Chapter 15
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Len
The steam of the coffee fills my nostrils as I stride into the newspaper room. The place is nearly full, which tells me I’m late. Well, not really late, just not early like normal. We don’t have hours I could actually be late for, but I like to spend as much time as possible here to accustom myself to being in a newsroom for the rest of my career.
Flora lifts her gaze when I drop my stuff across from her. “Someone looks like she got laid. Did you and Clark…” She waggles her brows.
I’m about to launch into the story about Clark and the disaster that was our date at Bubbles, but a hand touches my shoulder. “Hey.”
I nearly jump out of my seat and peer up to find Clark staring down at me. We haven’t talked since he dropped me off outside Knightley a couple of nights ago and so much has happened since then.
“Hey,” I eke out.
“I got your text. I didn’t find your key in my car.”
Turns out, my key had been in my purse the whole time and my drunk ass hadn’t seen it. What are the odds? “I actually found it. Thanks for checking, though.”
He rubs my shoulder. “I feel bad that you were locked out.”
I maneuver away from his touch. “Zaiah was there.”
“Oh.” He pauses for a moment. “Good.”
Zaiah and I got together because I thought I’d lost that key. It was fate. He swooped in like a knight on a white horse. The whole thing was meant to be. Plus, now that I’m sober, I agree with him. Clark had no business making me leave Bubbles only to drop me off at the curb of my place.
My phone starts ringing, and I scramble to get it, heart pinging in my chest. I hope it’s Zaiah checking in about how I’m dealing with the Clark situation. He knew how nervous I was.
“What are you working on now?” Clark asks.
Ugh, can’t he see that my phone is ringing?
I stare down at the screen, and my stomach free falls. It’s not Zaiah. It’s Dad. I point at my phone. “I have to get this.”
Quick footsteps take me to the side of the room. “Hello?”
“Hey, Pumpkin.”
“Hey, Dad.”
“I haven’t heard from you in a while.”
Clark eyes me warily before turning and heading back to his office. I sigh. “That’s because the last time we talked, we got into a fight.”
“Fight?” he complains. “What fight? It was nothing but a disagreement. I just want to know how my daughter is doing.”
“Doing good, Dad.” I swallow, my throat suddenly dry because I have never been this interesting in my entire life. Went on a date with one guy and ended up on top of another by the end of the night. Since I doubt my dad wants to hear updates about my love life, I go with a safe topic. “My new article went to print the other day.”
“Well, send it my way. I’d like to read it.”
“It probably wouldn’t interest you.”
“Lenore, everything you do interests me. It doesn’t have to be about sports.”
That sounds like a gigantic lie, but if I call him out on it, we’ll end up arguing again. God, isn’t it ironic that my next article will be about sports? I have to make it different from an individual game, though. Or the sport. I have to make it something more . “I can send it to you.”
“Perfect. I’ll read it between meetings. Listen, Pumpkin, we’re playing the Ice Eagles this weekend, and since it’s so close to you, I’d like you to come. I miss you.”
My absentminded finger-drumming against my side stops. Dad isn’t often vulnerable. He doesn’t say things like that. Not really. “You’d be interested to know I went to a game myself. Here. The Warner college team.”
“You did? Is the team any good?”
“Actually, they’re having a great year. One of the best in history.” My mind wanders. I could write about that… I dismiss the idea. I’ll mention it, but I’m not going to make my whole article about winning. This is for Zaiah, so it has to be bigger than that.
“I bet the coach is pleased.”
I snicker. I bet the coach is terrible at marketing. And the school. And the players. “Yeah, they’re thrilled, I guess.”
“Well? The Ice Eagles game?”
“I don’t know, Dad. It depends on how much work I have to do.”
His pause has my stomach squeezing. I can almost hear him contemplating on the other end of the line. “Well, just in case, I’ll grab two seats for you and your roommate. Let me know if you need more.”
“My roommate?” Fear punches into me. He knows about Zaiah?
“Yeah, the girl. What’s her name?”
I breathe out a sigh of relief, but part of me is annoyed. I shouldn’t be surprised he still thinks Trish is my roommate, but it’s aggravating. “We don’t live together anymore, Dad.”
“You don’t?”
“No.”
Guilt rears up. I don’t want to take back what happened between Zaiah and me, but was it wrong? Trish was my best friend. She’d be so pissed if she knew what happened. Friends don’t get involved with each other’s boyfriends. Or even ex-boyfriends. Right?
