Chapter 13
I stand on the driver’s side of my car, dissociated from my body.
Sharp pain bites my feet, and I realize I'm standing in the icy parking lot in only my socks. I was so angry with Reid that I left without putting on my boots. I didn’t grab my coat either…
shit. I sure as hell am not going back in now.
I unlock the door and get in quickly to get out of the cold.
I start the car to get the heat going and take a second to process what just happened.
My job has been wonderful. I’ve been willing to look past Reid’s dickish behavior because everything else about my position is like a dream.
I work in a gorgeous mountain resort. I travel to—more like am chauffeured to—places I've never been and could never afford to go, and I get out of the trailer half of every week.
I’m able to create and let my imagination run wild and create in exchange for a generous paycheck. My art has never felt easier, flowing from my mind, through my hand to my pen. I see my sister every day, and my salary has taken a huge burden off her shoulders from helping mom.
I was happy as a clam, sketching an idea for one of the cabins we visited this week.
If we swapped the living and dining rooms, added a lot more lighting, and made the front window the centerpiece, it would be stunning.
I was lost in shading the exposed log wall when Reid’s imposing form startled me in the doorway.
Looking scrumptious as always, I stole a moment to scan him from head to toe.
He was wearing a forest green T-shirt that clung to his pecs and biceps like a dream.
It hung just loose enough across his hips to graze his jean pockets.
I was just trailing my eyes down his legs when he started walking towards me, interrupting my favorite show.
The most gorgeous, infuriating man I’ve ever met found me snuggling on the floor at our place of work and called me a hellcat.
I was immediately on defense. I felt physically cornered, small beneath his hulking form standing above me, and vulnerable because I was unprepared to verbally spar with him.
He was spot-flipping-on with his astute assessment. Somehow, he saw through my impenetrable mask to the pathetic, hurt, imposter I am beneath.
What did he say? Damage recognizes damage. It’s like the pot came to the kettle to talk about how they're both black.
He’s right. A hard life, topped off with the cherry of my innocence being stolen, broke me into a thousand jagged pieces. The glue holding me together is tenuous at best, and he decided to throw a rock straight through my stained-glass window.
I’ve tried so hard these past weeks to be professional with Reid. I haven’t given him any reason to be disappointed in my work. I don’t care if he respects me as a person, but I want him to respect my work.
Ok, that’s a lie. I want him to respect me as a person too.
So, for him to call me out and tell me all the reasons I'm fake? That pissed me off. I don’t think it’s safe for either of us to be around each other. We're both hanging on so tightly to hide our own shit, we're weak to enemy attack.
I don’t love spending time on the road with Reid, because it hurts to be ignored by him. It’s mortifying to have hearts in my eyes for someone who can’t stand being around me.
I wish he'd work with me instead of next to me on these projects. I could learn so much from him, but he wants to remain a lone wolf.
The person I’ve been portraying these past weeks is not the real me. Or at least, not entirely. I'm tired of putting on a show to make other people more comfortable. So. Fucking. Tired.
Everything is not fine. I’m not fine. I hate that I crave other people’s approval, especially his.
Tears well in my eyes without my permission. I blink up at the headliner of my car trying to absorb them back into my eye sockets. It’s his parting remarks that broke me. Just remembering what he said causes my tear ducts to betray me, and tears drip down my cheeks.
I'm angry about what Reid said to me at the football game.
Angry for holding onto something that happened to me in high school.
Angry at the monster who started the horrific chain reaction of my life.
Angry at every single person who ever started or spread rumors about me.
Angry at myself for going along with it to keep the peace.
Angry at being so weak and letting him get to me.
His biting words embarrassed me, but my reaction embarrassed me more. I hate that I’ve become this person, that I have to play this part in my own life.
The tears are freely flowing, soaking the neck of my hoodie. My heart aches because most of all, I care so fucking much that Reid believes the town gossip. His betrayal hurts so much worse.
My feelings for Reid are like a ball of tangled yarn, knotted in places and useless.
When he attacks me, it feels like he's attacking the middle school version of me who first noticed him. It’s as if that day in the middle school hallway Reid met my eyes, pointed at me and laughed.
