by Jenna Scott
She bites the inside of her cheek, eyes narrowing as she looks at me. I feel like I’m disappointing her. More than anyone, Isabel picked up the pieces of me that Hunter scattered, and glued most of me back together, too. This feels like spitting in her face.
“Why?” she asks, just that. One word. One syllable.
“Because…” I shrug and sigh. “If it’s just hooking up, I can keep my distance.”
“Yes, but why?” she repeats. “I get that he’s hot and all that. But he acts like he’s entitled to you and your life, and I don’t like that.”
“It won’t be like that this time. Like I said, this is just a casual thing until college.”
Isabel nods slowly. “Okay. Well, good. ‘Cause if you were willing to give up college just to stay with him, I’d smack you until you grew back some common sense.” She lets out a sigh. “But if this is what you want, I won’t get in your way. Even though he doesn’t deserve you.”
The disappointment in her voice is unbearable. My head falls, and my gaze meets the ground. “Thank you. I’m sorry. I know you hate this.”
“Milla.” Isabel grabs my arms. “Whatever your decisions are, I support them. I just want you to be happy, and have healthy relationships. And I will always be your friend. Always.” Then, with a small voice, she adds, “I just don’t want to see you get hurt again. But if you do, I will be here to help you, and maybe say I-told-you-so.”
I let out a laugh, and all the tension goes out of me. I squeeze Isabel’s hands, and we go to her mom’s office, where I tell her I’m leaving but that I’m thankful she let me stay for so long. She actually pouts as she pulls me in a hug, saying, “It’s a shame you have to go. Just know you’re always welcome, Milla. You’ll always have a place here.”
Not going to lie—I’m close to crying, but make myself smile as I say goodbye. I really am grateful that they put a roof over my head, food in my stomach, and love in my heart, when I could get none of those anywhere else.
Isabel walks me back to the door, and we linger on the porch.
“So you’re sure about this?” she asks, concern tugging her lips down.
“Yes. I’ve imposed on you for too long, and—”
“You are not imposing on me. And I mean, you heard my mom. She means it when she says you’re always welcome here.”
I hug her, tight and fierce. “Thank you.”
We look to the car, where the tinted windows hide Hunter from view.
A scowl crosses Isabel’s face. “Ugh. Can’t believe I’m going to have to be marginally cordial toward that major asshole again.”
I can’t help but laugh as I tell her I’ll see her in school tomorrow, then make my way to Hunter’s BMW, where I throw the duffel and a few bags in the backseat.
The drive back is mostly silent, with nothing but the sound of the radio between us. When we’re almost to the end of the familiar streets leading up to his place, my heart starts speeding up, my breaths harder to swallow.
We park in the driveway, but I don’t get out. Neither does Hunter.
My eyes drift to the house and its sleek modern construction. Two stories of cold, harsh environment, and a pool house out back where my worst nightmare awaits: a confrontation with my mother. If she’s even there. Honestly, I’m hoping she’s doing her usual weekend disappearing act and we can postpone talking until tomorrow.
Hunter notices my hesitation and reaches over to my side to squeeze my hand. “It’s gonna be fine. Harry’s going to be thrilled to see you.”
“And he’ll be the only one, I bet,” I confess with a sigh, turning my fingers around in his. Such a simple gesture, yet it brings me a rush of comfort.
“He’s not the only one.”
The touch of his lips against mine gives me courage to leave the car, and his hand at my lower back steadies me as we enter the house. In the living room, Harry is building a Lego house on the carpet. As soon as we approach, he looks up, big blue eyes widening as he takes in the sight of Hunter and me.
He runs up to me, ear-splitting grin on his face, screaming, “Milla!”
“Hey, kiddo.” I brush the top of his head, mussing the fine hair before dropping to my knees to hug him. “I missed you. How’ve you been?”
The happiness in Harrison’s face wavers when I release him and rise to my feet, but he carries on as if I can’t see it. “School’s still boring. And Mom and Dad won’t let me have friends over without a sitter. Also, the other ones wouldn’t read comics with me or let me play the Switch after I finished homework.”
