Letter Twenty-Eight #5
“I did go by Tinsley’s. But then I also went by Michael’s…to see if he was okay after missing Christmas.”
“But why didn’t you mention it?” you asked, eyes narrowing.
I laughed, even as my palms began to sweat. “Why would I, Casey? I shouldn’t have to inform you every time I visit with one of my friends. Did you bother to inform me you’d be visiting with this bitch today?”
“I never said—” You stopped. Closed your eyes. Took a deep breath. “You’re right. You shouldn’t have to inform me of anything.” You turned to Sienna. “I’ll grab that book you need to borrow.”
You brushed past me without making eye contact.
The second we heard your footsteps on the stairs, Sienna rose from the sofa. “You told him, didn’t you?” she asked, walking toward me, her arms crossed over a cropped red sweater, her manicured talons tapping her sleeve.
I gripped my phone. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“You told Michael how we really met.”
“We actually didn’t talk about you at all,” I lied. “You’re not that important.”
“You show up at his apartment wanting to talk, he breaks up with me the next day, and he’s been ghosting me ever since.” She stepped closer, lowering her voice. “You expect me to believe that’s a coincidence?”
I kept my expression neutral. “Maybe it’s because you’re a greedy, conniving, manipulative bitch,” I said with a shrug, “and he finally decided to cut you out of his life.”
“You and Michael,” she said, entirely unmoved by my insult. “That’s been going on a while, hasn’t it?”
“Again, no idea what you’re talking about. Michael and I are friends.”
She laughed. “Friends with benefits, maybe.”
I laughed, too. “Nope. Just the regular kind.”
“Yeah? What if I told you I have indisputable proof that that’s false?”
“I’d tell you you’re full of shit because no such thing exists.”
Smiling like the evil wench she was, Sienna pulled her phone from her back pocket, tapped at the screen, and held it out.
A picture of me.
In Michael’s bed at the beach.
Covering my breasts with his sheet.
It would hardly prove anything…
Except for the bite mark on my bare shoulder.
My ears started ringing. “Where did you get that?”
“Off Michael’s phone,” she said, proudly jerking the phone back.
“Found it while he was sleeping a few months ago. Found pictures of you all over his camera roll, in fact—but none more incriminating than this one.” She smiled sweetly, twisting a strand of blonde hair, then leaned in like we were a couple of girlfriends, sharing gossip.
“Not that it was wrong of you to sleep with Michael. I just can’t figure out why you’re both so determined to hide it.
Like, why not just own it? Why not just say, ‘Yeah, we hook up sometimes’? What’s the big deal?”
I could’ve told her we’d never actually slept together. Could’ve said our personal history wasn’t any of her business. Could’ve told her she had it all wrong—we were just making out, and I’d asked him to bite me. Because I was a greedy bitch, too. For pain.
He’d only snapped the picture at all because you, Casey, had just texted him for an update. I’d reached for the phone. We’d laughed. I’d asked him to delete it. He’d promised he would.
And I thought he had.
But I’d rather gouge my own eyes out than ever give Sienna an explanation she didn’t deserve. So I stood there, quietly seething, choosing to say nothing.
Her gaze dropped to my clenched fists then flicked back up, eyes sharpening on my face.
“It’s so unfortunate, you know? That it finally ended with Michael.
Because when I say the sexual chemistry was great, Elliot?
It was really great.” She flicked her eyes at the ceiling.
“With Casey, too. Different, of course. Dirtier, definitely. But in the best way possible. Casey’s more vocal. More…uninhibited.”
Rage slithered through my veins. I clenched my hands tighter, trying not to throw my phone at her perfect, poisonous face.
I’d forgotten your history with her until right then, and it hit especially hard now—after I’d been with you.
In the heat of the moment, had you said those same things to her? Called her love?
Unfortunately, that’s exactly what she wanted: a reaction. To see if it bothered me. To know if she was right.
“There it is,” she said quietly, like she’d struck gold right there in my living room. “There’s the reason. Casey’s the big deal.”
“I’m going to kindly ask you to get out of my house,” I said, “before I put a dent in your face.” Your footsteps sounded on the stairs, and I panicked, worried she’d keep going on about Michael and you’d hear. But she changed the subject.
“Oh, I’m tempted to let you,” she said with a vile grin, “so I can accept another massive payout from your dad to keep me from pressing charges.”
I blinked back at her, stunned, vaguely aware that you were entering the room, back with the book you’d promised her.
“Oops,” she said, hand flying to her chest. “I guess he didn’t tell you about that, huh?
” Her eyes gleamed with cruel amusement.
