Chapter 32
Chapter Thirty-Two
Sayla
I crack open a crusty eyelid and see Dexter, crammed into an armchair in the corner of a room I don’t recognize. He’s wearing the same joggers and rumpled hoodie from yesterday. Or from whenever the last time we were together. His hair is mussed. Eyes bleary. The man looks like I feel.
Which is to say … wrecked.
“Morning, sunshine,” he murmurs.
“Where am I?” I croak, propping my body up, even as a sinking feeling creeps over me.
I rub my still-sleepy eyes, then pull my fingers through my hair, assessing just how many knots grew in my rat’s nest overnight.
Worse than I thought. Untangling this mess is going to take an entire bottle of leave-in conditioner.
But as confused as I am, my situation has to be more comfortable than his is right now, stuck in a chair half his size.
Meanwhile, I'm nestled in a pile of downy pillows, there’s a fluffy gray comforter covering my body, and a plush navy blanket is draped along the foot of the mattress.
Not to mention everything around me smells delicious.
Like pine-scented body wash mixed with laundry detergent and a hint of spicy cologne.
Dexter-licious.
“Is this your house?”
“Apartment,” he says.
I drag my gaze away from him to survey the rest of the room. Soft gray walls. White moldings. Streaks of daylight spill through the shutters. “Nice bedroom.”
“I was gonna sleep on the couch, but …”
“You stayed in here instead.” I lift a brow. “On a chair. Watching me sleep?”
“You begged me to.”
“Stay?”
“Yes.”
“Did not.”
“Did so.”
I let out a small squawk. “Then you should have just put me on the couch.”
“No way.”
“Or you could’ve slept in the bed with me.” I glance around at the king-sized mattress. “It’s huge.”
“Also, no way.”
That’s when I spy a water bottle on the nightstand. My mouth’s full of cotton, and I’m so thirsty, I might cry. “Is this water for me?”
When he nods, I crack it open and drink greedily.
“You already finished another whole one last night. And I gave you a couple Advil, too. I wanted to get ahead of any headache you might wake up with, and I figured ibuprofen was safe enough. For the record, I did not ply you with mangoes.”
I slow my water-gulping, aiming for smaller sips, trying to get a handle on what must have happened since my mind went blank. Tequila Mockingbird. Madelyn. My mother. Ugh.
“You feeling a little better now?” he asks, when most of the water’s gone.
“I think so.” I put the cap on and set the bottle down. “Thanks for not intentionally triggering my allergies.”
“You’re welcome.” He ruffles a hand through his bedhead. Or is it chair-head in this case? Either way.
“Sorry I was such a mess to deal with last night. I’m not really used to being taken care of.”
He’s quiet for a beat. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
“I mean, Loren would totally look out for me,” I backtrack. “But we’re generally the ones getting in trouble together.”
“Then suffering mutual consequences?”
“Something like that.” My phone’s plugged into a strange charger next to the bed, and I let out a small groan. “Speaking of Loren, I’d better let her know I'm here. She’s got to be worried since I didn’t come home.”
“I messaged her last night,” he says. “She told me I could bring you back to your place, but …”
“You decided to hold me prisoner here, instead?”
“You were already asleep,” he says. “And unlike you, she didn’t beg.”
Heat blooms in my cheeks. “Fair enough.”
“I also took the liberty of texting your mom—from your phone—to let her know you were safe. Maddie told me she was concerned about you after your conversation at the bar.”
Images from my personal wine fest flicker through my head like the world’s most mortifying carousel. And now I kind of wish amnesia were a common problem and not just a plot twist in romance novels. “I’m so embarrassed,” I whisper.
“Not necessary.”
“It’s just that I don’t usually …” I can’t even finish the sentence. Nothing about my recent behavior has been normal for me.
He scratches his beard. “You don’t usually make a fool of yourself in public?”
“I was gonna say drink, but yeah. That too. I hope there weren’t any parents at the bar last night.”
“If so, they were probably knocking a few back, too. And either way, you don’t owe anybody else a certain kind of behavior when you’re outside of school.”
“I kind of feel like I should be setting an example for the students, though.”