He’s not saying it, but I know it’s been much worse than that. I know he’s been hearing every adult in this house fight because of what happened between Hunter and myself. The guilt comes back, bitter on my tongue.
“No Switch? That is soulless,” I say, completely serious.
“And not going to happen again, ‘cause Milla’s back,” Hunter adds, setting down my other bags and sliding an arm around my shoulder.
“Yes!” Harry squeals, jumping up and down. “Milla’s back!”
My heart nearly gives at Hunter’s sudden PDA. I know we’d agreed not to hide the fact that we were dating from his family, including his little brother, but having him actually act on it makes it all the more real.
“Is that so?” Mrs. Beck asks from the living room entrance.
My stomach drops, but Hunter’s response is an immediate grunt. “Yeah. And we’re lucky to have her,” he tells his stepmother.
Her lips curl into a scowl as she takes in the sight of Hunter’s arm around me before turning to her son. “Go to your room, Harrison.”
He clings to my leg. “I don’t want to!”
“Upstairs. Now.”
Harry pouts up at me, and beside me, Hunter’s tight as a drawn bowstring, leaving it up to me to defuse the situation. “Go on, buddy. We’ll come up soon.”
Begrudgingly, Harry lets go, and I softly squeeze his shoulder, then watch him trudge away.
Mrs. Beck clears her throat. “I meant what I said in my email, Camilla—we’re happy to have you back to care for Harrison—but I need to know you won’t disappear on us again. My son needs a reliable babysitter, not someone who screws around with his older brother and then runs away the second it causes a problem.”
Her words have my cheeks burning, and drive a bolt of nausea down my stomach. Hunter’s grip on me tightens. “Seriously, Karleigh? Your first move is to stand here and bitch at her? You should be glad she’s even—”
“Don’t you dare talk to me like that,” Mrs. Beck hisses, cutting him off. “I already know you can’t be trusted to keep anything in your pants. But Camilla? I thought you were responsible.”
The way she says it, like she’s spitting out the word, sparks something in me. I saw all her Instagram posts when I was at Isabel’s, and I know it’s not really Harrison she’s concerned about. No, she only cares how inconvenient my absence was for her. But I bite my tongue; nothing good can come out of arguing with her.
It’s not the same for Hunter. “It wasn’t her fault,” he insists.
Mrs. Beck shifts her attention to him. “Of course it was. Anyone with half a head on their shoulders should know better than to get involved with you.”
Before Hunter can make it worse, I speak up. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Beck. I shouldn’t have left so abruptly like that, and it won’t happen again.”
I hate myself for having to play the polite, submissive girl—but thanks to my mom, I’m used to appeasing belligerent adults. And this is about Harrison, not my ego.
“Be sure that it doesn’t,” she says, and then sighs. “Well, you can get back to work tonight. I’m going out for dinner, and Thomas is busy with work.”
I make myself smile. “Of course.”
She turns on her heel and swans out of the room.
“That was not okay,” Hunter hisses under his breath.
“It’s fine,” I say, just trying to forget it.
“It really isn’t.” Hu
nter turns, and shifts me so we’re facing each other, both of his arms now around me. “She has no right to treat you like that.”
“Welcome to my world, where rich people think they do have the right to treat me like that because they’re paying me.”
I don’t mince words. Hunter needs to realize our realities are completely different, that a big part of the reason I’m so insistent on going to a good college is that it will give me the power to change my life. Something nobody else can do for me.
It’s a monumental effort to step out of his arms and pick up my duffel off the floor. “I gotta go unpack. Can you carry the other bags for me?”
Hunter nods, and my pulse practically doubles as we head out the door to the pool house. Seeing my mom is the last thing I want to do, but I know I have to face her.
I tell Hunter to just leave the stuffed trash bags on the welcome mat and give him a quick peck, then adjust the duffel on my shoulder and take a deep breath before opening the door.
