“—no,” he interrupts, placing his hand out. “I came here to tell you to break it off with her.”
I try not to laugh in his face. This guy can’t be serious.
“Not happening.” I widen my stance, hands on my hips.
“She needs to come home,” he says. “She doesn’t belong here. With you.”
“Yeah, well, unfortunately she’s an adult and she’s allowed to make those kinds of decisions on her own, so …” I nod toward the door. “Was nice seeing you, Chuck.”
He doesn’t budge, and his face is turning a shade of reddish-purple. If he were a cartoon character, he’d probably have fire coming out of his ears right now. I’m sure this prick isn’t used to people talking to him like this. That Armani suit might garner him respect in his own boardroom, but fancy clothes and his Rich Dick attitude doesn’t mean shit in my shop.
“Look,” he says.
Oh, now he’s going to try to level with me, man to man. Like he didn’t just march into my shop and demand that I break up with his daughter.
“Let her go,” he says, eyes softening. It’s clearly an act of a desperate, pathetic man. “She has a family who loves her more than you ever could and a future brighter than anything you could ever give her.” He stops for a second to gauge my reaction, but I maintain my stony exterior. He wants a reaction from me so he knows where to take this little act of his next, but I’m not giving him a damn thing. “You’ve known her, what, a couple of months? I’ve known her for twenty-two years, so let me tell you something about my daughter. She’s got a heart of gold. She’s spent her entire life volunteering for anything and everything she could get her hands on. All she wants is to make everyone around her happy. She puts everyone else before herself and she genuinely wants to make the world a better place.” He lifts a fist before pointing a finger at me. “And she was going to be a pediatric oncologist until you showed up.” Charles shakes his head. “She was going to save lives. Instead she’s shacking up with some small-town tattoo artist.”
I shrug. “I don’t know what you want me to tell you.”
“She has so much potential,” he says, voice lighter than it was before. “So. Much. Potential.” He sucks in a long breath. “And now she’s going to spend the rest of her life in Olwine working some nine-to-five while her pre-med degree collects dust on a shelf. It isn’t right. How can you not see how selfish you’re being?”
The irony isn’t lost on me, but I keep my mouth shut because the less I talk, the more frustrated he gets and it’s entertaining as hell.
“If you love her,” he says, “you’ll let her go. You’ll let her live the life she deserves.”
He begins to say something else but stops himself.
And then he leaves, his last words playing on a loop in my head.
As much as I can’t stand the guy, I know he’s right. He didn’t tell me anything I didn’t already know, wasn’t already thinking myself.
39
Brighton
I’m sitting alone in Pierce’s living room Friday night, half-watching the sports highlights on his giant TV, half-peeling at the label on the bottle of beer in my lap.
Madden’s in the kitchen, leaning on the island where Missy and her friends always perch. They’ve been warming up to me more and more, but I’m still very much an outsider to their tiny little circle and I’m fine with that.
I’ve been an outsider my whole life, really. It’s nothing new.
But at least now I don’t feel like they’re talking about me every time I walk out of the room, and really, what more could I ask for at this point?
The girls giggle, their over-lined, over-mascara’d eyes glued on Madden’s every word. They think everything that comes out of his mouth is comedic gold, and trust me, he’s not that funny. He might have a lot of things going for him, but his sense of humor is a little further down that list.
His back is to me. I can’t tell if he’s lapping up their attention like a kitten to milk or if he’s just being cordial, but I’m trying not to get bent out of shape about it because we’re not together. He’s allowed to talk to whomever he wants. He’s not under any obligation to sit in here with me like a personal companion.
I take another sip and peel the rest of the label off, folding it into several squares until it won’t fold any longer. I’m bored. And I didn’t want to come tonight, but I skipped out last weekend because I was so exhausted and wanted to go to bed early, only to wake up an hour later with a second wind and spending the rest of the night bored and stranded.
At least now I’m not stranded.
I know if I asked Madden to take me home, he would, no questions asked.
But we just got here. The night is young. I’ll sit tight for now.
I pull up my phone and check my email for lack of something better to do. An appointment confirmation from Sheridan Property Group pings my inbox—a reminder that I’m supposed to tour one of their units tomorrow morning at nine o’clock.
I received my first paycheck yesterday along with a sizable sign-on bonus, enough for me to put a deposit down on a studio apartment and fill it with IKEA furniture.
Checking the time, I calculate that we’ve been here approximately forty minutes now and he’s been in the kitchen this entire time. Judging by his comfortable stance, I’d say he’s there to stay, at least for the foreseeable future.
Returning my attention to my phone, I shoot a couple texts to my brothers to say hi and to tell them that I miss them. And then I glance back at Madden. I know I could walk over there and include myself, but I’m not in the chattiest of moods and I don’t want to seem like some ‘insecure girlfriend’ hanging on her man because he’s surrounded by other women.
I’m sure those girls would have a field day with that.
