“You have to promise—”
“Just tell me who I need to beat the shit out of.”
“See.” She shakes her head at me. “That’s why I haven’t said anything.”
“Fine,” I say, sighing. “I promise. Just tell me who it is.”
She chews on the inside of her lip, blue eyes filled with anxiety, which only makes that protective side of me even more on edge.
“It can’t be that bad—”
“It’s Prescott.”
I grunt. “Yeah, right.” I pour myself another drink. “Seriously, who is it?”
“I am serious. We’ve been...together for a few weeks now. I really like—”
“Don’t play games.” Anger builds in my chest, and I pray to fucking God she’s making this shit up.
“I’m not. He wanted to wait to tell you, but—”
“Jesus, Christ, Ava,” I spit out, slamming the crystal glass on the counter.
“You promised you wouldn’t get mad.”
“If he touched you—”
“Spence, we’re dating.”
I tug at my hair, needing something to do with my hands, because right now I’m ready to wrap them around the bastard’s neck. Of all the chicks on campus and the sleaze puts his slimy hands on my sister. But I’m not sure who I’m more upset with, him or her.
“I thought you were smarter than that. You know who the bastard is. All the girls he’s screwed. What do you think is going to happen? Shit, Ava, he was just bragging last week about having the Reagan twins—”
“It was a lie. He made it up.”
“Just tell me you haven’t fucked him.”
“So what if I have. It’s my choice.”
“Goddamnit, Ava.” I cup the back of my head with both hands and look down at her like she’s lost her mind, which I’m pretty sure she has. “He’s a player, a user, whatever the fuck Prescott has said to you, you can’t believe a single word.”
“That’s funny coming from Princeton Charming.” Her face is red with frustration and she crosses her arms glaring up at me defiantly. “How many people said the same thing to Charlie? Prescott loves me—”
I laugh, hard. “You’re bullshitting me, right? Prescott loves one person, himself. He’s using you, Ava. I’m not sure what his game is...to get back at me, or for our family’s name...”
“You’ve always seen the worst in him.”
“Because there isn’t anything good in him.”
“Nice way to talk about your best friend.” Unshed tears make her eyes glisten. “I thought you’d understand, after everything with Charlie. People can change—”
There’s a knock at the door before it opens and my mother walks through. The energy in the room is already heightened, the tension palpable, so when she starts into her lecture before she’s even said hello, I snap.
“I don’t need your shit right now, Mom.”
Her delicate hands flutter to her chest, and her mouth opens in shock. “How dare you talk to me like that.”
“Sorry.” I take in a few steadying breaths.
Ava is still on the verge of tears and despite how pissed off I am, I pull her toward me and hug her, hard.
“I need you to be okay with it, please,” she says against my chest.
“What is going on with you two?” my mother demands.
I sigh and pull back, looking down at my sister. “I can’t be okay with it. You don’t know him like I do.”
“You’re wrong.” My chest constricts at the pure, undulated devotion I see in her eyes. And I wonder how long she’s been in love with him, and why the hell I hadn’t noticed it before.
I could argue circles around her, tell her things about the man that would make a sailor blush. There are a lot of things I’d call Prescott Addington, and good isn’t one of them. But I’ll deal with him later.
And after this, we’re done. Some things are just unforgivable.
“If the two of you are done with the theatrics, I didn’t come here to be ignored.”
I squeeze Ava’s shoulder before turning to my mother. “I’m guessing you’re here to talk about the donation. But before you lay into me, that money is meant for charity—”
“To be given in the Beckett name.”
“So that’s what you’re upset about? Not that I donated the money, but that you won’t get recognition for it? Classic.”
“Oh for goodness sake, I’ve raised you better than this,” Mother scoffs.
“You know what, after the week I’ve had, the people I’ve met, I have no patience for my family.”
Ava takes in a sharp breath. My mother’s eyes go stone cold. “You had plenty of patience for your family when you made the donation.”
I run a hand over my jaw. She has me there. I do value the money my family has, it gives us the ability to do good in this messed up world. Unfortunately it isn’t so simple as that - Mom coming here is case in point.
“This is exactly why I want to make my way in the world on my own, everything you offer has strings.”
“Spencer, you may have spent a few days in middle America in a fantasy land with that gold digger—”
“Don’t, Mom, don’t do this,” I say as evenly as possible. “If you cross this line, I don’t think we can come back from it.”
“Is that a threat?” my mother asks, her manicured hand on the strap of her gold chained Chanel bag. She hasn’t even been here long enough to take off her coat.
“It’s a promise.”
Ava’s eyes are wide, and she reaches for our mother’s hand. “Why don’t we let Spencer cool down, Mom? He’s had an emotional few days and—”
I don’t dignify her with a response. I want them gone, now. I open the front door, the February frost greeting me. Silence follows them as they leave my house, as they walk away.
Slamming the door shut, I punch the wall, anger swelling up in me.
But I won’t be a victim. I’ve let fear dictate way too much of my life already.
It’s time I figure out my own life like a motherfucking man.
