Chapter Nineteen. Reid
CHAPTER NINETEEN
REID
NOW
@haikuforyou
Pushing past the break
The sea floor too far to reach
Without us sinking
FUCK. AT HOME IN the shower, I slump against the cold tile as the reality pushes in of how irreparably I’ve fucked up. I should’ve tried harder to explain. To tell her how much I regret it. That I’ve wanted her and only her since I met her.
But in the moment, my brain overrode my heart.
Because telling her that would’ve freaked her out in a different way.
While I know she cared about me, she never felt for me the way I did for her.
Never wanted to know how I felt. If she did, she wouldn’t have pretended like that card I gave her didn’t even exist.
Though I send her a text now trying to convey the depth of my remorse, I don’t expect her to respond.
I pull on a plain black T-shirt, gym shorts, and my knee brace, then make my way to the kitchen to hunt down something to eat.
On the table, I find a note for me and Mitchell from Julianne saying she and Dad will meet us at the Shakespeare play later tonight but that our picnic is packed and ready to go in the fridge.
She could’ve just texted us. But she always does these small mom things, even for me.
It used to annoy me. Like she was trying too hard to be my mom.
But now I understand that it’s because my mom didn’t try to be one at all. I rub my finger down the note, grateful for her all over again.
I grab an ice pack, and the leftover lasagna from the fridge, and eat it straight out of the dish.
Mitchell’s door busts open down the hall, and he saunters into the kitchen wearing a bulky Woodhurst High Wrestling sweatshirt.
But his smile falls when his gaze locks on my leg propped up. The ice pack.
He quirks an eyebrow up, then grabs the casserole dish and fork right out of my hands.
“Hey—”
He shoves a massive bite into his mouth. “Is it bad?” he asks, gesturing to my leg.
“Just sore. I’m fine.”
Better than it was before the hot springs, at least.
He settles in the chair across from me, his eyes glued on me while he chews.
“I saw that post about you and DL.”
Fucking fantastic.
I pull the fork right out of his mouth. He grunts a protest while I say through gritted teeth, “Get your own.” I stab a piece of congealed cheese even though I’ve lost my appetite.
Mitchell shakes his head slowly. “So it is true,” he mutters. “How did Clara take it?”
A scornful half laugh escapes me, and I drop the fork on the worn wooden table where we’ve shared meals and games of chess and heated debates since we were kids. I bury my face in my hands, unable to meet his eyes.
After a beat he sighs. “Yeah, I figured as much.”
It takes me a minute to steady my breathing. To work up the courage to ask Mitchell something so pitiful. “Did she ever talk to you about me? About what happened?”
“No.”
It’s like taking a bullet.
But after a thoughtful silence he continues. “You know Clara. She doesn’t talk about anything that hurts.”
I hate that he’s right because it means he gets her. They really are close.
When I don’t respond, he quickly changes the subject. “I really thought these posts were a joke, but this Legacy Lore account is out for blood.”
My voice comes out muffled through my palms. “Tell me about it.”
“Have you seen the new ones?”
Through the slats of my fingers, I watch him pull out his phone. He shows me the account, and I straighten to read them.
@LEGACY_LORE: Meet Nicole Kelly: This scholar and athlete is determined to win at all costs. That cutthroat ambition will get you far … or get you caught. More soon
Caught? That can’t be good …
And the next one.
@LEGACY_LORE: Meet Amaya Masters: This leading lady with a powerhouse voice just may be Woodhurst’s very first Broadway star someday! But a spotlight is unforgiving—just like this drama queen when she doesn’t get her way. More soon
How does this person know half this stuff—whatever it is?
She always knows everything about everyone.
Is it possible Delaney’s doing this? She wanted to tell Clara, and I asked her not to … Maybe this was her way of forcing the issue.
I scroll back to the post about me.
But given his mysterious absence from the course this season and earning more than a few failing grades, is the Golden Boy starting to tarnish outside of his small pond?
Would she really say that about me?
There are comments now, too. Mitchell snatches the phone out of my hand before I can read them.
“You’re grumpy enough,” he says.
I was already freaked out by the posts this morning.
But it’s worse than I thought because by including that photo of me and Delaney, this person clearly has no problem twisting the truth.
With their follower count rapidly rising, they’re starting to have influence, too. More power than any of us anticipated.
And for some reason, they’re trying to wreak havoc.
Mitchell clears his throat. “Since they were right about you and DL, are they right about the other stuff?”
He tries to keep his tone light, but I catch him staring at my knee again. He’s worried. I ball my hands into tight fists. This is exactly what I need to prevent. I don’t want him stressing about me when he has his own plans, his own future to think about.
I shake my head. “I’ve got it under control.”
“Swear?” he asks, as he takes the fork back and gathers a large bite in the pan.
I nod, feeling a bit sick to my stomach when I say, “You know we don’t lie to each other.”
