26. Skylar
SKYLAR
The words on the screen blur together until they become a giant black blob.
I’ve been at this all day, and still nothing.
I can’t find one single, solitary piece of evidence to hold against Marshall Astor.
The only lead I have is an arrest record that is still impossible to access.
I should feel guilty for shirking my duties, but the paper has been pretty quiet this week.
Everyone has gotten their articles in on time with minimal drama.
Clicking back to the last page, I groan, falling forward until my head hits the keyboard.
It doesn’t help that as I attempt to investigate this man, I can’t stop thinking about what I did with his son in the bathroom at a party a few nights ago.
I’m not sure what I was expecting when he followed me upstairs, but him ordering me to my knees was not it.
Still, I can’t find it in myself to regret what happened.
I wanted him to stop treating me like glass, and he finally did.
Does that mean I automatically trust that he won’t shatter my heart again?
No, but I’m not sure I can go back to pretending he doesn’t exist or that there’s nothing more between us beyond a mutually beneficial marriage.
There’s a soft knock at my door, so I raise my head, brushing the hair out of my eyes. “Come in.”
“Hey.” Ashton’s broad frame fills the doorway. His dress shirt stretches across his chest, and his light brown hair is perfectly styled. Has he been working out? I feel a twinge of guilt for having been so caught up in my own shit that I have no idea what’s going on in his life.
“Hey,” I answer. “I can lock up.”
“Thanks, but that’s not why I came in here.”
“Oh.” I shuffle around some papers on my desk. “Did you need the article line-up for this issue? It’s here somewhere.”
“No, Sky.” He walks toward my desk, pressing the flat of his hand against mine. “I just wanted to see how you’re doing.”
“I’m f—”
“Don’t say fine, Skylar. If you want to lie to everyone else that’s your choice, but please don’t lie to me anymore. I’ve given you space. For years, I’ve let you guys figure your shit out on your own, but I’m begging you not to keep shutting me out. The other night—”
I take a deep breath. “What has Declan said?”
Ash scoffs. “You know him. He talks in fucking riddles. Who knows what he’s saying.”
A small laugh bubbles out of me before I catch myself. Ashton is right. He’s been there for me through it all, not even having the full story. He deserves to know the truth, even if it hurts all of us.
“We slept together,” I blurt out. “The beginning of that summer. Right before graduation.”
Ashton’s tawny eyes lock on mine as he sits across from me. “I figured.”
“Then the next day…” The last few words are obscured by a sob I hadn’t planned on letting out as the memory floods my brain.
I check my phone again. Still nothing. It’s only been a few hours since everything changed between me and Declan, but I can’t wait for whatever comes next.
Maybe it’s weird and clingy to text a guy right after you have sex with him, but Declan and I are different.
Not that I have anything to compare it to.
I always imagined my first time would be quick.
Something I would want to get over with so I could move on, but last night wasn’t that.
It was gentle and loving and for lack of a better word, magical.
Maybe it was a bad idea to text him that I couldn’t stop thinking about it the second I peeled my eyes open this morning, but I wanted him to know.
Just like I wanted him to know that I love him.
Looking back on last night, I still can’t believe I said it when he was inside me.
He didn’t say it back, but he told me I was his, that I had always been his.
Ashton is going to have a meltdown when he finds out his two best friends are together, but he’ll have to get used to it.
I check my phone one more time for good measure.
Still no texts so I swing my legs around to hop off the bed, wincing as I do.
Declan may have been gentle, but he’s not small by any stretch of the imagination.
I’m sore, but it’s a good sore. The kind of quiet reminder I get to feel all day. My little secret. Our secret.
It’s not until almost three in the afternoon that I get this gnawing ache in my chest. Declan always answers my texts.
Usually instantly, but if not, then within an hour.
I hate talking to people on the phone and usually avoid it, but this is Declan.
He was literally inside me twelve hours ago.
I dial his number, putting the phone to my ear.
It rings a few times and then his outgoing voicemail comes on.
It’s now closing in on seven hours with no response.
What if something is wrong? Maybe he lost his phone or his parents took it away from him.
He did get home really late last night, so maybe he got grounded.
