Chapter 50
DENALI
TELL ME IT’S NOT TRUE
The plan was for the team to leave the Colo and meet up later at Gianna’s for dinner. Everybody was so happy about the slideshow, our walk to RV was full of people joking about the photos.
It made Elijah’s mood so fucking obvious.
In the loud conversation in the elevator, he was the only silent one. My stomach rolled with apprehension because Elijah’s eyes never moved from his careful dissection of me.
Not once.
The door opened to our floor and Elijah said something about needing to grab his jacket. I went to follow him inside, but Zariah grabbed my arm, leading me into her dorm.
The door closed behind me, and Zariah released me. “I have to grab my purse and put my hair up.”
“I need my wallet—”
“You’re not going in there alone.” Zariah stopped at the door to her bedroom and tucked in her shirt. Her voice was firm, but her fingers twitched with fluttery, anxious movements. “He definitely suspects something.”
“He knows, Zariah,” I said quietly.
“No—if he knew, he would’ve—” Zariah shook her head and disappeared into her bedroom. “He doesn’t know a hundred percent. I’m sure of that.”
“Do we tell him now?”
“Do you want to tell him now?”
“I don’t think we have a choice.” I rubbed the back of my neck. “Maybe it’s better if we tell him now instead of the suspicions—I don’t know…”
We’d been planning out what to say to Elijah but now that the conversation was here, I felt tongue-tied. Was this how the talk would go? Zariah would reveal everything, and I stand there like an idiot, letting her take the brunt of it? How was that fair?
I didn’t want to drive a wedge between them, especially by nudging Zariah to centerstage to explain away my actions.
I needed to be the one to tell Elijah. Alone.
Slowly, I opened her door and dug out my keys. This wasn’t Zariah’s responsibility. It was mine.
Pushing open my door, my heart hammered from how quiet our dorm was. I started to make my way over to Elijah’s room—we’d talk this out, I’d tell him everything—but I could see Elijah’s door was ajar.
His lights were off.
I stumbled to a stop. Where was he?
“Elijah?” I called. “Uh, dude?”
His room was completely empty, but my eyes dropped to the underside of my door. Light flooded from inside.
I never left my lights on.
Oh, fuck.
I opened my door and froze.
Elijah was on his knees in front of my closet. The worn and torn cardboard box sat in front of him—the ice monster. Hersch’s letter was in his hand, and he was breathing so deeply, I could hear every breath.
Elijah’s eyes slid to mine, void of expression.
“I saw you bring in the box,” he said, his voice flat. “I was wondering why Zariah gave it to you. Why? Sure, you guys are dating, but why would she give you the ice monster? Why not keep it for herself?”
“Elijah.” I exhaled. “We need to talk—”
“Tell me it’s not true.”
“Look, I—”
“It’s not fucking true, tell me it’s not true.”
He jumped up, the letter clenched in his hand and my heart leaped to my throat. I reached for it and yanked back my hand. “Don’t rip it—please—don’t rip it.”
I couldn’t have said anything else that admitted it more.
Fuck.
A hard knock echoed from our front door—Zariah demanded for us to open it, but I couldn’t move. Elijah’s face hardened and he folded the letter, letting it fall to the box.
He cut the distance between us. His fist flew, slamming me in the jaw.
I crashed into his bedroom and hit the ground. The pain coursed through me, my ears rang. I’d been in so many hockey fights, my brain was wired to recognize what happened next. I had to grab him and bring him down with me, to take the upper hand where I could.
Except I couldn’t. This was Elijah.
He gathered up my shirt and stared down, his features contorted in pain. He stumbled back. “No, fuck. That’s not you!”
“Elijah,” I blurted out, rubbing my jaw. “I’m sorry—”
“You’re not him! You’re not that guy!”
I heard the front door fly open and Zariah rush through—I forgot she had a key. She stopped at the doorframe, her eyes widening when she saw me on the floor. “Oh, fuck, Elijah—did you hit him?!”
Elijah held out a protective arm over her. “Denali, you’re going to stay the fuck away from her.”
“Don’t be so fucking dramatic,” Zariah snapped, shoving him away to step over to me. “Denali—”
Zariah held out a hand to help me up. I didn’t need the help, but I grabbed it anyway, pushing myself up. The words tumbled out of my mouth. “I’m sorry, I just wanted to talk to him—”
Elijah pointed at me. “You’re the fucking psycho stalker—you’re the fucking guy!” His mouth fell open. “I’m a fucking idiot, I’m so fucking stupid, Zariah was fucking afraid of you—what the fuck was I thinking?!”
“Afraid of him?” Zariah rebuffed. “What are you talking about?”
“You didn’t want to go near him at the beginning of the year—”
“Because I was angry! I thought he transferred here for me! Which he didn’t!” she said, her voice sharp. Zariah took a step closer to me, coming between Elijah and me. “Maybe I was afraid for his mental fucking health, but I wasn’t afraid of him. Denali wouldn’t hurt a fly!”
My pulse raced. “Elijah, I’m sorry—”
“I read those fucking letters you sent,” he spat out. “You’re fucking sick. ‘How could you leave me—I’m going to kill myself’ kind of bullshit, what the fuck were you thinking?! She was fifteen!”
