The Best Moments (The Amherst Sinners Book 2)

by Elena Monroe

  “I don’t know how to talk about it yet.”

  Hunter jumped up onto the counter, putting his ass where pickups went. The barista, who especially hated all of us yelled, “Off the counter, Hunter!” He knew all our names, even our drinks, but out of being polite we ordered and tipped each time.

  “Well, how about you start with how distracted you’ve been all morning.”

  He didn’t bother to jump down. He acted like he didn’t hear the barista at all. I grabbed a stirrer from the counter, I don’t even know why. I never used them. It reminded me of Oliver. He would chew on them. I imagined it was a habit from all the cigarettes he smoked.

  “Oliver, of course… He’s being really distant.”

  Hunter was oddly invested, even asking me how and why. I told him as vaguely as I could and danced around the truth. I knew Oliver wouldn’t want him to know too much.

  “He’s just… dealing with a lot right now. You know how he is; he doesn’t love to share.”

  Hunter slung his arm around my shoulders. “Jade’s filled me in. You can’t slay his dragons, princess. Come on, I’ll walk you to class.”

  Him walking me to class really meant the group of us heading back to class from break. B stayed behind, finishing up an art project she worked on all through lunch. She was distant too, but in a way I felt on the outside of. She made it clear to me she felt the same as Oliver about Hunter. She continued to be around because being left out wasn’t something she knew how to do. I kept reminding myself to carve out time for her, just her, but time was slippery. Between projects, homework, getting ahead in classes, staying social, my other friends, and Oliver… it seemed like I didn’t even have time to sleep. I knew I was a horrible friend, and it was eating me alive. Every day that went by was just giving me more of a reason to not fix us. Time was pushing us apart.

  Lecture with Oliver was next, and honestly, I could feel my feet almost skipping down the hallway in excitement. When you go to bed angry, it feels like time drags on. I pushed open the heavy door to see Oliver with sunglasses on, his feet up, his head back, and it looked like he didn’t have a single care in the world. I felt angry immediately. How could he not care that we didn’t go to bed together? Now, he skipped meeting me for coffee to power nap at his desk?

  I wanted to stop in my tracks and demand his attention, but I forced myself up the stairs to the vicinity I typically chose to sit. He didn’t notice anyone else was in the room, until I purposely dropped my heavy book against the desk. He jolted up, like he really was sleeping, and my anger only grew. He sat up, preparing for students to file in, without saying a word to me. We stared at each other silently for longer than socially acceptable.

  I walked down the stairs placing the extra coffee I got him on his desk—a peace offering. His long fingers brushed mine as he took the coffee. “Thanks. I had to deal with some stuff when I woke up.”

  “About your mom and dad?”

  He stood up, clenching his coffee cup so hard I thought the material would cave in and hot coffee would pour over his hand.

  “How do you know that?”

  I folded my arms against my chest. “I heard you two last night. She sounded upset. I didn’t wanna interrupt.”

  Students poured in—a majority of them still girls. His sharp voice was contained into a whisper as he looked at me, not wanting to confide in me. He looked angry, like I breached his boundaries.

  “Forget what you heard, Layla. I can handle it.”

  My eyes begged him for more—any tidbit of letting me in. I walked away after his eyes reflected fire and his voice fell mute. He was supposed to announce our final paper on Alice in Wonderland. We’d have two weeks to pull out a good grade. I neglected my book all break and the last few months, only reading what I needed to in order to complete assignments. I neglected Alice to document every detail in my journal that had been left blank for far too long. I made sure to implement it in my nightly routine. Every night before bed, I would write until my eyes were too tired to stay open. Sometimes I would fall asleep with the pen in my hand and the journal on my lap.

  The girls in front of me giggled, watching Oliver take off his shades off and mark his statements on the white board. I pulled out a notebook, easily letting myself revert back to pen and paper after convincing myself to give my laptop a fair shot at accompanying me to class. I learned I was a traditionalist in my exploration over break. I liked tradition, values honesty, and couldn’t ever be mad at the man in the front of the classroom.