Something passes over his face, but it’s gone so fast I must’ve imagined it.
I don’t want to linger on the subject, so I move on, anger clipping my words when I return to the topic of Legacy Lore. “Who thinks like this?”
Mitchell pushes the empty lasagna dish away from himself and leans back. “Someone spiteful with a lot of time on their hands.”
I let out a small laugh. But it does little to dispel the apprehension that arises when I think about all I’m still hiding. All I have to keep hidden.
“They’re obviously hovering around. Maybe we can figure out who it is at Romeo and Juliet tonight. Actually…” He trails off and wipes his hands quickly before pulling out his phone. He starts tapping furiously, a scheme on his face.
“What are you doing?”
The answer comes a moment later when my phone buzzes with a text from him on RUN FORREST RUN: I have doth decreed another reunion! Tonight! Of Runneth Forrest Runneth at doth Shakespeare show.
Kenji responds instantly, as if in on it. Hear, hear! Shall we be fancy tonight and arrive as one?
Mitchell: Indeed! We are fancy now and thus must only speaketh as the fancy would. Thy chariots shall arrive post haste-ish.
I’ve always been baffled by their antics, and this time is no different.
“What is this?” I demand.
Popping into the group chat like everything’s good is dangerously chaotic, even for him.
He grins at me over his phone. “Insurance. Kenji and I aren’t about to let the crew fall apart because of this mess. If we don’t let you all avoid each other, then you have to get your shit together.”
My pulse picks up as I wait to see how Clara responds to whatever … this is.
Kenji: Too bad, Lady Clara! We shall pickest thou up at the hour of six!
Mitchell: Culture thyselves!
“Yeesh, she is pissed,” Mitchell says.
I scroll up and down, confused. It seems like Kenji was replying to something Clara said, too, but I don’t see a text from her on the chat. Is it a glitch?
“What? Did she text you?” I ask.
He frowns. “Yeah—you can see it.”
“No, I can’t—”
A cold realization hits me.
She didn’t …
I stand and grab his phone out of his hand and read through it, comparing.
Clara: I don’t need a ride.
Her texts are on his thread, but not mine.
She did.
“She blocked me,” I say, my breath shuddering.
We hadn’t spoken in months, we’d unfollowed each other online, but this—we never went so far as to cut off contact like this. I probably deserve it … Still, I’m shocked at how much it hurts. A crushing, twisting ache right through the center of me at the finality of it.
She’s really never going to forgive me.
Mitchell grimaces. “Damn. Well…” He pushes a hand through his hair, uncomfortable but unpersuaded. “You can talk to her tonight.”
“She clearly doesn’t want to see me.”
He chuckles, which annoys the fuck out of me. “She thinks she doesn’t. But it’s not that complicated to fix this. Well, wait—a few vital questions first. Are you into Delaney?”
“Not even a little.”
Kissing her felt only like searching for Clara. Which made it all the worse.
He squints and whispers, “Did you give your flower to Delaney?”
I flit my eyes to the ceiling trying to keep my patience in check. “The way I want to punch you right now…”
“Then it’s simple. Apologize.”
Frustration flattens my expression, my tone dripping with sarcasm. “Wow, why didn’t I think of that?”
He rolls his eyes.
“As much as I will deny I ever said this to you if Clara asks, this doesn’t have to blow up your lives like this.
You weren’t together. Yes, obviously, if you were going to rebound it really should’ve been with literally anyone besides her best friend, but also I’m her best friend now, so it’s actually insulting to me that she seems to be forgetting that—”
“Mitchell. Focus.”
His spine straightens, and he takes the empty casserole dish to the sink to wash it. “Just apologize again. This is one of those situations where groveling is welcome. Nay, required.”
Clearly, the Shakespeare speak continues.
“How? She’s going to avoid me the rest of the weekend.”
“You haven’t done your interview yet, have you?”
I go still. I haven’t.
She said she couldn’t make the doc without me. Knowing how dedicated she is, there’s no way she’s going to abandon the project. Which means I still have a window to talk to her. Even if it’s small.
I study him a moment, wondering when the hell he got so smart.
“As her best friend, shouldn’t you be pissed at me?”
He snorts. “I am pissed at you. But as your brother?” He shoots me a look over his shoulder, wrist-deep in sudsy water. “I know what you’ve been through this year.” We almost have a moment until he keeps going. “But I need you to stop bringing disgrace on the family and make this right.”
I throw a dish towel at his head and he laughs.
“If you want to fix this, show her how sorry you are—however you can.”
Show her. An idea strikes me, and I stand up as quickly as I dare given my knee is still aching. As I pass behind him at the sink, I ruffle his hair in gratitude before bounding off to the garage to look for the right box.
I hear the smile in his voice when he calls out behind me, “You’re welcome.”