Wicked Restless (Harper Boys #2)(118)



“I know,” she says. She doesn’t smile, and her eyes fall from mine quickly. “I was so hurt. I’m still hurt, and that’s going to take time. It’s not that I thought Andrew and I were going to run away and make a life together. Hell, I was starting to think he was gay because the boy never liked to make out for long, and it sure as hell never went anywhere. Though he was a good kisser. Moody as shit, but a good kisser.”

She laughs at this, and I laugh, too. Hers fades, though, and she looks right into my eyes.

“I was hurt because you didn’t tell me something important in your life. You can trust me, Emma. With anything. And the thought that you couldn’t…with Andrew? It hurt.”

I sit in a small chair next to her and look down at my hands. “I didn’t want to hurt you,” I say, not able to look at her when I speak. “It felt like I had to pick, you or him, and I’m so sorry I didn’t have faith in how strong we were. That’s on me, Linds. And I’m so…so deeply sorry.”

I whisper an apology again, but I know its just words. And I know it’s time, like she said, that’s going to truly heal her and me. But she’s here now, when I need her desperately. She’s here. I sense her shadow as she sits next to me on the sofa, and I let myself go, catching her up on what I know—there’s an investigation, they think it’s some smalltime bookie who thought Andrew owed him money.

“So it wasn’t Graham?” she asks. I shake my head no.

It grows quiet between us again for several minutes. I don’t like the quiet. My mind gets carried away, starts imagining the whirling sounds of his machines and beeping and people rushing—Andrew leaving.

“You should try to go home, maybe shower?” Lindsey says, her mouth twisted on one side. “You can…you can come…home. It won’t be easy, but I’ve had time to think, and I don’t want this to be the end of the Emma and Lindsey show. I’m probably going to say bitchy things sometimes, and be totally passive aggressive, but I want to try to…you know…move past it?”

I suck in a sharp breath, my cry surprising me almost as much as her gesture. I reach over and squeeze her hand again, my eyes fluttering as they close and I nod, accepting her offer.

“I missed my classes today. I missed…Miranda,” I say, tucking my lip in, waiting for Lindsey’s response. I’m hoping she’ll give me a solution.

“Yeah, that’s…that isn’t good,” she agrees. “But I think you need to talk to her, Em. You know you can switch mentors, if something’s uncomfortable or if it gets awkward.”

I nod again, grateful for her suggestion—one I’d thought about myself. It’s hard to give up time with the person I admire because her son happens to be an awful human being. Then again, I’m not sure how wonderful Miranda is after all. She saved my life, but maybe that doesn’t make her a hero—maybe it just makes her good at her job. I’ve seen glimpses of the cracks in her selfless fa?ade, and they’re discouraging.

“Just promise you’ll think about it,” Lindsey says, her hand on my knee. “You have options.”



* * *



My conversation with Lindsey stuck with me, even now, hours after she left.

I have options.

I’m not so sure I do, but looking at Andrew…watching him lay here—so much working on his behalf just so he can breathe—I feel a little angry with myself for letting Graham off without any punishment for what he did. I know he’s not the hand that put Andrew here today, but he’s partly the reason. And he is the hand that struck me.

I wonder how many others he’s abused?

My mind keeps replaying the switch flipping in him. I go to all of those moments where he wasn’t quite a gentleman in the first place. He was short, or rude, or curt during a conversation. His hands were always just a little too assuming with me, crossing the line a little too far; his presumption that I was his property happened quickly, and without my consent.

“You should take a break,” Owen says, kicking my foot from the chair he and I have both commandeered as our footstool. He smirks, spreading his enormous feet out on the surface of the seat in a teasing way, taking up all the space.

I sit up, rubbing my face and sliding my advanced bio book back in my bag on the floor. I haven’t slept but for a few minutes here and there, and I can feel the knots in my hair around the base of my neck. I think…maybe…I also smell a little.

“Go home. Take a nap. Get some rest. I promise I’ll text you if anything happens,” he says, holding out a fist for me to pound. I laugh at it, then squeeze it between both of my hands. Twenty-four hours together in this situation has formed an instant bond between Owen and me. I get why Andrew loves him so much.

I pull my bag over my shoulders and head through the door, spinning around before leaving and pointing at him. “You promise. If anything happens,” I say.

Owen crosses his heart, and I believe him. I’ve learned that’s part of the deal with Harper boys—they don’t swear on their hearts often, and when they do, they mean it.

I think about going to my old apartment, and when I hail a cab out front, that’s the address I give the driver. But when I step out of the car, my legs carry me to Andrew’s. The smell is comforting, and I feel him alive here. I need that—the image of him living, him just being. I shower quickly and leave a note for Trent asking him to text me when he gets home. He was taking care of alerting the school and the coach.

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