It’s hard to imagine his parents grounding an eighteen-year-old about to go to college, but who knows?
I could call Ash, but then I might end up revealing too much.
Declan and I still have to talk about what exactly this all means and what we’re telling people. That is, if he would just text me back!
An hour later, I make the decision to go over there. I throw on some clean leggings and a white T-shirt, brush through my hair, even the unruliest bits I sometimes ignore, and head downstairs.
Declan’s house is only a ten minute walk from mine, but by the time I get there, my heart is beating out of my chest. Am I crazy?
Am I a stage-five clinger? This is what they always talk about in movies and TV shows.
The high school playboy throws the mousy virgin a bone—literally—and then he can’t get rid of her.
But no, that’s just no…he made me say it.
That I was his. More than once. I told him not to hurt me.
He had to have known I didn’t mean physically. He promised he wouldn’t.
A strange sense of foreboding comes over me the closer I get to the front door.
Normally, there’s a gate you have to get past first, but it’s open, so I walk right through.
I reach out and knock on the door. When nothing happens, I do it again.
And again. Suddenly, my fist is banging against the hardwood over and over until…
The door opens, and Declan is standing there in ripped black jeans and a band T-shirt, his hair damp as if he just showered, his dark brown eyes brimming with intensity. He looks off to the side as if opening the door took all the effort he was willing to make today.
“What are you…” My voice cracks, so I try again. “Are you okay? I haven’t heard from you all day.”
“I’m fine.”
I nod. “Oh, okay. Well, do you want to come over later and watch a movie? We could—”
“No. Look, Skylar. Last night was fun. I’m not gonna lie, but I think we need to cool it with hanging out.”
My brows knit in confusion.“What? I don’t understand.”
Declan’s eyes, which were warm a second ago, turn cold as he lets out an irritated breath. “I don’t know how else to say this, so I’m just going to get it over with. I’ve wanted to fuck you for a while. The opportunity presented itself, so I took it. It doesn’t have to be a big deal.”
“A big deal?” I repeat like a deranged parrot.
“You weren’t bad or anything. I just don’t usually do repeats.
I thought maybe we could ignore it, but obviously this was a mistake.
” My mouth hangs open like a fish, and when I don’t say anything, he continues, “Whatever we had, it was nice while it lasted, but we’re going to college.
I can’t have other girls thinking I’m tied down or some shit. ”
I search his face for any hint of the man who talked me through it last night, who asked multiple times if I was okay, who soothed me when the first hint of pain surfaced, who ran to my bathroom to get a damp towel afterward, but he’s not there.
Instead there’s a robot who has taken Declan’s place. His jaw is hard, his eyes uninterested.
“Declan, what are you talking about? I told you I loved you and you…you promised you wouldn’t hurt me.”
He sighs again, turning around and disappearing through the open doorway.
When he comes back, he’s holding something in his right hand.
It takes me a second to make it out through the blurriness of the tears I refuse to let fall, but then I realize what it is—his green lacrosse hoodie.
The one he always uses as collateral for his promises.
If he breaks a promise, I get the hoodie.
That has always been our deal. Except he’s never broken a promise. Until now.
He tries to hand it to me, but I’m so stunned, I don’t catch it and it slides to the ground.
“There’s a difference between love and fucking, Skylar. You’ll learn that eventually.”
With that, he slams the door in my face.
It’s funny, the things your brain chooses to latch onto, like the fact that I was bleeding as I stood there at his door trying to make sense of his words.
Not metaphorically. I was literally still bleeding from the night before.
Or that when he pushed the sweatshirt into my chest, I was in so much shock that I didn’t reach out to grab it.
When he shut the door, I had to make the conscious decision to bend down and pick it up, like I was a hungry animal who had just been thrown a scrap of food.
I glance at Ash, whose face is tight with fury.
I haven’t told anyone what happened that day until now.
When I ran to Ashton right after, he held me as I cried, but he didn’t push anything.
Now I know I did the right thing. Based on his anger now, their friendship never would have survived back then.
“Ash. It was six years ago.”
“I don’t care. I’m gonna fucking kill him.” He stands from his chair as if he’s about to go do it right now.