps. I’m unaffected by her tone, too busy appreciating her dress up close. It’s black, tight, and devilishly inviting to the wrong sort. Namely, the asshole sitting across from her. Noticing my eyes roaming, Meg folds her arms across her chest, as if I haven’t seen her naked before, and angles away from me as if I repulse her. I wish it didn’t hurt, but I only have myself to blame. I’ve managed to fuck up two relationships I had no business forming. I was greedy, and I’m going to pay for it.
Without a word, Thiago lifts his jacket and passes it across the table. Meg accepts it, draping the soft fabric over her shoulders. My jaw tightens at the smugness filtering through the air, wondering for the millionth time what I’m actually doing here. Eventually, I decide on an answer.