Eben responds to my text first, asking how the new job is going. I tell him I love it, even if I only just like it so far. It’s still new and I’m still learning and I’m sure with time it’ll grow on me, but right now it’s too new to conclude whether or not I love it.
I close out of his text and return to the rest—re-reading a message my mother sent two days ago that I’ve yet to respond to because I haven’t found the words.
MOM: Hello, sweetheart. Just wanted to tell you that I miss you. Very much. My heart is breaking with each passing day. I hope you’re okay. Let me know if you need anything. Anything at all. I love you.
I feel bad for her, I do. But I’m not going home any time soon—or ever, really.
I compose a quick message, simply telling her I’m okay and not to worry, and then I glance over at Madden again. He hasn’t moved an inch.
I have no right to be as annoyed as I am right now. It’s not like he’s trying to make me jealous—as far as he knows, I have zero feelings for him. But still. He’s never been this inattentive. Maybe that’s what’s bothering me so much.
Getting up from the sofa, I slip out the front door and take a seat on the steps. I need fresh air and a starry sky and a vision that doesn’t include watching sports—or the guy I like talking to every girl in the room but me.
My phone vibrates with another text, and when I check my messages, I’m sure it’s going to be from my mom, but it’s not.
THOM: Hey! Dinner Friday?
Thom Pruitt is a fellow research assistant on my team at Hershman. He’s all khakis and button downs and thick, sexy professor glasses. Very preppy. Very well-spoken. Fluent in four languages actually. Master’s degree from Princeton. My parents would be all over him. And maybe in the past, I would’ve as well. But when I place him next to Madden in my mind, Madden wins every time.
He asked me for my number earlier today when we were the only two left eating lunch in the breakroom. It was completely out of the blue and caught me off guard, so I had to give it to him. That and the fact that we work together every single day and it’d be awkward if I didn’t …
“Who the fuck is Thom?” Madden’s voice behind me sends a shock to my hear
t. I hadn’t heard the door. “And who the fuck spells Thom with an ‘H’?”
A second later, he sits beside me on the steps.
“A friend from work,” I say, darkening my phone screen and sitting it aside.
“Didn’t know where you were,” he said. “Thought maybe you’d left.”
“Why would I leave?”
He shrugs. “I don’t know … maybe you wanted to hang out with Thom?”
I elbow him in the ribs. “I stayed. Even though you’ve been ignoring me all night.”
I hate … hate … that I sound jealous right now.
Hate it.
His brows lift and his forehead is covered in lines. “What? I wasn’t ignoring you. You were being antisocial.”
“Okay, Madden.” I stand and grab my phone. “Whatever.”
He wears an amused smirk. “What are you all worked up about? You’re never like this.”
“Nothing.”
“It’s not nothing.”
“You’ve been really distant the last week or so,” I say. “I felt like things were going really well and then you started pulling away … I thought you liked … this.”
“I do.”
“Then what changed?” I ask.
“Nothing changed, Brighton.” He gets up, standing in front of me. “Maybe you changed.”
“Don’t gaslight me.”
He laughs. “I’m not gaslighting you.”
“You’re trying to convince me that this is all in my head when you know damn well I’m not imagining this,” I say. “Are you bored with me? Is that what this is? You had your fun and now you’re over it?”
“God. Brighton. No.”
I lean in. “We used to have sex every day. Sometimes twice a day. Five that one time! You couldn’t keep your hands off me. And now it’s like …”
“That’s not it at all.” He blows a hard breath between his perfect lips, and I hate that as mad as I am right now, I’d still kiss them just to feel them one more time before this whole thing implodes.
“Then what is it?” I don’t mean to yell, but I’m yelling now. Someone peers out one of the living room windows. “I don’t want to do this here. I don’t want to fight in front of your friends, on Pierce’s front lawn.”
I slip my phone in my back pocket, cross my arms, and walk to his car.
“Take me home, please,” I say, leaning against the passenger door when I get there.
I expect him to protest, so when he starts walking this way, I swallow my surprise and keep my eyes down. He unlocks my door before heading around to his, and I climb in.
It’s a short drive back to the apartment, maybe six minutes at most, but it hits me as we’re a block away from the shop that maybe I had this all wrong.
“Oh, my God,” I say, turning to him as he pulls onto his street.
“What?”
“You like me,” I say. “That’s what this is. You like me and you’ve been pushing me away. How did I not see that before?”
“I don’t like you … I mean I like you, but not like that.”
He parks in his designated spot and we head up.
“And I’m not pushing you away,” he adds when we get to the stairs.
“Fine,” I say as we head in. “Just keep telling yourself that.”
He tosses his keys on the counter and kicks off his shoes.
“You know what I don’t get about you?” I ask because I’m only getting started. “You’ve spent every waking, non-working hour with me for the past several weeks and you still can’t even call me your friend.”
He starts to say something, but I lift a finger.
“I’m not done,” I say. “I’ve opened up to you, Madden. I’ve told you things I’ve never talked about with other people, and yet getting you to talk about yourself is like pulling teeth.”
“My past is irrelevant to … this,” he says.
