You and Everything After (Falling #2)(72)

“Uhm, excuse me? That was rude,” she says, her compact already in her hand so she can check her lipstick.

“Your lips look fine. We’re getting on a plane, not having our portraits done,” I say. The seal is broken. The words from my mouth are only going to get worse.

“Wow. Someone woke up and put on her bitch costume today,” she says. She tucks her compact back in her purse, so at least I get the satisfaction of that.

I manage to keep my mouth shut for the rest of the ride, and I bite my tongue in line, through security, and for the forty minutes we sit and wait for our gate to open. When we finally board, I pull my phone out and text Ty and Rowe, letting them know I’m about to take off. Paige pulls her phone out to check her texts too, and something makes me glance in her lap. I see the picture of her and Chandra, arms around each other, cups in their hands, at some frat party.

“Where was this taken?” I ask, pulling the phone from her fingers.

“First off, don’t touch my phone. And second, at a party, duh,” she says, taking the phone back and shutting it off completely.

I stare at her, my stomach so sick with hate that I fear I may actually need the bag tucked in the seat-back pocket in front of me. I had this feeling all along that Paige was the one to tell Chandra, but I held out hope. I knew they knew each other, but I convinced myself that they didn’t know each other well. But my instincts…they are sharp. And as much as I wanted to ignore the arrows, they still pointed to Paige in the end.

“I can’t believe you told her,” I say, forcing myself to breathe in slowly, an effort to stave off the tears that want to ruin my face. I won’t cry. I won’t cry.

“Told who what?” Paige says, not looking at me. Her indifference infuriates me, so I grab her chin and pull her face to mine. Her first reaction is to pull back. But then she sees me. She sees.

“You told Chandra about Paul Cotterman.”

She doesn’t deny it. She doesn’t blink. She stares right back at me, guilty as hell. The wheels of her mind are spinning, trying to find a version of history that doesn’t match up to what I’m saying. But there isn’t one. She told her. And Chandra probably told everybody on the team. And I am right back where I started—the girl in high school with the scarlet letter on her forehead.

“Cass,” she says, her voice quivering as she pieces it all together.

“I can’t trust you,” I say, unbuckling my belt and standing quickly to grab my bag from the overhead bin.

“Cass, don’t! What are you doing? Where are you going?” Her face honestly looks distressed. I can’t deal with it.

“I’m not going anywhere, Paige. I just can’t sit here, next to you, for four hours. I’m changing seats. That’s all,” I say, grabbing my bag and moving to the very last row. I can’t lean my seat back, and there’s less legroom here, but it’s better than the alternative.

Paige did it again. I’m going home for a holiday where I’m supposed to be thankful for family—what irony.





Chapter 24





Cass


The festivities were in full swing at the Owens’s house. Mom likes to make the house smell like the holidays. She says it’s her way of combatting the California weather, which keeps things in the high seventies. It doesn’t feel very much like fall outside, so my mom makes it seem like fall inside with batches of cinnamon, apples, and potpourri twigs in planters and bowls everywhere I look.

I used to love this when I was a kid. Today, the smell is making me nauseous.

Ty made it home okay. That was the highlight about my trip from the airport. Ty was already settled in, so I could text him for the entire hour ride from LAX to my parents’ house, effectively ignoring Paige.

I could tell she was nervous when we got home. She took over the conversation quickly, making sure my mom and dad wouldn’t notice how angry I was at her. She’s probably more concerned over the fact that her spilling the beans on Paul Cotterman might mess up my dad’s negotiations—break the nondisclosure clause. She doesn’t like disappointing our parents.

I’ll take care of the disappointment checkbox. Soon, my dad is sure to find out I filed a police report. I plan on telling him either way. I decided during the flight that I wasn’t going to get walked on during my time at home. I was done playing the part of the mistress girl who once got involved with a teacher. I was going to be strong, talk back, stand up for myself, and maybe slam a door or two.

Right now, all I want to do is escape to my room. That’s one thing my parents did right—even though they had twins, they never made us room together. My room is all my own, a space just for me. It’s always been my retreat—my walls covered in posters of my favorite bands and David Beckham. I think about slamming the door, just to see how it feels, but I’m exhausted from being angry for the last several hours. I’m going to need something to fire me up again to be able to pull off a slam.

The soft knock on my door is unwelcome.

“Come in,” I say, bracing myself. Nobody is welcomed from this house, it’s just a matter of which unwelcomed guest it is. My mom has a fresh set of linens for me, and I know this is a setup, because she could easily have changed the sheets before we came home. I’m sure Paige’s are done.