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If she knows I'm lying, she doesn't call me out on it. Her tone is just as warm and loving as it always is as she makes me promise to FaceTime her before I go to bed tonight. When she pulls the phone away from her ear to hang up, I can faintly hear her tell someone to wait up. A small smile makes its way to my face.
Looking over my essay, I can see why I fell asleep. Writing three thousand words on the Victorian era might be fun for some people, but I'd rather chew on glass. I'm just starting to pick up where I left off when my phone rings again. I don't even bother looking at it as I bring it to my ear.
"Becs, if I have to make Chloe force you out of your bed, I will. Don't tempt me," I threaten playfully.
The voice that comes through the other end of the phone isn't my best friend at all. "Oh, that sounds hot. Can I watch?"
"Ha, ha, ha. You're just so hilarious, Carter," I grumble.
"Who said I was kidding?"
Everyone had that guy in high school—the super-hot jock who was the captain of the football team. You know the one. He usually had about seven girls at his feet on a constant basis. Yeah, Carter Trayland was that guy. I can't tell you the number of girls who tried to become my friend just for a chance with him. Honestly, it plays a part in what made Becca and I so close. He tried to hit on her once, and she shot him down so fast it made his head spin. From that point on, I knew she was my person.
"What do you want, Carter?"
He gasps, feigning offense. "What? I can't call my dear friend Paige without wanting something?"
My eyes roll dramatically. "No. You always want something."
It's not entirely true. The two of us used to be pretty close at one point in time, but after we graduated, we lost touch. Granted, that may have been mostly my fault, but I had my reasons. Reasons like...
"Jace, stop. I'll be out in a minute."
...that. Jace London is Carter's best friend, and he used to be mine, too. But now, just the sound of his name has my whole body tensing. I take a deep breath to calm my anxiety, but there's no use. I need to get off this call like yesterday.
Clearing my throat, I straighten my back like it's going to make me stronger. "Listen, it was great hearing from you, but I've got to get going."
"Wait, please," he begs. It instantly catches me off guard. In all the time I've known him, I don't think I've ever heard his tone so desperate. "I need your help."
"With?"
He pauses, as if he's contemplating not telling me at all. "Jace—but don't hang up."
I want to. Really, I do. And I know I should. I should hang up the phone, block his number, and run so far in the other direction it's not even funny, but I don't. For some reason, I can't. My brain is screaming at me to move, and I just can't.
"I don't know what happened between you two," he confesses. "He honestly never told me. But I'm hoping it's something that can be forgiven, because he needs you, Paige."
A lump builds in my throat, and I need to swallow it down. "He doesn't need me. He has you."
"I'm not enough. Not for this."
My heart is beating harder with every second that passes. A part of me wonders if it's had all it can take. I mean, first everything with my dad, and now this? I don't know how much more I can handle.
"Carter, I really have to go," I tell him, with a little less confidence than I was hoping for.
He sighs heavily. "Okay, but maybe you could meet me tomorrow? Loretto's for lunch. Just me and you."
No matter how much resistance I have, I don't think anything could stand against the plea in his voice. "Okay. Make the reservation and text me the time."
I don't give him a chance to answer before I hang up, praying to God I'm strong enough for this. Whatever it is, it can't be good.
Sunlight pours in through the window, landing on my face and intensifying my headache to an almost unbearable level. To make matters worse, I can already hear Carter fucking around with something in the kitchen. Dishes clank together loudly. I don't even know what he's doing; that guy can't cook to save his damn life.
I grip my head tightly and make my way out of my room to find some caffeine. Usually I'd prefer something a little stronger to ease the pain, but I have my therapist appointment today. The last thing I need is for some bitch, who thinks she's fancy because she has a piece of paper, to tell my dad I came in high. He'd snatch my trust fund away in the blink of an eye.
As soon as I step into the open living room, the smell of something burning meets my nose. It doesn't help at all with the churning of my stomach. I look over at Carter, who is trying, and failing, to make bacon. I mean, the dipshit isn't even using a frying pan. He's stirring the strips around a pot like it's fucking pasta.
"What the hell are you doing?" I raise an eyebrow.
