Call It What You Want(13)

That almost throws me, but then he catches himself and grunts, his dark eyes returning to the screen. “Right. I forgot. Go ahead.”

I don’t know if he thinks all her feminine supplies evaporated the instant her egg was fertilized, but whatever. It gets me out of the house. I tell him I only like the brand they sell at Walgreens, because he won’t ask for details, and that will give me an hour before he expects me home.

The car is dark and cold, but I don’t bother waiting for it to warm up. I shiver and shift into drive.

I’m not usually up this late, but I have too many secrets rattling around in my head. I wish Samantha hadn’t confided in me. This is too big. Too much. It was a relief to avoid the dinner table, until I realized I was going to have to lock myself in my room to avoid blurting out all this information to my mother.

I’ve even been avoiding Rachel. Every time I look at my phone screen, my fingers itch to type out the whole story.

My poor sister. That man’s poor wife. My poor family. What about her scholarship? What about her education? Will this ruin her life? Will it ruin his? What will happen to the baby?

At the center of it all is Samantha. Is she a victim? An accomplice? Am I supposed to pity her or resent her? Somehow I don’t have enough information, but at the same time I have too damn much.

These thoughts were rattling around my brain so hard that when my phone chimed, I nearly burst through the drywall.

Then it was Rob Lachlan—and he was as much of a jerk as he was at school.

But at least it gave my brain something new to think about.

Rob sits on a bench in front of the store, breath leaving his mouth in long streams that make it look like he’s smoking. His dark hair drifts across his forehead, fluttering into his eyes in the wind. His hands are buried deep in his pockets, his eyes fixed somewhere in the distance, maybe even on the stars overhead.

No backpack. Figures.

When I approach, he stands up. His eyes are dark and inscrutable. “I’m surprised you came.”

I can’t read anything into his voice. I have to stop myself from saying the exact same thing. A part of me worried this would be some kind of prank.

I realize he’s still waiting for an answer.

“You were right.” I suck a shivering breath between my teeth. “I did say anytime.”

He says nothing. He doesn’t move. He looks a little … scattered. My eyes narrow a fraction. I wonder if I’ve misread this entirely. “Are you high or something?”

His entire demeanor darkens. Standing turns into looming. He glares down at me. “Did you ask if I’m high?”

“You’re just standing there! You don’t even have a backpack! I’m trying to figure out why you wanted to meet at eleven o’clock. You sure don’t look ready to do homework.”

He takes a long breath, then looks away and runs a hand through his hair. “That’s great. Thanks a lot, Maegan.” He turns and heads for the front of the store.

I have no idea whether he expects me to follow or if this is a dismissal.

I storm after him. The store’s sliding doors swish open like they’re in a hurry to get out of his way. He strides toward the staircase that leads to the upstairs café seating area, then takes the steps at a jog, two at a time.

It takes me a minute to catch up to him, and when I do, I realize he’s at a table that’s covered in notebooks and textbooks. He’s in the process of packing them all up.

Into the same backpack he had this morning in calculus.

“Wait.” I haven’t pieced this all together in my head yet, but I’ve assembled enough to know I’ve read this all wrong. “Wait.”

His angry eyes flick up to meet mine. “You said you wouldn’t get here until eleven. I couldn’t keep sitting around the house, so I headed over. It’s dark outside, and I didn’t want you to have to park and walk in alone, so five minutes ago I went down to wait on the bench.” A vicious yank at the zipper on his bag. “Or maybe I’m high and wasting your time. Who can tell?” He grabs his bag and walks away.

Not only was he ready to work, he was being chivalrous.

I go after him. “Please. Rob. Wait. Stop. I’m sorry.”

“Forget it.” He doesn’t stop. “Ask Quick for someone else. It doesn’t matter.”

“Would you stop? Please?”

He doesn’t. He takes the steps going down nearly as fast as he went up. This time, I try to keep up with him.

He practically leaps off the bottom step to stride toward the store entrance.

I attempt the same thing and my foot goes out from under me. I grab at the railing to steady myself, but my bag goes skidding across the floor and I land in a heap at the bottom of the stairwell.

I swear like a sailor. The last step is digging into my back in a way I’m sure I deserve.

I make enough noise that he stops and turns. “Did you just fall down the stairs?”

“No, it’s an illusion. I did it all with mirrors.” Thank god it’s winter and I’m wearing jeans.

By the time I’m standing, Rob is holding my bag out for me.

“Thanks.” I’m humiliated for so many different reasons that I can barely look at him.

I force myself to look up. Rob’s eyes are as dark as they were when we were standing in the parking lot, but now his are shining a bit, his mouth a thin line.