He hitches his shoulders. “Stony Peak kids don’t belong at Tequila Mockingbird. And if they’ve got fake IDs, that’s on them. So no need to apologize. You’re a grown woman who usually doesn’t drink. And you had a really crappy day.”
“You’re not wrong about that.” I slip out from under the comforter and dangle my legs over the side of the bed.
My sneakers are on the floor. My not-so-lucky cardigan is draped over the dresser.
But I’m still wearing my yoga pants and Gray Squirrels T-shirt.
At least I’m not waking up in Dexter’s pine-scented, spicy-cologned clothes. I should be grateful for that.
So how come a part of me is disappointed?
“I really am sorry.” Dexter winces. “About the grant. I’ve apologized multiple times, but I’m not sure you remember after all the Chardonnay. I can explain everything now, though. Well, what I understand of the situation myself.”
“I think I pretty much figured out the situation all on my own, Dex.”
He moves up to the edge of the armchair, his brow furrowed. “I swear I thought Wilford picked you.” His voice is urgent. “I never would have told you that, otherwise.”
I nod. “I believe you.”
“Wait.” He blinks. “You do?”
“Of course.”
“Whoa.” He expels a breath, and his shoulders sag. “I have to admit, I’m a little surprised. And very relieved.”
“Come on, Dex. Did you think I’d forget everything I’ve learned about you these past few weeks and jump to the wrong conclusion?” I smirk. “I may be a drama teacher, but I’m not into forcing some third-act breakup.”
“I just thought—”
“And besides,” I interrupt, “we aren’t even a real couple, right?”
Dex’s eyes are lasers aimed at mine. “Then what are we?”
I swallow, wishing I had another water bottle. “We’re friends now,” I say. “Friends who have kissed.”
His lips tug up on one side, but the effect is still more like a grimace. “You know, I was pretty sure you were going to start hating me again.”
“I don’t hate you, Dex. But also.” I break for emphasis. “I am not giving up.”
“On us?”
“On the FRIG.” I reach down to slip my feet into my shoes. “Did you really mean what you said about wanting the money to go to performing arts?”
“I did,” he insists. “But you heard Wilford. It’s not our decision.”
“Then you just have to tell him you’re transferring to Harvest High next semester,” I say.
“Once he realizes he’d have to handle a massive project like a gym renovation with a new athletic director, I’m sure he’ll change his mind.
” I lift my knees one at a time to work the laces of my sneakers.
“At least he’ll know what he’s getting into with me.
Extra organization and clipboards. All my greatest hits.
” I push out a laugh. “And he even said the choice was tough. But we have to catch him before he makes the announcement to the rest of the staff. I don’t want anyone to think I pressured you. ”
Dex shifts his jaw, but he doesn’t say anything.
I tip my chin. “I’m not pressuring you, am I?”
“No.”
“Okay, good.” I exhale a sigh of relief. “So I think we should talk to him about this on Monday. Before school. We can go see him together. Or if you want to tell him alone, I’ll understand.”
“I can’t.” Dex drops his gaze, and a divot pits his forehead. He looks so sad, my heart squeezes. If there’s one thing I’ve learned these past few weeks, it’s that this man is loyal. Leaving Stony Peak, even for a better position, will probably be very hard for him.
“If you want, I can tell Mr. Wilford for you,” I offer gently.
“You can’t tell him either.”
“I don’t mind.” My voice is soft.
“No.”
“But …” I lower my head, trying to make eye contact. “Why not?”
“Because, Sayla.” He lifts his gaze. “I’m not transferring to Harvest High.”
The giant, king-sized bed might as well be ripped right out from under me. “But Dr. Dewey said—”
“I know what Dr. Dewey said,” he interrupts. “I didn’t accept the offer then. And I’m not going to take it. Ever. Stony Peak is my home. And I’d think you of all people would understand that.”
My throat is a bottle all corked up, but I swallow against the pressure. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means you got hauled around your whole life jumping from town to town,” he says. “You couldn’t wait to settle down somewhere. To settle down here. In Harvest Hollow. At Stony Peak. That school is your life, Sayla. And it’s my life too. We’re both allowed to love it.”