The TV’s on, and when I step into the living room, I see my mom on the couch. I also see a half-empty bottle of Jack and a glass full of ice and amber liquid on the coffee table. Not surprising, but disappointing all the same.
“Look who’s back,” Mom grunts, eyebrows raised over a slow blink.
I set my bag on the floor. “I am.” Then I turn around and drag in the other bags, closing the door behind me.
When I look back at my mom, it hits me even harder than usual just how beautiful she is. Her big brown eyes, perfectly arched brows, the tousled dark hair. Her pouty bee-stung lips that I wish I inherited, that other people pay tons of money to have artificially done. Even drunk like this, even sprawled out in old sweatpants. The sight of her clearly not giving a shit about herself, per usual, breaks my heart even more.
“Does that mean you patched things up with the boy?” she asks.
Figures that would be the first thing she’d say to me. And I know it isn’t her way of asking if I made up with a boyfriend. No, she’s asking if I’m fucking him again.
My voice is tired when I answer, “Yes, we patched things up.”
“Make sure it stays that way.” Mom leans over to pick up her glass and take a long drink. “If you’re going to be moving back in, then you better not fuck up again. The only thing you should be fucking up is that boy.”
A cold shudder spears my back. This is not how mother-daughter conversations about sex should go. “Will you stop acting like my pimp? I actually like Hunter!”
Mom snorts. “Good. Keep telling yourself that.”
God, she’s the worst.
I don’t say anything else—I just drag all my bags into my room, get all my clothes hung back up again so they don’t wrinkle, and then rush back to the Becks’ to babysit Harrison. After I’ve made sure Harry’s done his homework, we sit down in the living room for a movie of his choice, which happens to be Frozen II for what must be the hundredth time.
Hunter joins us and sits beside me on the couch. Algebra notebook in my lap and pencil in my hand, I lean my head against his shoulder, and end up forgetting about math altogether.
I’d forgotten just how nice it was to simply have my boys next to me, forgotten how easy it was to sit with his arm around my shoulders, his thumb occasionally brushing the top of my arm.
What I absolutely can’t forget about is that, despite how good this feels, it’s not meant to last.
Chapter Seventeen
Camilla
I still have that Algebra test coming up on Wednesday, and when I start studying for it on Monday night (since Sunday was a bust), I realize how behind I am on everything.
The weeks where Hunter and I were broken up cost me a lot, especially regarding my schoolwork. I really need to focus and do better if I’m still going to graduate with honors, and that means acing the shit out of this test. I guess it’s a good thing that I’m holed up in my room whenever I’m not at school or babysitting Harry. I’ve only been back at the Becks’ for a day, but the vibe is…weird, to say the least.
As I’d predicted, Harrison was about the only one glad to have me back. Mom has been passive-aggressive, with us basically just avoiding each other since that ugly first conversation. Every time I catch a glimpse of her while I’m babysitting Harry, I turn around only to find her gone. Mrs. Beck is either absent or distracted—nothing new there—and Mr. Beck said maybe three words to me when he came across Hunter and me on our way out this morning. It kind of made me wish I’d taken the bus.
Alone in the pool house, I curl in on myself. I feel like all the adults around me believe I have ulterior motives; they know nothing about what Hunter and I are really like when we’re together. Same with the other kids at school, as evidenced by the hubbub when we walked into school this morning side by side. We weren’t even holding hands, but of course that didn’t stop anyone from speculating.
This is what I get for leaving the spring formal with him. Side-eyes and whispers. Comments about how I’ve got Hunter on a hook when I pass students gossiping between classes, and it takes everything in me not to react.
At lunch today, I sat with Isabel and Emmett, and we went over a list of a few more random scholarships I qualify for, ones with deadlines I haven’t missed yet. It wasn’t a very long list, but Emmett and Isabel were encouraging and now I have a few applications in my email, just waiting for me to tackle.
When I passed Hunter in the hall afterward, he was with his dudebros and mean girl fan club, but he stepped outside the circle to talk to me and didn’t look back. We didn’t talk much beyond him asking whether I wanted a ride home, but he did hold my hand, just for a minute, thumb brushing my palm. It was enough to get me through the rumors for the rest of the day.