I throw my fists in the air. “You couldn’t be more wrong right now.”
I pace the small apartment because if I stand next to him for too much longer I might accidentally slap him, and I’ve never slapped anything in my life.
“Brighton,” he says with the gentleness of a hostage negotiator. “You’re getting worked up over nothing.”
I balk. “Nothing? Really?”
“I told you. I told you from the very beginning … you spend one night with me and you’ll never be the same. I can’t love you, Brighton. I would if I could, but I can’t. And it’s not that I don’t want to.”
“I can’t believe you expect me to buy that.” I shake my head, offering an incredulous laugh.
“It’s more complicated than you could even begin to imagine.” He takes a seat in his makeshift living room, and for the first time I see the slightest hint of vulnerability shining through his dark eyes.
He’s not messing with me. He’s not feeding me lines.
It’s in this moment that my heart breaks. And it isn’t a clean break, right down the middle. It’s messy. Shards everywhere. If it ever gets pieced back together it won’t work the same, that’s for damn sure.
Hearing someone say they want to love you but they can’t is worse than hearing them say they don’t.
Without saying another word, I dig my suitcase out of his closet and start packing.
“What are you doing?” he asks, coming over to me.
“When we first agreed to this arrangement, I made you a promise,” I say. My hair curtains the side of my face, and I’m grateful he can’t see the tears welling in my eyes. “I told you that if this started to feel real, I’d walk away.”
He’s quiet.
I swipe the tears from my cheek before turning to him. “It got real a long time ago. And I think it did for both of us. Only you were too scared to admit it, and I was too foolish to say anything because I kept thinking one day you’d wake up and change your mind.”
I zip my suitcase and slide it off his bed.
“Where are you going?” His question breaks my heart, not because he’s showing concern, but because he’s not trying to stop me.
I lift my hand to his cheek, ignoring his question. “Thank you for everything. I mean that. You’ve completely changed my life in more ways than you could ever know.”
He studies me in silence, and I’d give anything to know what he’s thinking right now or if he’s letting himself feel any of this.
Or maybe he feels nothing.
I don’t know.
“You know how you told me no one’s ever loved you before?” I ask before I go. “Well, I did. So … there you go. You were loved. You still are.”
I walk to the door, leaving him standing in the middle of his apartment, frozen like the heart I’m certain no longer beats in his chest, and when I get outside, I order an Uber and return to Park Terrace, tail tucked.
The security code to the front gate and the back door are unchanged, so I show myself in that night, wheeling my suitcase through a dark, quiet house. My parents’ cars are here, but the house is lifeless.
I texted my mom on the way here to give her a head’s up.
I figured she’d be waiting by the door with bells on, but alas, no Temple Karrington in sight. But it’s a good thing. I fought tears the whole ride here, losing the battle a time or two, and as a result, I’m sure it’s glaringly obvious. If my mother sees me like this, she’ll blame him for hurting me, for breaking my heart, but the truth is, I did this to myself.
I got attached when I knew damn well not to.
And honestly, as painful as this is, I don’t blame him.
He was honest from the start.
I was the deceitful one, pretending to go along with the original terms of our arrangement while secretly enjoying every minute of being with him and making dandelion wishes that one of those days he’d change his mind and give us a shot.
I head up to my room and unpack my things.
I told my mother this would only be temporary, that I’m looking into renting a place ne
ar my job. She seemed fine about it over text, but I’m sure she’ll have something to say about it when she sees me in person.
As soon as I get into my room, I click on the bedside lamp and find a fluffy robe waiting on my bed as well as a bath bomb and a note.
My dearest Brighton,
We’re glad you’re home. Have a soak. Get some rest. And we’ll talk in the morning.
Love,
Mom
Oh, joy. Another talk. I’m sure she’ll feed me full of all kinds of positive reinforcement. I can already hear her saying, “I’m so glad you came to your senses” and “education before boys” and “you were too good for him from the start.”
She means well … in her own way.
I tiptoe into the bathroom and start filling the tub with hot water, dropping in the lavender chamomile bath bomb as I undress. Heading back out to my suitcase, I grab my toiletry bag and begin to unpack everything, placing my hair, makeup, and skincare products back in their original drawers.
My birth control pills are at the bottom of the bag. I’ve been on the pill since I was sixteen and desperate to regulate my cycle and calm the acne maelstrom that was happening on my face. I was shocked when my mother agreed, though looking back, sometimes I wonder if it had more to do with vanity than anything else. Perhaps she couldn’t stand to see her precious daughter’s face marred with ugly red zits.
But I digress.
I unsnap the compact and click it to today’s date so I don’t forget to take one tonight … only there’s one small problem.
Today’s the seventh sugar pill …
I should have started my period six days ago.
I’m late.
40
Madden
The place feels empty without her even though all she took was her suitcase and a few things from the bathroom. I guess I never realized how much ‘life’ she brought to this tiny little apartment.
And ironically enough, it’s so quiet I can’t sleep.
Pricked Page 19