I huff a breath, shaking my head. “No, you’re right,” I say. “Of course you’re right.” The disappointment pinching my chest must be written all over my face, because Dex’s whole expression twists. Like he just sucked on a lemon slice.
“I wasn’t trying to win,” he says.
“I know. You actually tried to lose this time.” A jagged laugh scrapes out of me. “And you still beat me. Which makes the situation even worse. And it’s probably selfish to look at this as my failure, but I can’t think beyond that right now.”
“I wish I could fix this,” he says. “But me going to Harvest High isn’t like trading director roles for a few weeks. Or even like getting that one-time grant money. This is my career, Sayla. My life.”
“I get that, Dex. I really do.” I fight the tide of emotion rising in my throat. “So now I’m thinking maybe I should leave.”
“Don’t go.” He pushes to a stand, coming to sit beside me on the bed. “Just stay here and let’s talk this through. Please.”
“I’m not talking about leaving your apartment.
” I fist my hands to avoid chewing my nails.
“I’m talking about leaving Stony Peak.” I gulp, hardly believing the words myself.
“When I was researching other programs for my grant proposal, I found this magnet school in Charlotte. The Carolina Arts Institute? Their performing arts department is incredible. I could reach out to them. They might have an opening for the upcoming school year. That would give Mr. Wilford time to find a replacement for me.”
Dex stares at me like frogs just leaped out of my mouth. “Why the hell would you do that?”
“Because.” I pause to gather my thoughts in the tumult of my brain. “It’s hardly fair of me to ask you to change schools if I’m not willing to do the same.” My voice hitches. “So I have to be willing.”
“Why do either of us have to leave?”
“Ever since the retreat, I let myself hope that everything could be different if you just transferred to Harvest High. I was going to get the grant money, for one thing. And for another, we wouldn’t be working together anymore.
Or competing against each other.” My nose begins to sting.
“I thought for once I wouldn’t have to be second-best all the time. ”
“You aren’t second, Sayla.”
“I am, though,” I say softly. Resigned. “The FRIG just proves it once again.”
“So you’d rather move two hours away, to a whole other city, just so we’ll never run for faculty president at the same time? Make that make sense.”
“It doesn’t make sense, okay?” A sob rises in me.
“None of this makes sense. All I know is, for my entire life, I’ve never felt like I was enough.
If I had been, my mom might’ve been satisfied, just the two of us.
But I was so not-enough, she kept running after men to find what was missing in me.
I tried so hard to be good. To make her happy.
I just wanted us to be okay. To stay somewhere.
Anywhere. But I wasn’t enough for her then.
” My breath hitches. “And I grew into this woman who’s too much for everyone now. ”
“You’re not too much,” he protests.
“Aren’t I, though?” I sniffle. “I’m too intense. Too competitive. Too needy. People see my lists and clipboards coming from a mile away. And they run. I overwhelm everybody, Dex. And I underwhelmed my own mother.” I look down at my lap. “I’m never the right amount of … whelm. For anyone.”
“Hey.” He puts a finger under my chin, lifts it. “I happen to be a big fan of your whelm.”
A tiny laugh bubbles up in me even as tears roll down my face. “See? This is exactly how you get everyone to like you. Effortlessly.”
“I’ve got news for you, Kroft.” He chuckles, swiping at a tear. “You took some real effort.”
“I always will.” My voice is shaky, and my breath catches. “Whether I’m in Harvest Hollow or Charlotte. At Stony Peak or Carolina Arts.”
“That’s okay with me,” he says. “Let me be okay with it.”
“Why would you ever want to take that on, though?” I rub my wet face with my sleeve. “Dexter Michaels doesn’t do rainclouds. Your family’s all sunshine and rainbows, and happiness is a choice. All the time.”
“You see, that’s where you’re wrong.” Something skitters behind his eyes, and he works his jaw back and forth. “Maybe it’s time you knew the truth.”
“What truth?”
“It’s a who, not a what.” He shifts his body so he’s facing me on the bed. I meet his gaze, and he draws in a long breath. “My sister.”
“Which one?” I blink. “You’ve got three of them.”
“That’s the thing.” He swallows. “I actually have four.”