Not that I can call her my friend anymore. Or that I should’ve called her a friend before.
My father’s voice butts into my pity party. “Well, I’m sure you have someone else to take. I’ll leave the tickets, Lenore, and like I said, if you need more, let me know.”
“Sure, Dad. I’ll let you know.”
Like I have friends who are dying to go to a hockey game.
“Bye, Dad.”
“Miss you, honey.”
I pause as surprise hits me. “Miss you, too.”
It’s evident that he’s trying. I’m probably the only one not.
The call ends, and I clutch my phone in my hands. Zaiah would love to go to a pro hockey game. But then I’d have to tell him how I got the tickets and who my dad is. Would he be mad I didn’t tell him sooner?
Peeking up, I spot Flora. She’s pretending not to look at me, but for once, her fingers aren’t flying over the keyboard. God, she’d be a horrible undercover reporter.
“Hey…” I walk toward her. “Do you want to take this workday to the café?”
She peers at the coffee cup I sat on the table, but my gaze immediately moves to Clark to make sure he’s still in his office.
She grins like she knows I’m about to spill the tea. “Hell yeah. I’ve been waiting for you to ask.”
I grab my stuff I hadn’t even unpacked yet, and Flora and I take off. Clark looks up at the last minute before I can escape, but he’s on the phone, so he can’t say anything. He watches me go, his face full of unsaid questions.
“Girl, what’s going on?” Flora asks as soon as we make it outside. “There was some major weirdness going on between you and Clark and not the usual you pining after him when he doesn’t notice.”
I give her a look.
She holds her hands up. “It’s the truth. Look at you. Clandestine phone calls. Clark staring over like a star-crossed, jaded lover. How did your life get interesting all of a sudden?”
Maybe I asked the wrong person to talk to about this. I don’t need another friend to make fun of me when I really need them to listen.
“Hey.” She pulls me to a stop. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. Genuinely. I was only teasing.”
I peer into her eyes. There’s a subtle difference from the way Trish used to apologize to the way Flora just did. Trish used to do it like she couldn’t believe I was upset. She did it begrudgingly and with a hint of annoyance. I don’t see the same in Flora.
“Apology accepted. I’m sorry.”
“No,” Flora says. “I apologize, you say okay, and that’s it. You don’t apologize back.”
“Okay, I take my apology back.”
“Well, now you’re just being a bitch.”
She smirks, and I understand the teasing that time. “Get used to it.”
She nearly jumps up and down. “I cannot wait to hear what happened. This is going to be so good.”
I laugh as we turn toward the café again. She places her arm through mine, and we walk linked. Campus is sparse, only the occasional person meandering between classes, but the closer we get to the café, the busier it is.
“I hope we can find a seat,” I muse.
“Oh, we’re getting a seat. Even if we have to sneak these into the library. By the way, you already have a coffee.”
I grin, sipping. “Then I’ll grab the seat while you catch up.”
She pulls open the glass door, and we step through. There are about five people in line, and I look around, scoping out the edges of the café so we can have a little privacy. I spot an empty booth in the back. It’s too big for the two of us, but I don’t care. Huge groups aren’t waiting around for it, so I point it out to Flora and head over.
I sit facing the entrance. While I wait, I scroll through my emails without really seeing them as I think about what I want to say to Flora. I’ll tell her about Clark first, of course. Maybe I could even ask her about what I should say to Zaiah. Do I tell him I’m the one who threw Trish under the bus? What about the dress and the fact that he saw me first? What about my dad ?
“You look like you’re thinking too hard,” Flora says.
“A lot of information to process,” I tell her.
“Well, I’m here for it.” She sits, wrapping her hands around her coffee.
I lean back. “I need advice, and as you might have noticed, you’re the only girl I talk to, so…”
She gives me a small smile, and for a passing moment, I feel like an idiot. I had other friends. Well, Trish had other friends, but when I cut ties with her, I was shy about making new ones. And keeping the old ones. People like Trish breed other people like Trish, and they’re not people I wanted in my life anymore.
Flora reaches across the table to set her hand on mine. “Len, we’re friends. It’s okay if you call us that, you know?”
Panic shoots through me at the word friend . It’s as if I have PTSD from my relationship with Trish, obviously at a much smaller scale than someone who went to war. However, sometimes our exchanges felt like mini battles. Subterfuge and counterattacks. I shiver just remembering.
