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I looked at him before tugging the envelope free of his grip and pulling out the letter inside. Granton University had officially kicked me out, and then gone as far as to warn me there would be legal consequences if I ever stepped foot on campus again.
Holy shit. I didn’t even know you could get a restraining order from a college. This sucked.
It sucked more than I thought it could.
Max shifted closer. “You need to go. I’m sorry, man, but I can’t be found talking to you.”
I looked up at him but didn’t really see him. Was Max breaking up with me too? He was the only friend I’d been certain I could rely on.
“But…?” What the hell was I supposed to do? I grabbed his arm. “Wait, you don’t actually think I did it, do you? You don’t think I’m a—”
“No!” Max whispered harshly before glancing around to make sure once more we weren’t spotted together. “I knew you were innocent. But that chick showing up, claiming she saw everything, really cemented it for me.”
“What chick?” I asked, shaking my head.
He shrugged. “I don’t know. Never seen her before. Short, blonde, chubby thing. Said her name was Bailey Prescott and that she’d seen the whole thing between you and Melody. She came here looking for you and almost got into a knock-down, drag-out fight with Chance because she was so adamant about defending your innocence.”
I shook my head, wondering who the hell Bailey Prescott was. The only girl I thought had seen me and Melody was—oh wait. I suddenly remembered Stempy mentioning she no longer had rainbow hair.
Warmth and soothing relief filled me to learn she’d come here too to defend me, since apparently even Max didn’t feel so inclined to back me up.
I suddenly wanted to find Bailey Prescott and give her a big thank you hug. I owed her my entire life.
“…Still have to go now. I can’t be seen with you,” Max was saying, making me frown at him. Fine. If he didn’t want to help me out, I guess I was out of here. “You really need to go before Chance catches you.”
I waved him silent, rolling my eyes. “Whatever,” I said. “I’ll see you around.” Or not. Probably not. I had a feeling Max didn’t want anything else to do with me.
I headed out the back door, and sighed with another bout of relief when I saw my truck…until I realized a word had been keyed into the side.
Rapist.
Oh no. Fuck no. They’d mutilated my baby. I slowed the closer I got to it, only to realize most of the boxes my shit that had been packed in to the bed of the truck had been pulled open and broken or strewn about, my favorite jeans cut into shreds and the blanket I’d had on my bed splattered with some kind of red paint.
I didn’t even want to know what those said.
My tires hadn’t been slashed, though, so I unlocked the door and gunned the engine, plugging my phone into my car charger before I was even a block down the road.
I wanted to go home, but I still wasn’t sure how my family would receive me. Maybe I should call first. I didn’t know, but I did know before I did anything, I needed to regroup.
I found a cheap motel on the edge of town. As soon as I stepped inside to ask about renting a room, the lady at the desk pointed and said, “No. You’re that rapist on the television. You get out of here before I call the police.”
The couple who’d been trying to enter behind me, backed away, staring at me as if I were, well, a rapist.
I hurried from the motel and raced back to my truck, my face getting hotter and hotter as more people in the parking lot gaped at the word on the side of my truck and back to me, recognition lighting their gazes.
Whipping on a ball cap as soon as I climbed back into my truck, I cranked the engine and drove out of town, taking dirt roads until I knew I was absolutely alone. Then I found my pocket knife in my glove compartment and climbed out of the truck while it was still running.
My heart sank as I read the word gouged into the white paint job. “I’m so sorry, baby,” I said, my voice choking up as I flicked open the knife and proceeded to scratch through the word rapist until there was no way to determine what it had said before.
It was going to take me months to afford a new paint job to fix this.
My heart still felt broken as I returned to town and tried a new hotel, wearing my hat low along with an undamaged hoodie I’d found in the back seat of my truck.
I got further without any complications this time, all the way up to the point that I needed to pay for a room. When I took out my debit card, the guy swiped it. Then swiped it again before telling me the charge was declined. I didn’t have a credit card, so I opened my wallet for cash, and had just barely enough to cover the fee.
Grateful I’d gotten a room, I hurried, grabbing enough from my truck to get me throug
h the night, and immediately tried my phone. For some reason, I feared it’d be out of service too, but it worked, thank God. I looked up my bank account first.
