Chapter Thirty-Two
Angela
Son of a bitch. He’s here. I open the door to the apartment, and there he is, sitting on the sofa, eyes trained on the television, hair still wet from a shower.
“What happened to study group?” I ask, forcing myself to adopt a casual tone and not shoot daggers from my eyes straight into his traitorous heart.
I drop my bag in the entryway and head toward the kitchen.
Normally, I would jump right into his lap and kiss him, having gotten addicted to the affection I’ve apparently been starved for my whole life.
“I feel like shit,” I say to explain my behavior.
“My head feels like it’s going to split in two. ” That sure isn’t a lie.
Wordlessly, he stands up and heads down the hall. When he comes back, he hands me two Advil.
“Thanks.” I move as far away from him as I can as quickly as I can without inspiring suspicion. I pour myself a glass of water and guzzle it along with the Advil.
“Angela.”
“I’m going to bed. You should probably go out tonight if you’re not studying. It’ll be a while until we can socialize what with exams coming up.”
“Angela.”
Finally I look at him, and I notice that his eyes are red and shadowed. It occurs to me that he’s the one acting suspiciously. “What?” I say.
“Lou Rivera called me.”
I squeeze the water glass so hard it shatters in my hand.
“Shit, Ange,” he says, coming toward me. “Are you okay?”
“Don’t touch me,” I say, stepping back.
“Let me just get the glass so you don’t get hurt.”
Too late. I’m more hurt than I’ve ever been in my life. The fact that he knows that, because he knows me so well, adds a thick layer of humiliation to the hurt.
Also, one of the shards pierced my skin and it’s bleeding. “Fuck.”
“Don’t run water on it yet. Let me make sure there’s no more glass on you.”
“I’ll do it. Stay away from me.” I go over to the sink and carelessly rinse my hand, aware of Brady’s eyes on me as he cleans up the glass on the floor.
I wrap a towel around my bleeding hand and head toward the bedroom.
I wanted to do this in private so he couldn’t fight me, but that obviously isn’t happening.
“Angie.”
He stands in the doorway, watching me shove clothes and toiletries into my bags.
“I didn’t know you when Lou asked me to do this,” he says, his voice calm, a plea for me to be calm, too.
“Shut up,” I say.
“I love you, Angela. I would never do anything to hurt you. If you would just—”
“For once in your life, Brady, stop talking.”
He runs a hand through his hair. “Where are you going?”
“Lizette’s.”
“No way, Angela.”
“Yes way, Brady.”
“You’re not staying in that shithole. I’ll leave, Ange. That was the deal. I’ll leave right now. You stay here.”
That’s actually a better idea. It’ll give me the opportunity to pack up and leave without him hovering.
“Fine. Get out.”
“First let me take a look at your hand, okay?”
I don’t want him to touch me. I don’t want him to talk to me. There’s only one thing I want at this moment, and it’s to get as far away from Brady McDaniels and his freckles and green eyes as fast as I can.