Shame burned through me, and I turned to Zariah. “I’m so sorry, Zariah, I’m so sorry—”
“You’re months late, Elijah, we’re way past that!” she interrupted. “People make mistakes!”
“What kind of Stockholm Syndrome bullshit is this?” he demanded, whirling back to me. “You fucking found me for my sister? Huh? That’s what this fucking is?”
“No, no, I didn’t—I’d never—” I said, more for Zariah to hear than Elijah. I know she said she didn't believe it, but I couldn’t handle it if she had any doubt. “Elijah, you messaged me first, you were the one who hit me up!”
“Because you were asking all of those fucking questions on the—”
“Because I’m a fucking transfer,” I blurted out, stopping him. “I joined the Marrs chats because I didn’t know anybody!”
Elijah gestured to me. “He crashed Herschel’s funeral with blood all over him, fucking screaming at you—”
Oh, fuck.
Zariah and I hadn’t talked about that yet.
Her dark eyes glanced towards mine. It wasn’t like I’d hid it behind her back.
I was waiting for her to ask, and then, I didn’t know how to bring it up organically.
It was fucking shameful. I’d done so much for Zariah to see me as the man I’d become instead of the kid I’d been.
But as much as I didn’t want to talk about this, she had to know the truth, I couldn’t lie to her.
“I biked to Hersch’s complex every day for news and none of his neighbors knew anything,” I said, words overlapping in my shame.
“One day the property manager told me that he’d gotten a notice—Hersch had died last week.
He had a copy of the funeral announcement for the apartment’s newsletter.
I didn’t even know Hersch died, and then I had to go to school, and—”
I couldn’t read the expression on Zariah’s face. Fuck, I didn’t want to say this out loud.
“I was getting bullied by this guy, Ross Tillerman,” I finally continued.
“The bullying got a lot worse when you disappeared. I didn’t care if they hit me anymore, and I was a fucking mess when you left.
Ross and his friends cornered me in the bathroom to kick the shit out of me, and I was already fucked up from the news about Hersch and I—I—” I raked a hand through my hair, anxiety spiking my blood.
“I beat the shit out of them. Security found us.”
Zariah covered her mouth. “Denali…”
“I know—no secrets—I’m really sorry. I didn't know how to tell you, and we never brought up the funeral and—and—” I shrugged, helpless.
“I knew my parents were going to be fucking furious, so I snuck out of the principal’s office and took the first bus to Texas.
I had a hoodie on, but I accidentally left it on the bus in Houston—”
“None of that story matters,” Elijah dismissed me.
“What?” Zariah jerked over to stare at him. “How could you say that to him?”
“Because this isn’t about that, he’s just adding on sob stories so you’ll feel bad for him,” Elijah said, putting his focus on me. “Denali, you know this isn’t fucking right with Zariah. What’s wrong with you?”
“Elijah!” Zariah snapped.
“You know you shouldn’t be with her. You can’t fucking do that to someone!”
“I know.” My nod was jerky and unnatural. “I think about that all the time—” I shifted to Zariah. “I really am sorry, Zariah, I love you so much—”
“What kind of manipulative bullshit—?” Elijah stopped himself, fuming. “Make the right choice!”
“Elijah,” Zariah warned, her voice suddenly so icy, the room chilled. “I know what you’re doing.” She gave a small shake of her head. “Don’t ask him to choose between you and me. Because you’re going to get your fucking feelings hurt.”
Silence fell over us.
Elijah scoffed. “I’m not—”
“I don’t like anything about this conversation,” Zariah said, slipping on her purse.
“This doesn’t feel right. This isn’t how we’re supposed to do this.
There’s too much yelling and finger-pointing and being fucking shitty to each other—I don’t like it, we’re not doing it like this. Denali, go get your stuff.”
I froze. “What?”
Elijah blinked. “What?”
“He’s basically already staying with me anyway, but I know he left some stuff behind—” She tipped her chin to my bedroom. “Let’s go.”
Relief flooded me, rendering me speechless. Zariah didn’t push me away. This wasn’t the end. I stumbled on my feet, heading for my bedroom. There was only one thing I needed. I stooped down for the worn cardboard box, making sure the letter was tucked inside.
Elijah tried to stop me at the door, but he wasn’t angry. Hurt played across his face, incredulous at my exit. “Denali.”
“I’m sorry, man.” I shook my head, moving past him. “I can’t leave her until she tells me to go.”
My head was spinning. I was raw from telling Zariah my final secret, the one I’d tried to tell her multiple times but couldn’t bring myself to, and my jaw hurt from the punch. But most of all, I felt…I felt…
I felt loved.
Zariah opened her door and waved me inside. Her dorm was quiet, the silence was welcomed after the fight. I set the box on the kitchen counter and Zariah’s arms went around my neck, tugging me down to her. I wrapped my arms around her waist, crushing her to me.
“I’m really sorry,” I mumbled. “I didn’t know how to…”
She kissed my cheek, holding me close. “I’m sorry.”
“You don’t have anything to be sorry for.”
“I’m sorry no one was there to protect you,” she said softly.
“There weren’t any charges or anything like that. My parents already made complaints about the bullying, the schools just wanted to brush it under the rug. It’s okay.”
“That doesn’t make it okay.” Zariah tightened her hold, pressing her cheek to mine. “I love you, baby. I’m sorry.”
“I love you too.”