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“Because I could see it on her face when we walked away.”
“Well, maybe you shouldn’t have gotten drunk and high tonight.” He briefly pauses. “When Reece texted me about what happened, I didn’t think you’d be this wasted. If I had known, I would’ve snuck out to get you instead of letting you walk in by yourself. You were loud as hell.”
I grimace. “Reece texted you?”
“Of course he did. Why do you think I was waiting out in the hallway for you?”
“Oh.” I pull a face. “What else did he tell you?”
“Just that you were at a party you shouldn’t have been at.” He glances at me curiously. “Why?”
“No reason.” I shrug, but I feel a hint of something unsettling—gratitude toward Reece for not telling Ryder about what I was doing tonight. “I’m glad I went out and got high and drunk,” I say. “I don’t give a shit if my mom knows. Whatever happens to me is worth it because I got one more night of fun before I have to seal myself to you three dickheads, and then fun won’t be in my vocabulary anymore.”
We’ve reached the door to my bedroom. Holding my weight in one arm, he reaches for the doorknob but pauses, looking at me, his eyebrow quirking upward. “You think after you marry us, you’ll never be able to get drunk and high? And that you won’t have fun?”
“I don’t know. And I don’t know because you guys have a say over everything I do. That’s how these stupid mafia fate ceremonies work. You guys get to be the bosses, and I have to become this stupid, paper princess who doesn’t have an opinion. But I’m sure you don’t care … I’m sure that’s what you guys want—for me to be your little puppet.”
My mind is whispering that I’m crossing a line, but I’m pissed off, drunk and high, and Ryder used to be someone I could talk to openly. That was the old Ryder, though. The one who never betrayed me. The Ryder standing in front of me isn’t the same guy who made pinky promises to me that he’d never hurt me. This one will do anything and say anything to make sure he comes out on top, even if it means destroying me.
I remember the day he stabbed me in the back like it happened yesterday.
Ryder’s eyes wouldn’t meet mine. “Yeah, I told them that. It’s true, isn’t it?”
I wanted to hit him. “You know it’s not.”
He avoided eye contact. “Do I?”
I shoved him, and he bumped into the locker behind him. “I hate you. We’ll never be friends after this.”
He looked like he couldn’t care less. “So? I got what I wanted out of you already.”
I hated him so much at that moment because not only was he acting like an asshole, but he had told the school he slept with me and took my virginity. But it was total bullshit—all of it.
He quietly sighs, drawing me from the memory. “That’s not what I want at all.”
When I look at him, he focuses on opening the door and helping me into my room. Once he gets us inside, he kicks the door shut.
Deciding I’m over him helping me, I wiggle away from him and stumble across the room to my bed. I try to sit on the edge of it but end up flopping down on my back instead. I frown at my klutziness, wishing I wasn’t here.
“Your room looks different,” he remarks, peering around at the black and purple walls.
Almost everything is dark in the room, something my mother was livid about when I decided to redecorate. It was right after I turned fifteen, andhebroke me. The walls were bright blue back then, but after what happened, I couldn’t even look at them without my eyes watering.
“It looks like you went through some sort of goth phase,” he adds with a sad smile. “Although you kept all of your vintage stuff.” He points at my record player then at the ancient books on the corner shelf. It’s one of the many items in my room that I bought from antique stores around the city. I love older things, ones that have scratches and carry stories within the cracks.
I do not reply to Ryder’s remark or smile because it’s weird—he’s being weird. Too … nice and attentive.
I sit up and work on getting my boot off. “It’s not goth. It’s dark, like my soul,” I say as I struggle to get the zipper of my boot down, but my fingers are way too numb.
He cocks a brow. “That sounds very goth to me.”
I scowl at him. “Thanks for helping me to my room. You can go now.”
He presses his lips together for a moment. “Are you giving me permission to leave? Because, moments ago, you saidIwas the boss.”
I glare at him. “I don’t find you funny at all.”
“You used to,” he mumbles, watching me struggle with the boot.