“So?” Flora asks, lifting her brows. “I’m on the edge of my seat. Clark seemed off. You seemed great at first, and then…”
Taking a deep breath, I let it out. “I’ll start with Bubbles. Clark was miserable.” The whole story spews from my mouth like an exorcism, and as I’m telling her, I’m getting more upset about the things Clark did.
She slaps the table at one point. “Zaiah was there?”
I shrug. “I invited him.”
“Woah, woah, woah. Back this horse up. You invited Zaiah to your date with Clark?”
“Well, first off, Clark told me other people were going. He said we couldn’t take Zaiah because the car was full.”
“Then it ended up being only you and Clark?”
I nod.
“Hmm,” she says, taking a sip of her drink. “I think someone was jealous.”
“He was upset, for sure. We were supposed to be out celebrating my article, but he wouldn’t even relax. He was mad that it was loud. He was mad that I drank.”
“Wait.” She holds up a hand. “He gave you shit about drinking?”
“He took me home early because he said I was making a fool of myself.”
“Okay, Len, I’m going to say this in the nicest way possible so I don’t hurt your feelings… This is not the guy for you. Fuck him. He’s not the guy for anyone. Run away.”
“I did. I mean, that’s why I’m so weirded out this morning. He took me home early, then he dropped me off and left before I realized I didn’t have my key. Plus, his parents came to visit on Sunday, and I mistakenly thought he was going to invite me, and he was like, straight up, no.”
She sits back and shakes her head. “Dick. I always suspected. The way he takes advantage of you in the newsroom—”
“He doesn’t—”
“Len, if you didn’t help that loser, nothing would ever get done.”
“I don’t know…”
“I do know, and I’m telling you as your new best friend. From now on, don’t help him. Watch how everything falls apart. I’m actually getting giddy thinking about it. Promise me you’ll pull back. You need to draw a hard line because this guy is toxic.”
I swallow, trying to recuperate from Flora’s battering ram of truth. Trish was toxic, too. I realized that on my own, so why did Clark escape my notice? Why didn’t I see it?
I open my mouth and close it.
“Hey, if I said something…”
“No.” I stand. “It’s not you. Sorry, I need to be alone right now.”
I start to grab my stuff.
“Len.”
“It’s not you. Promise.”
I rub my chest as I make my way through the crowd of people at the café exit, nearly knocking shoulders with a towering figure. “Sorry.”
“Len? You okay?”
I turn to see Adam standing there. “Fine. I’m good. Sorry.”
Turning, I head out the door and start for the dorm, praying Zaiah’s in class or at practice or just not there. My phone rings, and I pull my bag around to see who it is. Clark . I come to a stop. His name scrolling across my phone used to send goose bumps through me. What kind of person lets two toxic people into their lives? Welcomes them? Begs for their attention?
I clench my phone and do the first thing I can think: I pull back and heave it into the air.
“Hey!” A body jogs over and snatches it before it hits the ground. I recognize the shoulders, the frame, and I want to die of embarrassment before he spins around and it’s confirmed.
The universe fucks me again.
I’m still alive when Zaiah turns, my phone dangling from his fingers. I stand still, my feet frozen in place as he jogs up to me. “You should try out for baseball.”
I peer at the ground, and within a few seconds, my phone enters my view.
“You missed a call.”
“Good,” I snap, grabbing it and shoving it back in my bag.
“Hey, are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” I say, hiding a sniffle. “I’m overstimulated, I think.”
Flora calls out from behind me. “Len, are you okay?”
Zaiah reaches out, but I slide away from him. “Sorry, I’m good. Everyone can stop worrying.” I back away like I’m a mouse trapped in a corner by a big, hungry lion. “I’m A-Okay. I’m suddenly tired. I’m going to take a nap.”
“I can make sure you get back alright,” Zaiah offers, stepping forward.
The concern on his face is so pure. But do I trust myself anymore? Apparently, I’m a horrible judge of character.
“I’m perfectly capable of doing it myself. Thanks.”
I turn before they can say another word. My feet pick up the pace, and when I’m about thirty yards away, I glance back to see if anyone is following me. Luckily, no one is.
My phone buzzes with a text from Zaiah when I hit the steps to Knightley.
DON’T THROW ME.
Text me when you’re home. I mean it. If you don’t, I’m going to come looking.
A smile starts to curve my lips, but I stuff it down. When I arrive at my suite, I lie in bed and text him that I’m okay, then pull the covers up over me to hide away.