  My phone buzzed against my leg as it sat in my lap. I wanted to make sure I was prepared if Oliver texted. He normally didn’t lecture us the whole two hours.

  Hunter: Need saving?

  I had never skipped class, and I wasn’t entirely sure it would send the right message. I shook off the instinct to think as I typed back.

  Yes…. He pretty much pretended I wasn’t in the room after I found him napping.

  The three dots blinked repeatedly until the text appeared: Napping? Did he get drunk last night? Maybe napping off a hangover?

  The truth was I didn’t know what happened after his mom left. I heard the glass break against the wall and the pieces scatter, but I didn’t know much else. I didn’t know if he drowned his sorrows or simply didn’t sleep. All I knew was he wasn’t talking even to me and he didn’t sleep in his own bed. I was worried in a way I thought my love for him cured. I packed up my stuff and ascended the stairs, not bothering to glance his way, as I headed for the door.

  He shouted, as my hand touched the door, “Do you need to be excused?”

  I turned around, not letting my expression give anything away like before. “Yes… excused.”

  Oliver stepped towards me and asked to see me outside, while the murmurs took over all the noise in the room. He pushed open the door, beckoning me into the hallway.

  “You aren’t the type to skip class—” He stopped speaking, when he saw Hunter leaning against the wall, waiting for me, to save me, the princess.

  Oliver snapped in his direction, “Don’t you have classes?”

  Hunter smirked, bowing his head, “I got bored, so I’m saving Layla.” He was calm, still even, and uncaring that Oliver clearly was pissed off that he was a part of my escape.

  Hunter pushed himself off the wall, looking at me, “Coming?”

  I pushed out of Oliver’s gaze. It was like fighting my way out of a war zone. His voice was full of grit, and his teeth clenched. “You’re really gonna leave with him?” He grabbed my arm, holding me back from getting too far. “Oliver, I just need some space. It’s not like I’m failing your class.”

  He repeated my words, only dripped in a threatening tone. “Space?”

  Hunter stepped forward, taking my bag from my shoulder. “This is getting old. She needs space, because that’s all you’ve been giving her lately. She can be upset without your permission, fuck face.”

  Leaving was easier then. Oliver’s hand dropped at the same time his disagreement did. I didn’t need space; I needed to stop seeing him be normal with everyone else but me. I needed to accept I couldn’t push him for answers, and that was the hardest part. I had to wait for him to come to me. Patient should be a virtue for me—the responsible, mature young adult. It wasn’t.

  In Hunter’s mean-looking Mustang, I turned to him, expecting him to me let in on where we’d go. I was filled with anxiety and guilt. I had never skipped anything, not even brushing my teeth or taking off my makeup before bed.

  “You good with Boston? I have some business there.”

  I nodded in agreement and wondered what kind of business. He surely couldn’t mean selling pot all the way in Boston. I inquired more, as he handed me his phone and told I could pick the soundtrack to my ditch day.

  “Business?” My eyes were slanted and demanding.

  He laughed at me. “Just because you squint doesn’t make you more convincing. In Boston, yes. A client up there is having some party this weekend, and I don’t make ap
pearances at parties to sell.”

  His honesty blew me away, especially because Oliver was avoiding doing the same.

  “Selling what exactly?”

  Hunter didn’t make eye contact with me this time. “Don’t worry about that part. I’ll tell you anything else.”

  On the drive, I was able to check off some things on my mental checklist, like putting in my applications for the admissions office and the coffee shop. I wasn’t low on my savings, but I also didn’t want to be in that kind of pickle. The one thing not in the freshman packet? Making friends outside of your own means and keeping up.

  The other thing on my checklist was texting B and actually carving out time for her so I could stop feeling guilty. If I tried and things didn’t improve, then that wouldn’t be guilt at least. It’d be good ol’ failure.

