“Looks good.” Braden takes us to a quiet table in the back, and we put in a quick order with the waitress.
Rowen raps his knuckles over the table. “I’d ask how you were doing, but after seeing that game tonight, I think I know.”
Braden shakes his head at me. “You do a repeat performance, and I’m pretty sure they’ll bench you.”
It’s true. I gave the game away, but in my defense, my head just wasn’t in it.
Rowen grunts, “I don’t think he’s too worried about that.” He looks to me. “Have you spoken with her yet?”
“Not even a text. At this point, I’d settle for an emoji of the middle finger. Do they have that yet?”
“They will,” Braden assures. “And when they do, it might even be in your honor.”
The two of them share a quiet laugh, and I’d laugh along with them if I weren’t feeling like a truck just ran over me.
“I don’t know.” I shake my head, staring at the table as if it held all the answers. “I just never in my wildest imagination would think this could happen to us. We were so happy—so normal—and as soon as her parents split, we fractured, too. And I can’t even wrap my head around what happened these last five weeks. Talk about dousing the fire with gasoline. Vi and I destroyed what could have been left of us. It was great in the beginning, and then last week…” A boulder lands in my throat, and I can’t move or work past it, so I shake my head at them.
“It’s all right, man.” Rowen gives me a light kick under the table. “I’ve got some good news for you.”
It takes everything in me to lift my head to look at him. Losing Vi has been a weight heavier than the world.
Braden nods to him. “Dude, he’s miserable. Give him a ray of light.”
Just as Rowen opens his mouth to speak, a blonde whirlwind lands next to me, babbling a mile a minute about how sorry she is for me, letting me know with every passing second how available she is—Becca Carmichael.
“I know”—she leans in, her sugary scent is making my eyes water—“how about you and I head to my place and catch a movie? There’s nothing like a little solitude from the general population to clear your head.”
“Becca,” Braden barks. “You’ve slept with two-thirds of this table.” His eyes round out, incredulous. “Are you kidding me right now?”
She flits her coffee-colored eyes to the ceiling. “Oh, get over it, Braden. I’m not sleeping with either one of you again.” She looks to me, more determined than ever. “I’m one floor beneath you, apartment one oh three.” Her hand slips between my legs so fast I don’t have a chance to stop her from gliding over the goods. “You get lonely, you know where to go.” She shoots a dirty look to both of her exes before taking off, and I sit there like an idiot who just had his balls stroked.
“I’m not going,” I’m quick to let them know. The last thing I need is to get my dick handed to me because of Becca Carmichael and her free love proposition. “I want Vi. That’s the only girl for me.”
Braden looks mildly sorry for me. “And that stunt she pulled? You’re okay with it?”
“No. But I’m over it. People make mistakes. She made one. I made one. Hell, I made three more after that. Look”—I lean over and do my best to market myself to Rowen—“all I need is five minutes alone with her. You have to get Sophie to help me. I don’t want to let another year go by without Violet by my side.”
Rowan lifts his brows. “Well, you’re in luck. Sophie convinced Violet that the two of you should speak.”
My heart soars right out of my body, and I’d swear on all that is holy that I could fly out of here if I wanted. I may never touch the ground again.
“When? Tonight?” I slide to the edge of the table, ready to bolt.
Rowen holds a hand up, a dull laugh expelling from him. “Hold your horses. Not tonight.” The waitress comes by with our food, and he waits until she takes off to continue. “Vi said she’ll meet with you next Wednesday.” He grimaces. “Right where it began. Finley Hall.”
“Next Wednesday at Finley.” My stomach grinds like a gear. Finley has quickly become a thing of horror to me.
Braden clears his throat. “Just a head’s up. It’s Valentine’s Day.”
Rowen nods. “They’ll be filming at four instead of seven. Make sure you show up, lover boy.” He gives a cheesy wink before taking a huge bite out of his burger.
I will be there.
I have never wanted time to pass more quickly.
