28. BACK THEN – May
Whatever Nowhere-ville
GARRISON ABBEY
G uilt has been hammering me ever since Willow left the room.
No…it’s been that way since the lamp crash.
No, since I was born. Maybe I came out of the womb with this sour, bitter feeling rumbling around inside me.
Shame swims through my bloodstream, and it’s going to stay that way until I bleed out.
Ryke sweeps up the broken glass, Loren lights candles around the bedroom, and Connor sits next to me with a first-aid kit.
“I can do that,” I say when I see the tweezers in Connor’s hand.
He passes them over. “You need stitches, and the nearest hospital is more than two hours away.”
Let me bleed out , is my first thought.
The second: I’m not going to the hospital. I can’t. There’s no way I’m making this worse for Willow. The hospital will blow up this situation to catastrophic levels. I’ve already obliterated enough.
Ryke sweeps harder, pissed off. I’m not an idiot. He’s angry at me for scaring his girlfriend. The one with PTSD.
I can’t breathe.
I just grind my teeth back and forth, eyes clouding and burning. Connor’s gaze sears every inch of me. “Can you stop watching me?” I snap.
“I could, but I’m waiting for you to answer me.”
I inspect my foot, tweezers hovering above the glass. Under my breath, I mutter, “I’m not going to the hospital.”
“What was that?” Connor’s tone is calm, almost easy-going.
My nose flares, emotions bubbling to the surface.
Unable to swallow them down, I shout, “I’m not going to the hospital!
” I jab the tweezers towards the door. “I promised her I wouldn’t ruin the relationships she’s made with any of you—and if I go to the hospital, people will see you, take stupid pictures, and everyone will know whatever nowhere-ville state we’re in.
So no , I’m not going.” I suck in a strained breath and focus back on my foot, jaw tight.
“Relax,” Loren snaps. “We’re not going to force you to do something you don’t want, but I would like to know why you’re here.”
Ryke crouches to sweep the glass into a dustpan, his expression darkening. “If he’s here to get laid—”
“What?” I wince. “No.” I recoil at Lo’s glare. “Not that I don’t like Willow.” Jesus. This is all going wrong.
Ryke joins in on glaring at me. Great . I have both of them wanting to rip out my jugular. But what am I supposed to say? I like Willow. If I could ask her out today, I would. But I’m too late.
I look to Connor as I admit, “Some starship trooper nerd asked her to prom, okay?”
And anyway, Connor told me this would be exponentially worse if I was dating Willow, so this starship trooper nerd should be a notch in the “you didn’t fuck everything up” list. Except, I’d really just like to kick the starship trooper off the list entirely.
He can go be in someone else’s atmosphere and ask them to prom.
“Declan,” Lo says the name that I’d like to never hear again. “You know who he is. Lily told me that he stops by Superheroes & Scones at least four times a week.”
“To try to talk to Willow,” I complain. “And what the fuck kind of name is Declan?”
“What the fuck kind of name is Garrison?” Lo retorts.
I roll my eyes and sigh. “Whatever.”
Connor cuts in, “As amusing as all of this is, we’re still no closer to answers, and I’d like them sometime in the next five minutes.”
Ryke dumps the glass into a trash bag and then disappears into the bathroom. Lo kneels beside the bed and gestures for the tweezers.
I hesitate and then surrender them.
“Is there anything we can use to sew up the cut in there?” Lo nods to the first-aid kit.
That means we’re not going to the hospital. Thank you . My shoulders drop and muscles ease.
“We can find an alternative if that’s what he really wants,” Connor says.
I nod. “That’s what I want.”
Ryke returns and hands me a cup of water. Connor passes me a packet of Advil. I’m unbothered by the physical pain, but something pushes through me at their kindness.
I don’t deserve it. Not a single bit. Yet, here they are.
And it just barrels into me, the weight of the moment. I look between them, overwhelmed, and on the verge of tears. Don’t fucking cry, man . I suck it down by asking a stupid question. “I thought you two hated each other?” I gesture from Ryke to Connor. Tabloids say they’re at odds all the time.
Ryke answers, “We’re good friends.”
I stare at the carpet. Lost for words.
“What is it?” Connor asks.
I shake my head and tear open the Advil packet. “I was just thinking…I don’t even know where I find the kind of friendship that you three have. My friends are dicks.” I let out a short, pained laugh that scratches my throat. “I’m one too…”
A heavy beat pounds before someone speaks.
“We’re all assholes,” Lo tells me. “But one day, you’ll meet an asshole that pushes you to be a better person. Those are the ones that stick with you.”
I rub at my eyes once. Don’t fucking cry. And then I toss back the pills with a swig of water.
“We’re encroaching on my five-minute time limit,” Connor tells me.
I don’t even make a joke about him having time limits. Swallowing hard, I explain everything. Not even leaving out the part where I broke into Superheroes & Scones and slept in the breakroom for the past month. Failure is easy to admit
When I explain how I flunked out of Faust, my anger starts to boil.
Eating me. I pull my hood over my head. “And you know, it’s my parent’s fault.
” My eyes burn as I look to Connor. He went to Faust. He must know how rigorous and fucking difficult it is.
“Why’d they have to send me to a new school in the middle of the year?
I know…I know I fucked up, but if I even want a high school diploma, I have to be held back.
Do you even know what that feels like?” I’m an idiot for even asking.
Connor Cobalt is a genius. He’s never felt this before.
“What about your friends?” Connor asks, ignoring my question. “They have houses, I presume.”
“You mean all my friends that broke into your house to scare you? Those ones?” My stomach twists even thinking about them. How the judge sentenced them to a year each. That could have been me. Some days, I wish it were.
“No,” Connor replies. “Your other friends.”
“I don’t have other friends. No one wants to be associated with the bad guy, not at Dalton and definitely not at Faust.” I shrug. “I had nowhere to go, okay? I had Superheroes & Scones and Willow, that’s it.”
I. Am. A. Loser.
It might as well be tattooed on my fucking forehead.
But Willow is hands-down the most amazing person I’ve ever met—compassionate, brave, unique, shy—and she doesn’t mind spending time with a loser like me, so that’s something, I guess.
There’s more to tell. More to get off my chest.
“I burned the letter that Faust sent my parents before they got it—the one that said I flunked. And you know…” My voice cracks, choked. “I’ve never been a good person. I don’t even know what some of you see in me…because I’m shit.”
“You’re not shit,” Lo tells me, forceful like that’s already written in stone. Carved into marble. I don’t know how he sees it so clearly. He adds, “You want this glass out of your foot?”
Lo is looking at me like I’m already a good guy. I don’t get it. But I want to believe it. Someday. Somehow.
“Yeah,” I release a deeper breath. “Yeah, I want it out.”