  Hunter saw me furiously accomplishing tasks on my phone, asking what I was doing. He was easy to talk to—easier than I had ever planned for. He even said if no one bites on my applications and I needed money to come to him. I would never actually take him up on the offer, but it was nice to have a backup plan. We even discussed my major—another box checked. I got to flesh out that putting all my eggs in the publishing world basket as one role wasn’t smart. At least with a business degree, I could apply that to any aspect of the world I wanted to be in. I even made a list of my top three publishing houses to apply to for internships next year in my journal.

  1. Little Brown & Co.

  2. American Press Inc.

  3. Houghton Mifflin Harcourt

  All in Boston. All with a reputation for launching voices you couldn’t ignore. I was clawing to be a part of that journey. I wanted to fight for voices to be heard, stories that added value, and romances that gave people hope. Oliver wanted me to write the next great story all based on my papers of other people’s work.

  I was feeling accomplished in the two-hour drive it took to get to Boston from our campus. B hadn’t texted back yet. I wasn’t worried. Her classes were hands on, and she was almost always covered in paint, regardless of how hard she tried to get it off, because “it didn’t go with her outfit”.

  We pulled up to a huge, towering building with a metallic surface reflecting the sun. It was intimidating. Hunter’s I-don’t-care attitude still prevailed, as he handed his keys to the man standing outside the door. He seemed to know where he was going, as we made our way to the elevators without any looking around. I watched him press the button with no number but a black P outlined, and I stayed silent, taking it all in. He stepped in front of me as the numbers counted up, looking more serious than in the car, when he was humming along to songs I chose.

  “Look, this guy is pretty weird. Just ignore him, okay? He’s harmless.”

  I heeded his warning. “Should I stay over here? Maybe downstairs?”

  He took my hand in his, shocking me as he stood next to me. “No, I can’t see you if you’re downstairs. It’ll be quick.”

  The elevators opened to a penthouse apartment that looked prestigious, but all lavish and empty, and a modern Gatsby. He slapped his hand against Hunter’s flat palm looking me over next.

  “You’re a lifesaver, man. Did you bring enough?”

  He pulled out a thick stack of money with a band around it, reading $1,000 dollars. I’ve only ever seen money like that in movies, not reality. I was intrigued by the Gatsby in front of me, wondering why he wanted drugs, why Hunter, and even more whys I couldn’t begin to answer. I let myself become distracted by the art covering his walls, leaving little room to see the wallpaper underneath. I saw Hunter drop a leather bag on the coffee table, demanding he check the contents before he even took his money.

  I was watching an exchange I never thought I would. Even being in college, I never saw more than an exchange for pot. This amount of money would buy him a lot of pot or the contents wasn’t pot at all. The latter sounded more correct. I only knew Hunter to sell pot back home. This was something new.

  The Gatsby knockoff nodded in my direction, “New services? She available?”

  Hunter stepped in front of his eyeline still very calm. “She’s with me. The day I deal pussy… just shoot me, man. We aren’t the guys who pay.”

  We left promptly after the money was exchanged, and he apologized to Hunter for his remark. His arm slung lazily over my shoulders even after the elevator closed. He ripped the band holding the bills together handing me two hundred dollars. I didn’t even reach out to take it, just giving him a questioning eye.

  “For coming along… a small percentage.”

  I still squinted and pursed my lips his way, unsure if it came with strings. He pulled me into his side, with his arm still around my shoulders. He knew me well enough to know my own thoughts still stuck to the inside of my mind.

  “No strings, Layla. It’s yours. It’s not easy being friends with rich kids.”

  We spent time in Boston, wandering around and grabbing food from SweetGreens—a healthy shop popular with other surrounding campuses. I followed their Instagram, showcasing the area and their freshman experiences at Harvard, Tufts, and Boston College. I was immersed in the coffee shops and landmarks to see, even though this was my first time here. There was something comforting about having similar experiences on a different campus. What we went through was universal.

  We wandered around until our legs were too tired to carry us, and then we headed back. I fell asleep in the car under the streetlights whizzing by, creating a blur that was relaxing, giving me no reason to focus. Hunter dropped me off at my dorm instead of Oliver’s. I was protecting his privacy. That was something we wouldn’t come back from—a move only made in the severance. I texted Oliver before I fell asleep again: Home. Gonna pass out. I’ll see you tomorrow at the coffee shop?