Celebratory Conclusions
Violet
When I was a little girl, my mother and father used to take Wen and me to Snow Valley Park each Saturday afternoon, but only after we made a quick stop to the donut shop. My father and I would each go for a glazed donut, while Wen and my mother held fast to double chocolate. There were so many outings that over the years had turned into traditions—the annual pilgrimage to the Christmas tree lot, the hay rides in autumn, fishing on the lake come spring. The four of us were close-knit—as tight as can be for so long. That’s why when my parents sat us down and informed us they were separating, I thought in fact they were kidding. There was no way that my parents, the ones that never went to bed angry, never had to because they simply never argued, were going the way of the rest of the world. Divorce was something that happened to other families, and my family happened to be perfect.
But our nuclear family did in fact go nuclear, and all hell broke loose both literally and in my fragile mind. I couldn’t see what was up or down. All the truths in my life had suddenly become a lie. And, honestly, it was easier to think that way. The sting of rejection, of separation, of all of the things that I thought would last forever was too painful of an outcome to relive again and again. So I did what I could to survive. I cut down everything in my path just to save it the trouble of dying on me later. The first thing to go was my relationship with Lane. He was right. It was my inability to cope with my parents’ split that led to the end of our world. I was to blame. In hindsight, there was no other girl that Lane was chasing. I was so insecure. Had we passed a mirror, I would have accused him of flirting—with me.
In fear of failing yet another freshman year because of Lane Cooper, I trudge forward and attend classes on Monday and Tuesday. On Wednesday, I do the same, but my mind is anywhere but focused on American History or English 101. I am fully immersed with the terror that waits for me later this afternoon in Finley.
At two, Ember sidelines me and demands to buy me a cup of coffee before the final curtain falls over Lane and me. Our relationship already feels like a carcass. Sophie meets up with us, and we each order a Pink Frappuccino complete with little candy hearts in honor of the fake holiday the world has immersed itself in. I get it. Lovers want a day to themselves, and usually I’m the first one to don my heart-shaped earrings and wear them with pride, but the last thing I feel today is amicable toward love. Not romantic love anyway.
Coffeeology is decked out with enough doily pink hearts to cover the planet, and the sight of them only seems to ratchet up my nerves a couple dozen notches. This is the last hurrah. The last chance I may ever get to issue a public apology to Lane. I’m pretty sure he doesn’t want a nutcase like me ruining his life any more than I have. Wen was kind enough to point out that all of our future employers will be able to Google that shit-fest for the rest of our lives. His words, not mine. And so he suggested this might be the only way to rectify it.
“So, your brother is really onboard?” Ember’s denim blue eyes are wide with surprise.
“Not entirely.” I lift my Frappuccino as if toasting them. “But Wen has always been big on finishing what I start, and according to him, if I were ever to apologize to Lane for what I did—he thinks live in front of a studio audience is the only way to go.”
Sophie winces. “He’s right. I mean, I hate to say it, but the two of you have made this a public event. Everyone feels like it’s their business. You sort of made it that way.”
Ember takes an enormous breath. �
��I agree. And this is exactly why I’m never getting caught up in anything as ridiculous as love. I’ll stick to paper hearts and pink mocha fraps, thank you very much. And believe me, Vi, I’m sorry you have to suffer like this. Just know Soph and I will be in the front row wishing you the best.” She shakes her head with a pitiful look as if the best were an impossibility at this point, and she might be right.
“Thanks, guys. Wen should be here any minute. He’s going to give me a pep talk of his own, I’m sure. It just won’t be anything I really want to hear.”
Sophie blinks back tears. “He’s still opposed to you and Lane, huh?”
I give a circular nod. “As much as I hate to say it, Wen is usually right about things. A part of me just wishes he were wrong about this. Anyway”—I shudder—“I’ve done a pretty good job of dismantling what Lane and I had. I can’t blame anyone else, certainly not my brother.”
Sophie leans over and takes up my hand. Her fingers are frozen from cradling her drink. “I bet Lane is just as anxious to get things right on track as you are. He’s been dying to talk to you. Rowen said he looked as if he was about to shoot through the ceiling he was so happy that you wanted to meet with him.”