13
Charlie
My phone buzzes on the table beside my bed, but I just groan and pull the comforter over my head. It’s Saturday, the one day I don’t have to get out of bed, and I don’t plan on moving. Since being back, it’s like a heaviness has settled over me. A numbness. I still have moments of grief, that makes my throat tighten and tears pool, but for the most part, I just feel...empty.
I haven’t heard from Spencer. He told me to call him when I was ready, but even though I want him here, need him beside me, I just can’t muster the energy to dial his number.
I left Michigan in a good place. I helped get Dad settled into his brother’s house, and our family home is on the market. Of course, I’m heartbroken over Mom, but the reason I’ve been a zombie is because I’m exhausted. The last few weeks zapped me of all my energy. There is nothing in reserve to give anyone right now, let alone Spencer Beckett.
The only thing I’ve been able to do is go to class, pick up a couple shifts at the restaurant, and come back to my room and sleep. Essays are due soon, and I have a test next week that I’m not prepared for, but I just can’t seem to care.
The door opens and shuts, and the lights flicker on, followed by Daphne saying, “Get up. You need to eat.”
I groan. “I’m not hungry.” I haven’t had an appetite, and I know I’ve lost weight. But everything tastes like sandpaper.
The comforter is pulled off me, and Daphne stands at the edge of the bed with two bags from Chipotle. “You’re going to eat, and then you’re going to get up and shower, because honestly, this room is starting to smell like a guy’s locker room.”
I force myself to sit up, knowing I should be grateful for her persistence, but just wanting to go back to sleep.
“Thanks,” I mumble, taking the bag from her, my stomach rumbling when I open it.
She sits on her own bed across from me, and pulls out a taco, then ta
kes a bite. I do the same, and I actually feel a little better when I do.
“I know you don’t feel like getting out of bed, that it’s easier to just sleep away the sadness, but you have to force yourself to keep living.” Daphne gives me a sympathetic look. “I know what you’re feeling...” She puts her taco down and hesitates before saying, “I mean I haven’t lost my mom, but I know what it’s like to feel like you’re...drowning.”
“I’m okay.”
She gives a sad smile. “You barely get out of bed. I’m pretty sure you haven’t showered in three days, and your hair...” She smirks at me. “Let’s just say the whole dreadlock thing went out of style years ago.”
I touch my matted hair and grimace. “Is it that bad?”
“It’s pretty bad.” She sighs. “Maybe you should go talk to someone. There are counselors who deal with grief—”
“I’ll be fine.”
“I used to say that too. Until I wasn’t.” She rubs her wrist where an old, white scar starts and runs halfway up her forearm. When I’d asked about it in the past, she’d said it was from a car accident, but now I’m wondering if it’s something more.
“What happened?” I asked, grateful to think about anything other than my own grief.
Her brows are pulled down, lips thin and she looks lost in a painful memory before she says. “I saw something...something terrible. And it changed me.” She meets my gaze, and it’s the first time that I feel like she’s ever truly let her walls down, like I can see deep into her soul...and what’s there is pain.
I can see she wants to open up, to share, but still, something holds her back.
“I suffered from depression.” She shrugs, but I know it’s not something easy for her to admit. “It’s like...like you’re swallowed by this giant black blob and the harder you struggle to get out of it, the tighter its grip becomes.”
“Yeah, that’s exactly what it feels like.”
“Can I tell you something?”
I nod. “Of course.”
“I’ve always been kind of jealous of you. How strong you are. You don’t take any bullshit from anyone.”
“I don’t feel very strong right now.” I glance out the window. It’s snowing hard, and like everything it reminds me of Spencer. I felt so much stronger when he was by my side. But I don’t want to be that girl, the one who needs a guy to make her feel complete.
“You know what you need?” Daphne is grinning at me, mischief in her eyes.
“No, but I’m guessing it has something to do with alcohol and sex,” I tease.
“Damn right,” she says. “You need a night out.”
“I really don’t feel like it.”
“That’s the point. You won’t feel like doing anything but sleep for a long time. You have to force yourself to get out.”
“No parties.”
“Okay, then how about we catch a movie, then maybe stop and have a couple of drinks?”
It’s the last thing I want to do, but I know she’s right.
I nod. “All right.”
She claps her hand. “Perfect. But before we do anything, you really need to shower.”
I chuckle. “Yeah, that’s probably a good plan.” I reach for the Chipotle bag, my stomach growling for the first time in days. “But first, tacos.”
Daphne laughs, pulling out the take-out food she ordered us. “There is always time for tacos.”
* * *
“That was seriously the worst movie I’ve ever seen,” I say as we leave the theatre and head toward the Triumph Brewing Company.
Daphne laughs. “It was pretty bad, but I wasn’t really paying attention to the plot. Anything with Henry Cavill in it and I’m mush. He totally would have made the perfect Christian Grey.”
“I was totally pulling for Charlie Hunnam.”
She feigns shock and starts into a lecture why he would never have been able to pull off the role. “Sure he’s hot, but he’s not Christian Grey material. First, he’s blond—”
“I like blonds,” I say.
She rolls her eyes. “Yeah, we all know that already.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Princeton Charming,” she says as we reach the Triumph and a guy opens the door for us.