  I would be there earlier than normal to catch up on all I missed today. The guilt slithered away enough to let me enjoy Boston, but I knew it would crawl back tomorrow. Responsibility and maturity were hard to smudge out. One ditch day wouldn’t change that.

  Layla never came back to my place. I wouldn’t let my mind stray back to them. I knew she was making a point by not crawling into my bed with me. I knew she was making a point by skipping class with Hunter. She wasn’t afraid to make a point anymore, instead of just accepting my behavior at face value. This was punishment for pushing her away when I was vulnerable. It took me all day to come to that conclusion, that she just wanted to love me enough for me to let her in.

  I had let her in before, with little push back, but ever since she left and came back, it wasn’t as easy. I knew how stupid that sounded. I was in love with Layla, but now I couldn’t be vulnerable? It made no sense and all the sense in the world at the same time. My love for her was stopping me from showing her the bad parts of me. Those parts could scare her away. So I reverted back to my old ways: asshole tendencies and pushing people away.

  After class, the one I attended only to teach, I made a pit stop to Richard’s work. No one knew me there, and I was ashamed that I had never step foot into the building until now.

  The receptionist outside the elevator glared at me, like I was trash at the bottom of her Jimmy Choo heels. I was used to it. My shirt was torn in random spots, even though I bought it this way. My jeans were destroyed at the knees, my vans beat up, and beanie was hovering over my head, barely secure. I walked over to the desk taking in the sleek bachelor pad vibes with all black leather and frosted glass. It was meant to be clean and rich, but I only saw the fraud in Richard in every surface.

  I slapped my hand down on the desk, grabbing her attention, even though she was focused on me since I stepped off the elevator. “I’m here to see Richard.”

  She corked her eyebrow like the gate keeper she was. “Do you have an appointment?”

  I sucked in air loudly without sighing or rolling my eyes. “I’m his— I’m Oliver.”

  Her face was still full of judgment, even after I said my name. I realized she didn’t know who I was at all. I didn’t expec
t it to hurt; I wasn’t his son in any other scenario. Work was so disconnected from me, so far out of my reach, he could have lied and made me out to be something I wasn’t; instead I was nonexistent. I was fired up and on the verge of pissed off as I walked past her oversized desk, which demanded you to stop there first.

  I walked the open space, shouting, “Richard? Dad?” I was embarrassing him, and I didn’t care anymore.

  Each room on the outside looked the same—all frosted glass sliding doors and cubicles in the center of the space, defining classes between employees. I read the name tags as I passed offices, finally finding the one reading Richard Abbott. I didn’t even form a fist in an attempt to knock before I yanked the door open.

  He was on the phone completely collected, until I appeared in his office. He spat out, “I have to call you back.”

  He slammed the phone into the receiver, and his mouth clamped shut tightly. I sunk into the chair on the opposite side of his desk, still silent. I was taking inventory of his office and how bare it was. The unwelcoming space didn’t even produce a framed photo of his wife. The big windows provided the only views he needed.

  “Are you cheating on mom?” I was direct, not sparing a moment. I wanted to leave just as much as he wanted me to. He exhaled in a way I had never heard before, almost like his will broke, as the air left him. He didn’t seem threatening or menacing, like he normally did in this moment.

  It took me nineteen years to find a sore spot: infidelity and my mom.

  He unwillingly looked up at me. “Why am I always surprised you know something you shouldn’t?”

  I kicked my feet up placing them on his shiny, almost empty desk. I couldn’t gauge if he was avoiding, lying, or going to tell the truth. His expression was covered up by his infamous intensity.

  “Just answer the question…” My voice shook, like it’s ability depended on his answer.

  “It’s between your mother and I.”

  I wanted to wipe the smug off his face with my fist. Instead, they were balled up in my hoodie pocket. He didn’t need to see exactly how mad I was.