It feels like he's another student in the cafeteria laughing at me while my trauma was raw and exposed.
Was Reid ever one of the people in town spreading rumors about me? Did he ever question their truth?
Reid is every person I tried to fool. Every person I fled Swiftwater from.
Every person I dread seeing each time I'm in town.
He's also a fond core memory—my first crush.
A man I admired from afar growing up. A man who has experienced unparalleled tragedy and loss, and somehow, wakes up and carries on every day.
A man I so desperately wish would see me as more than Easy Izzy .
A shudder runs through me at the nickname that haunted me for years.
I wipe the tears from beneath my glasses and dab my wet cheeks with the sleeve of my hoodie.
I won't cry another tear over my past, or over this man. It’s time for Reid Andersen to learn that when he fucks around with me, he’s going to find out.
I use the rearview mirror to wipe away the black streaks on my face—I need to switch to waterproof if Reid’s going to continue being a dick.
I let my rage simmer and seep into my bones. Anger is an old friend of mine, and a far more comfortable place to live than sadness. I'm done playing nice with Reid. He wants to see the real me? Well, buckle up buttercup, because it’s not going to be a smooth ride.
I’ve been sitting in my car so long that the interior is toasty warm from the heater. I need my girls, and I need them stat.
Me: Del, I’m picking you up in twenty minutes.
Me: Liv, your house just became war games central.
Livy: Hell. Yes. I love it when you get all plan-y and scary!
Twin: I’m equal parts excited and scared.
Livy: Exhilarating, isn’t it?
Me: Do you think we could sleep over? This might be an all-nighter.
Livy: Duh. I'll gather whatever snacks I can find and cue up Mean Girls. It’s time to take Regina George down!
Twin: Reid-gina George LOL
Me: Bitches, assemble! We ride at dawn.
Twin: It’s like 5:00 p.m.
Me: Shut up.
Me: Can you grab my cowboy boots?
I reverse my car from its parking spot and head home sweet home—more like derelict trailer—but, whatever.
Like always, I meticulously drive the speed limit to avoid getting pulled over.
I can’t risk any potential run-in with him .
My anxiety is still buzzing from seeing him at the restaurant the other day.
Delilah’s waiting on the stoop out front, with both of our overnight bags packed at her feet. We're en route to Castle Dalton. My sister’s questions started before she closed the car door and haven’t stopped since.
Yes, Reid is a dead man.
No, he has no idea what's coming.
Yes, those are my wet socks in the footwell .
Because I left without my shoes.
Oh my god, Lilah, yes, he wore that one pair of jeans today that are slightly too small for him that indecently show off his bulge.
Yes, I looked, of course I looked. It’s impossible NOT to look when an anaconda is trying to break through a zipper to attack me.
No , I’ve never been rage-horny before. Why? Have you?
Our little Q&A continues until we arrive at Olivia’s. She's flying out of the front door before we can sling our bags over our shoulders. This is exactly what I needed. My girls, and a solid revenge scheme.
“I’m so full I could die.”
“Me too,” both of my girls groan. Olivia’s mom spoiled us with her famous pesto tortellini and no-bake cheesecake.
Her parents welcomed us like they always have.
It feels so good to receive a parent’s love, even if they aren’t my own.
Like we're fourteen again, Olivia’s parents ship us off to Olivia’s room with her dad’s eyebrow raise indicating to be quiet after 9:00 p.m. Some things never change, and it makes me smile.
Olivia and I are sitting side by side against her upholstered headboard, snuggled beneath her down comforter on her cloud-like bed. Delilah’s claimed the stunning antique chaise lounge I’ve envied since childhood. Again, if I didn’t love Livy so much, I’d hate her.
“Before we start plotting murder, can we rewind a little bit? Last we heard, your job was going well, and you were getting along fine with Reid, he was just a grump. Did something happen?” Delilah asks.
My face gives me away and Olivia launches in. “Do I need to kick his ass? Because I'll shove my foot so high up his?—”
“Before you completely lose it, yes, something happened. But I need you to hear me when I tell you I'm safe. I'm okay physically. I’ll tell you everything if you promise to hold your outrage until the end.”
They both begrudgingly agree, and I painstakingly share every detail I can remember from the past weeks.