“Yeah, well, anger could propel you through a roof or two as well.” I make a face just as I spot Wen and Carrie wave from the window. “Here they come. The Bad News Bears.” I slump in my seat a bit.
Both Ember and Sophie scramble to gather their things and take off for Canterbury as Wen and his blonde bimbo fall into their warm seats. Wen is dressed in his Bixby sweatshirt, something akin to a hazard on this campus, and Carrie looks every bit the Kewpie doll, with her cherry red lipstick and pink sweater dotted with a million red hearts.
“You ready to do this?” Wen looks pained for me, and I’m glad about it, too. Misery likes company, and boy do I ever feel miserable. Something about Wen hurting makes me feel a little bit satisfied, especially since he took Lane’s side the last time we split. Of course, it was for obvious reasons. Collette Jameson came right out and confessed to Wen that I had paid her. It turns out that as much as she needed cash, she needed her dignity to stay intact. She didn’t mind trapping Lane, but she wasn’t going to let my brother think she was a relationship-wrecker—and at a thousand bucks, not a cheap one either.
“I’m ready.” My eyes sting with tears. I have cried an entire ocean to outfit Mars with during the week. But today these are the first tears I’ve shed, first of many, I’m sure. “I guess you’re right. A public apology is the only way to go. I just hope—”
Wen lifts a finger, his sad eyes pinned to mine.
“I know,” I cut him off. “You want me in and out. No lingering. Just a solemn I’m sorry and maybe we can be friends speech.” Wen went over it so much I’ve practically memorized his spiel.
Carrie looks frantically from Wen to me. “That’s right. Lane Cooper is a pig. There’s no way he’s going to hurt you again, Violet. You just need to kick the chair out from underneath him and watch him swing.”
My mouth falls open. “That’s a terrible analogy. And it’s far from friendly.” My God, how did they ever let her into Leland?
Wen picks her hand and kisses the back of it lovingly, and I suddenly feel like an ass for being so intolerant of his plus one. Carrie could turn out to be his permanent plus one, and if there’s even a remote chance of that happening, I should probably be a bit nicer to her in general.
“What I was going to say is.” Wen glances my way with an apologetic look in his eyes. “I’m okay with it, if you and Lane decide to work things out.”
My heart gives a near-fatal wallop. “What?” both Carrie and I shout in unison. For once I’m thrilled to be on the same page with her.
“Yes.” Wen closes his eyes a moment with a twinge of regret spelled out on his features. “I know that the two of you really care for one another. And if this huge mountain is something you can overcome, then maybe you deserve another shot.” He pumps his shoulders just once. “I care about you guys. You know that.” His own eyes glisten with moisture. “Just be careful with each other. And don’t pull stupid shit.” He glares at me a moment. “You’re not some nutcase, Vi. I certainly don’t want you acting like it.”
“Amen to that.” My entire body explodes with heat. Wen has essentially given Lane and me his blessing. It’s every bit the modern-day miracle.
“Stop right there.” Carrie holds up a hand, her voice a little too curt for my liking. “There’s no way you’re going to agree to anything remotely to do with Lane Cooper when you see what I have to show you.” She whips out her phone and fiddles with it for a moment. My heart thunders inside of me because, honestly, I don’t think I could take much more. She extends her arm, and I blink into the image on her phone.
“What’s this?” I try to get a better look as a couple comes into focus.
“It’s blurry because she was outside while taking it. Jewel Donavan, one of my sorority sisters.” She swipes to the next picture and, sure enough, Lane sits right here in this establishment while some blonde freely molests his arm. My heart thuds as I inspect it. He’s smiling. He certainly doesn’t look as if he’s ready to run from her snakelike charms.
“So he’s got a groupie.” I do my best to shrug it off. “The show has upped his value. Every girl on campus is secretly having a Lane-gasm.” I glare at Carrie with the accusation, and Wen groans.
“She’s right,” he says, leaning back in his seat. “I don’t think Lane would do anything like that. He’s too heartbroken.”