“I thought it was your rule not to bring up his name.”
She grunts as we take a seat at the bar. “I’m just glad you finally smartened up and kicked his pretentious butt to the curb.”
“I’m not really sure it was me who broke it off with him...we just...I don’t know.”
Daphne orders us two Hurricanes, then turns to me. “Well, whatever happened, you’re better off without him.”
“Why don’t you like him?” I ask. She’s never really given me a good reason.
There’s a flicker of something in her eyes, something I can’t read, before her face stretches into what I know is a fake a smile. “Who said I didn’t like him? I just didn’t want to see you get hurt.”
“You sure that’s all? I know he has a reputation. Did something happen between you—”
Daphne looks at me sharply. “I would never do anything with a Beckett.”
“Okay,” I say softly, resting a hand on her arm. “I didn’t mean anything by it.” Still, I feel a little bruised. If she is so adamantly against hooking up with Spencer, what does that say about me? About me falling for him?
Falling in love with him.
When the waitress returns I order a molten chocolate cake. Sugar makes even the most tense conversations better. And something has shifted between Daphne and me since we sat down at this restaurant. I wish I’d never mentioned Spencer. Though, now that I think of it, it was Daphne that brought him up.
“Look,” she says, obviously recognizing the tension that is settling between us. “I want you to be happy. After everything you’ve just gone through, the last thing you need is a boyfriend who doesn’t respect you.”
I frown. “Spencer respects me. It’s not that. It’s just...complicated.” I exhale, thinking aloud, “And I haven’t even called him all week, now he’s probably hurt that I haven’t reached out.”
Daphne lifts her eyebrows. “And Tatum, he’s out of the picture?”
I fill her in on his awkward departure and she grimaces. “That’s pretty bad, Charlotte. Seeing you in Spencer’s bed the day after the funeral. Yikes.”
“I know, right?” I moan. “I didn’t mean to break his heart. What he needs is a rebound.”
As the waitress delivers the cake, I notice a group of guys being seated at the table next to us.
“Decan’s here,” Daphne says under her breath. “Do you want to go?”
I look over at the table, Decan’s eyes are on mine for a split second, but then he’s pulled out his phone, moving on. Good.
I pick up a fork, then hand one to Daphne. “I’m staying here and eating this ooey, gooey piece of perfection. I’m honestly a little tired of making sure every guy on campus is emotionally stable. I’m focusing on me tonight.”
Daphne smiles, her bubbly laugh helping me relax. She lifts her cocktail. “To girl power.”
“To badass princesses,” I add, laughing.
Daphne grins. “Exactly. You don’t need Prince Charming. You’re already a queen.”
14
Spencer
After I kicked my sister and mother out of my house, I spent the week avoiding my father’s phone calls. But I know I can’t put it off anymore.
“Would you like to tell me why your mother has been crying for days?” he asks roughly.
“Not particularly.”
“I don’t want to get in her business, but you must understand her position. The Beckett name carries weight and when we make donations—”
I cut him off knowing I’ll pay for it later. “You know what, Dad? What I really wonder is when you stopped caring about the rest of the world? Or were you always so self-centered?”
The line goes silent. I told my mother not to cross any
lines with me, but I realize I just crossed a line with my dad.
“Spencer, we don’t always have the luxury of doing exactly what we want, when we want it. But if you want financial support from this family, you need to rein yourself in. Now.”
“Understood,” I say, realizing for the first time, that it’s not his money I want. It’s his respect.
And why? His politics don’t line up with mine, his values are skewed, and his priorities have always been self-serving.
We hang up, not agreeing to a single thing, but feeling the line in the sand. It’s been drawn. Now I can decide if I want to cross it, and when.
Wanting to clear my head, I pull on my winter coat, wrap a wool scarf around my neck, tug a beanie on my head. Then I turn my phone off and leave it on the kitchen counter. Part of me thinks Winslow might try calling today. Last year we spent this day together and she gets all kinds of sentimental no matter how often I remind her we are through.
I lock the front door and step out into the cold. The fresh air does me good, and I forget about my thesis paper for a moment, forget about the argument with my family - the fight I know I’ll be having with Prescott soon enough. Instead I walk without a destination in mind, the only twinge of regret I have is leaving my phone because now I can’t pop in earbuds and listen to music as I walk.
But, as I turn the corner, the record store comes into view, and it feels serendipitous. Without hesitation, I step inside the small shop, the warmth of the store washing over me. Hardwood floors and aisles of records. The Temptations “My Girl” plays from speakers and there is no way you can’t smile when you hear the iconic love song.
I know I don’t fit in with this store’s typical clientele. Punk and grunge and hipster are the words one might use to describe the shoppers thumbing through vinyl records, but no one even turns to look up at me, no one pays attention to my Burberry coat and gloves. They are too busy enjoying themselves.
It relaxes me, the lack of pretension. The easy-going shop owner with full sleeves and a dozen piercings, who asks if I need any help. The little girl who has on headphones, sitting on a beanbag in the corner, her t-shirt reading ABCD with a lightning bolt in the center, her pink tulle skirt the perfect juxtaposition.
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