Outside of my two best friends, no one has any idea that Hunter and I have given ourselves an expiration date. But even though I know we’re going to break up when I go to college, it does nothing to diminish the urge to be with him now. In fact, the urge to flee the pool house and run up to his bedroom is unbearable. But I’m the one who set the rules, and if I don’t stick to them, it’ll just give him a free pass to do the same.
How do I sate this need? How do I make myself want him less, need him less, love him less?
I can’t let myself fall back into this emotional minefield…but I swear that being with Hunter has a way of stupefying my brain cells, especially during the times when I need them the most.
My phone vibrates next to me, and I grab it and see a text from Isabel.
How are things going over there? it says.
I type back, Not bad. Not great.
She quickly responds, If Hunter’s back to being an asshat…
Laughing, I reply, Nah. It’s more like everyone else. Hunter’s been on his best behavior.
This about your mom, then? she texts back.
Yeah, I write. Not gonna get into it rn. I’m hiding out in my room atm, cramming for that algebra test.
I’ll let you go then, she texts. Oh, but how’s Prince Harry?? I assume he’s over the moon that you’re back.
That gets a grin out of me. As soon as I walked in the door, he dropped the Switch and ran to hug me. T.T He’s so precious.
Isabel writes, D’awwww, what a little sweetheart. you need any help with the algebra? You know I always enjoy looking over your matrices. ; )
Thanks, I’m all good for now! I tap out. I’ll text if I get stuck, so you can use your gifts to elucidate me.
She sends back a smiling purple devil horns emoji. Of course. Just make sure you come to me first. I demand loyalty from my math students. Thou shalt have no other tutors before me!
Who else would I even ask? I reply. Hunter? He’s worse at math than I am! And besides, we have a rule—no hanging out after dinner.
That’s a great rule, she texts. Except that I can already think of a loophole…
She’s right. Whatever. Point is, I’m not going to him.
‘Atta girl. Stick with algebra. Numbers will neve
r betray you, she writes.
LMAO, I tap back. Watch them do just that when I flunk this test.
Isabel immediately responds. You are NOT flunking. Not on my watch.
thanks <3, I send.
She writes, You don’t need to thank me, but you do owe me a sleepover :P
I shake my head, replying with a gif of two people hugging. Isabel returns with a gif of cartoon cats hugging, then tells me to go back to studying. Tossing the phone back on the coffee table, I do—or try to, at any rate. The medium-level exercises I can manage without much difficulty, but then I get stuck on a harder one that takes forever.
My eyes go to my old cranky laptop, and I go to Wolfram Alpha’s website to see if it can help me with these equations. Isabel apprised me of its existence last semester, and as I input the polynomials, I thank my lucky stars that I know about it now. It doesn’t explain things as well as Isabel does, but it’s great for figuring out where you went wrong. Which, in my case, was entirely losing a number.
Dumbass move, Milla. You’re gonna have to do a hell of a lot better than this if you want to make it through freshman year at UCSD or Stanford. The hope of still being able to go to one of them—that is, if Emmett and/or his mother make good on their promises to help with the scholarship situation, or if one of my other last minute scholarship applications somehow gets me a pile of tuition money—has me typing in the web addresses of both. I sigh as I scroll through photos of their gorgeous campuses.
UC San Diego is what’s within reach. Not just in terms of money, but staying closest to Hunter. But Stanford is the prestige I never thought would be possible…
God, I know Hunter will be devastated if I end up going there instead of UCSD, but I can’t let him factor into important life decisions anymore. Last time I did, he sabotaged me so he could force me to stay. I need to just focus on me and what I want.
Is there something wrong with me, that even after everything he did, there’s a part of me that would be perfectly happy staying local and seeing Hunter whenever I want? Going on dates during the week, having sleepovers without worrying about missing classes, knowing he’s just a few minutes away if I need him? I’m so torn.