“The money was great, Elliot. The money was enough to keep me silent. But then also getting to witness that whole fucked-up performance—where you confessed how jealous you were of me right before you cried like a baby and begged for my forgiveness, and your dad, like, sat there and let you do that, even after he paid me to keep quiet—was totally worth feeling like my eyeball had been dipped in battery acid and having to wear that ugly patch for the next two weeks.”
My dad’s betrayal hit deep. I fought back scalding tears as I lunged at her, but you jerked me back by my sweatshirt.
“Alright, Sienna.” You reached past me to hand her the book. “Time for you to go now.”
She pressed her ruby red lips into a wicked smirk before walking away.
You stared after her as she left. “Rather mean of her to tell you that, wasn’t it?” you asked, but you could’ve been commenting on the weather for how indifferent you sounded on the topic.
A knot tightened in my stomach. “Did you know?”
“No,” you said simply. Then, with the same eerie calm, you added, “If your dad really paid her off—like she said—I’m sorry.”
You turned and headed for the kitchen, as if we were discussing something far less personal. A lost cardigan. The new bookstore in Cambridge. How many biscuits were left in the pantry.
I watched you go, my pulse still drumming in my ears. The lack of emotion in your voice, the careful way you moved—like none of this touched you—rattled me, Casey. I longed to tug you back.
“Hey,” I said, and you paused in the hallway, waiting, hands jammed in your pockets. “I guess I forgot to mention the Michael visit. I wasn’t trying to hide it or anything.”
A lie so big I could barely swallow it.
But you just nodded, your face giving nothing away. “No worries.” A small, almost polite smile flickered across your lips. “You don’t owe me an explanation, Elliot.”
Explanation. The word felt intentional. A double-edged sword meant to cut me.
It wasn’t until later, as I lay in bed all alone, replaying Sienna’s visit, that the most glaring question of all hit me, and I couldn’t believe how stupid I’d been for failing to ask.
What the hell did Sienna plan on doing with that picture of me?
A few days later, Hal accompanied me to the park.
We drank hot chocolate, fed the squirrels, and bemoaned the lack of sunlight all week.
He asked if I wanted to talk about it—whatever had caused me to be grumpier than usual—and I said no.
When he dropped me off at the house, I found Michael walking from his parents’ place to mine.
“What are you doing here?”
Michael tossed his arm around my shoulders. “Casey asked me to come over.”
“Really? Why?”
Michael shrugged. “Hell if I know.”
Inside, I expected to find you at the kitchen island working on your homework—or prepping your kettle for tea—but when we walked through the back door, you were nowhere to be seen.
Instead, we found some strange guy leaning against the counter, scrolling through his phone. Extremely handsome. Black hair cropped close to his scalp. Warm brown skin. Dark eyes. Full lips.
This stranger bore a striking resemblance to the actor who played the duke in some historical romance series Tinsley loved. If she’d been there to see this guy for herself, she would’ve freaked—and probably asked for a selfie.
Michael walked directly up to the stranger and gave him one of those slap-handshakes you guys give each other. “Hey, man,” he said, prompting the guy to reveal a set of perfect white teeth. “Haven’t seen you in a while.”
“It has been a while, hasn’t it?” Hot Guy had an English accent. Just like yours.
“Hi, there,” I said, walking up to him with a faux smile. “I’m Elliot. This is my house. Can I help you with something?”
Hot Guy blinked at me. “I take it you aren’t the sister, then?” When I didn’t say anything, he added, “Forgive me. Casey mentioned a sister, and I just—I assumed you’d be English, too.”
“Definitely not his sister,” I said. “Who the hell are you?”
“You have to excuse her,” Michael said. “She’s a little, um”—he laughed, rubbing a hand over his chin—“she doesn’t take well to strangers.”
Hot Guy dragged his gaze away from Michael and looked at me. “That’s…quite alright. I’m Nate. I’ve got a class with Casey, and we’re heading to a party off campus. I’m just waiting on him to finish freshening up. Didn’t mean to intrude…”
“You’re not intruding on anything, man,” Michael said. “She’s just like this.”
That’s when you breezed in, Casey, looking fresh alright. Freshly shaved. Freshly showered, hair still damp at the nape of your neck. You wore a snug cream sweater with a pair of black pants that were snug, too, in all the right places.
You glanced at me. “Oh, hey. You’re home.” To Michael, you said, “Listen, Nic had to take a last-minute trip out of town. Do you mind staying with Elliot until I get back? Unless you’ve made other plans…?”
“No plans,” Michael said. “I’ll stay with her. It’s no problem.”