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My blood goes cold. “What did you just say?”
“About what?” she asks.
“What do you mean he listened to you and left me alone?”
There’s that look they exchange again, and my fists tighten.
“Sweetie, we had to intervene. You were on such a destructive path because of that troublemaker.”
“What did you say to him?” I demand, tensing in my seat.
Grandad shrugs. “What needed to be said. It was clear after that blowup with your parents that he was interested in you beyond the affection of a friend. We told him the truth for your own good, that he was bad for you and if he really cared about you, he’d back off and let you thrive. He seemed to agree, actually. A surprising show of selflessness from that boy.”
“He obviously agreed, because you got over him quickly. You never mentioned him again a few days after that.”
Because he destroyed my heart!
Details of that awful night come racing back. The pregame show. Tristan standing there as a recent alum looking like a Greek god in his varsity jacket with no shirt underneath. I hated those stupid booster events, but I participated in this one. Yes, I went against everything I believed in to play along and bid on a prom date with Tristan Haverford because he made me think he wanted that too. I won the bid and lost everything in two minutes.
“Isabel Gardner? No way. I’d rather crawl through broken glass than go to prom with her,”he’d said after the mic was off. Except it wasn’t off. It was on, and at the time I thought it was a mistake that turned out to be a blessing when it revealed the horrible truth about a situation and person I’d completely misread. But looking back, he probably knew the mic was on. It wasn’t a fortuitous slip. Hewantedme (and everyone) to hear that. He wanted me to hate him, and it worked beautifully.
Yes, he destroyed my heart. And he destroyed his own because theymade him.
The sting feels fresh as I stare at my grandparents, not sure what to say. I know they care about me. I know they thought they were doing the right thing. Maybe they were. Tristan certainly thinks so.
“You’re upset,” Grandma says with a sad sigh.
She slips her arm around my shoulders, and I avert my gaze to the old, frayed carpet I remember so well. I am, but I don’t even know for which of the many reasons I have to be upset.
“We’re sorry if that hurt you, sweetie. Sometimes we have to do hard things for the people we love.”
And sometimes they do hard things for us.
“He’s not what you think,” I whisper. “He’s not what everyone thinks.”
I can tell they don’t agree, and it’s frustrating that I can’t plead his case. As I sit here helpless to defend him, the irony isn’t lost on me that just a few weeks ago it was Kim in my position while I ranted against a person and situation I didn’t understand.
No wonder she reacted the way she did. She must have been desperate to tell me the truth and right a massive wrong as well.
“I should go,” I say, pushing up from the couch.
“Izzy…” Grandma says.
I give her a quick smile. “It’s okay. I understand why you did that. But I’m not a lovesick teenager anymore. I have my reasons for seeing him differently, but they’re not my secrets to tell. You loved me and cared for me like parents, and I will always be grateful for that. So please trust in me now. Trust that the strong girl you raised is a woman who can make her own choices. I’ll make bad ones, there’s no question, but they’re mine to make, okay?”
“Of course, sweetie,” Grandma says, giving me a hug. “We just want you to be safe and happy.”
“I know, but too much of my life and future has been determined by other people’s view of what’s best for me. I want to do it on my own. I needto do it on my own.”
Iwilldo it on my own.
Despite the latest revelations about other people running my life back in high school, I’m feeling better after a visit with my grandparents. They seemed to understand my position, and even told me to bring Tristan for a visit so they could get to know him better. Maybe I will at some point, but right now my hands are full with other challenges.
I try to sleep when I return home, but my mind won’t stop. By midnight I’m checking my phone every few seconds for a message from Tristan. He gets off at eleven so he should be walking in the door at any minute. I try texting him, but he doesn’t respond. My call goes straight to voicemail. I try Kim as well, but she hasn’t heard from him either. She said not to worry, that he probably just stayed late to help close the restaurant, which happens to her all the time. Maybe, but she doesn’t have a powerful, well-connected enemy trying to destroy her life.
I don’t know what time I finally fall asleep, but it’s after three when I wake to a buzz on my phone. My body floods with relief, then fear when I see Pierce’s name instead of Tristan’s. My ex has been eerily silent since the confrontation with Tristan’s PO. We expected at least a couple of sightings or threats.
The late hour has me on edge as well. Tristan should definitely be home by now. Kim too, and I push up from the bed to check.
Kim is asleep in her bed, so I move to the living room, trying to steady my breathing.
You’re overreacting. He’ll be there and you can hug him and drag him to bed and hold him all night.
But there’s no shadow on the couch. No sign anyone has been there since we left this morning. My pulse is pounding as I stare back at the notification from Pierce and unlock my phone. Oh god. It can’t be a coincidence.
Please, please, please.
From the preview, I see that he sent an image. My mind floods with possibilities, none of which I’m eager to see. But nothing could have prepared me for what I find.
Pierce didn’t just send an image. He also sent a smirk emoji. It sits above a closeup of someone shoved onto the hood of a vehicle with his hands in cuffs behind his back.