Carrie scoffs. “This was way before the breakup.” She swipes to the next picture and stares at it ruefully before flashing it to Wen. “This is the picture that broke the camel’s toe.”
I can’t help but roll my eyes. There is some poor kid out there still serving time in community college because their number one choice gave away their spot to the ditz in front of me.
“I’m pretty sure it’s innocent,” I say to Wen, just waiting for him to agree, but he doesn’t. His eyes bounce up to mine, and that blank expression on his face says it all.
I pull Carrie’s arm forward, and the room does a little spin once I see the image. There he is, Lane Cooper with his lips smacking somebody else’s. Carrie swishes over the next few pictures, Lane smiling, waving goodbye.
Holy hell.
Was I right about Lane all along?
* * *
Finley Hall is alive with energy. It’s less than three minutes until show time, and I’ve already been poked and prodded by the preproduction staff. I’m polished and powdered, my hair neatly coiffed, and that microphone I’ve grown to hate is tucked snug between my boobs. I’ve donned a navy dress with a touch of sequins, hoping the blinding bling on my accouterment will throw off both the audience and Lane, who has devolved into not much more than my ex once again.
Seth pokes his head in. “Ladies, we’re live. Let’s go.”
I file in after nearly a dozen other girls. The small sampling of poor souls that were required to sit in on the massacre with me last week is here, too. Each of them looks calm, almost giddy as they bounce out of the room single file. I sneak one last glance in the mirror and note my eyes are ringed dramatically with black kohl, my lipstick a touch too dark. I look vampy, far too vixen-like to ever be sorry. I should never have asked for a bold look while they were painting me with their haunted brushes. I glare at myself a moment. If I could, I’d give myself the finger.
Petra rushes in, out of breath, and relief fills her eyes once she sees me. “Thank God you didn’t leave.” She takes me by the hand and whisks me into the cool wings of the stage as I line up behind the other girls. She offers a pitiful smile my way. “I spoke with Lane.” She shrinks an inch as if I might strike her for the malfeasance. “He’s really anxious to speak with you.”
Seth pops up. “No speaking to one another until the emcee directs you to do so.”
The emcee being the infamous Oz, the one who held a lighter to the straw pile that
was my relationship and watched it burn from afar.
“Got it.” I take a breath as if I were about to enter a boxing ring, and it damn well feels like it.
The line moves, and I move right along with it.
“Break a leg!” Petra shouts, and I shoot her a look because God knows I’m more than capable.
The warmth of the harsh white lights is the first thing I feel as the crowd breaks out into a raucous applause. The audience is lost in its fog. The sofas are bright red and pink this week in honor of the love-struck holiday. A bevy of pink hearts dance over the floor as a part of the light show. I take the sofa in the center and gird myself as the men stride out, chests back, bobbing their heads as they grin and wave to the crowd. My eyes are slow to meet with Lane’s. He’s not smiling or waving. He’s looking directly at me, tight jaw, those pale eyes examining me with a fervor. An electric jolt jumps between us, and it takes everything in me not to wrap my arms around him or drop to my knees in sorrow. The pain in my eyes tries to say it all.
Oz starts in on his Valentine’s love-fest crap and does a brief intro of all the couples—far too many for an audience of this size to be interested in. Only a select few made the footage for the show. Lane and I are one of them. God how I wish that weren’t true. We could have had the best of both worlds. A budding relationship and anonymity. Without the slaughter, right here in this forum last week, we would still be growing strong. A niggling feeling of doubt razors through me. It’s not true. We would only be as strong as our lies, my lies. I’ve been the weakest link all along.
No sooner does Oz finish up with his lineup of couples than Lane clears his throat, that masculine husky undertone rumbles around the room like thunder.
“Excuse me.” He leans forward and glances up and around a moment. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to kick things off tonight.” The crowd howls and screams so loud you would think the entire basketball team just stepped on stage. I give a quick glance around just to be sure.
Bitter Exes: The Social Experiment 2 Page 15