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For how long would she still be here?
Days? Weeks? Months? Years?
How long did she have before cancer took her too?
My gaze darts to Nixon, who’s still standing by their table, his eyes locked on the door that Jade just disappeared behind. He must feel me watching him because he slowly turns around, our gazes meeting across the room. My fingers grip the tray tighter as I watch my best friend; defeat, guilt, and fear written all over his face.
I’m not sure how long we stare at one another before Yasmin elbows Nixon, drawing his attention. Her mouth is moving quickly, and a part of me feels bad for him.
“Wentworth!” I turn around at the sound of my name to find a few guys from my chem class observing me. “You plan on standing there the whole day or what?”
I shake my head, sitting down next to Spencer, who’s watching me with interest. He got to the cafeteria shortly after us and managed to charm his way into cutting the line so he could join us.
“Mind explaining what the hell that was?” he asks, quietly enough so only I can hear him. Not that it’s necessary since the rest of our group starts talking about the pop quiz we just had—a pop quiz I most likely failed since I hardly opened the book—and barely pay us any attention.
“Explain what?” I ask, digging into my food. I’m not hungry, but it seems like a safer choice than looking at my friend.
“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe we should start with the bruises on your ugly mug?” From the corner of my eye, I can see him tapping his finger against his chin. “Or I don’t know. Why you’ve avoided going to your best friend’s table?”
There is a beat of silence as he waits for me to answer, but when I don’t, he continues.
“Or maybe,” he drawls slowly. “How about why you looked at your best friend’s sister like a sad puppy waiting for his owner to return?”
My head snaps up before I can think better of it. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t I?” Spencer slowly raises his brow. “Did you seriously think I didn’t see the woman sleeping in your bed that morning?”
My stomach tightens at his words.
He knew? All this time, he knew, and he didn’t say anything?
“Not that I needed to see your naked asses because it was plain as day to everyone who looked at you two that something was going on with all the bickering and heated glances across the table.”
Were we really that obvious?
“We always fight. It’s not like it’s something new.”
“Oh, you do. You became sloppier in hiding how much it turned you on when you two fought once you started hooking up. Seriously, dude. I don’t know how Cole didn’t see it at that party. You practically jumped her in the middle of our living room.” Spencer shakes his head and dips his fry in ketchup. “I thought you had better moves than that. I presume Nixon finally found out?”
I press my lips in a tight line, refusing to say a word, but Spencer continues without missing a beat.
“I figured as much with you moping around, drinking your weight in alcohol, and all that jazz. By the way, that bottle you broke? You owe me a new one. That whiskey was too good to throw away. Oh, and you’ll explain to our landlord the brown stain on the wall also.”
“I’ll do whatever the hell you want if you shut the fuck up.” I jab my fork into the steak with more force than necessary.
“Where’s the fun in that?” he chuckles.
I shove a piece of meat into my mouth, chewing loudly, although the beef tastes like rubber.
“Who’d have thought? Mighty Prescott Wentworth was brought down to his knees by his best friend’s little sister.”
He’s not wrong. She did bring me to my knees, just not how he imagined it.
I have cancer.
I stand up abruptly, the fork falling out of my hand with a loudclackthat has all the heads around the table turning.
“I’m not hungry. I think I’ll just go to the gym instead.”
