Friend Zone Series Box Set

by Blanchard, Nicole

  Layla wrapped her arms around her waist, but flinched when I tried to step closer. My hands dropped to my side in defeat. How had we gotten here?

  There wasn’t anything else I could say.

  So I left.

  * * *

  I drove around for an indeterminable amount of time, taking backstreets and cutoffs until I was riding on a red dirt road in the middle of nowhere. I didn’t want to go home, it was too close to Layla, too tempting. My temper had already gotten the best of me, and she didn’t deserve it. The people who did, I was terrified to confront.

  My grandfather, he’d always been a cold, hard man. It was surprising my dad had ever grown up to be the kind, warm man he was with parents like his. I couldn’t go to my grandparents’ house, not yet. First, I needed to know if my parents had a part in this. Mom never would have gone along with it, but Dad—he didn’t really grow a spine until he met her. Had he knuckled under to grandmother’s machinations? I didn’t want to think so, but I had to know.

  Somehow, I made it back to their hotel room. I knocked and Mom answered the door. Her hair was down, her face scrubbed clean. I glanced at my phone and the time illuminated: 8:05. My parents were early to bed, early to rise people, so they were getting ready to go to sleep.

  “Do you have a second?” I asked. “I’m sorry it’s so late.”

  Mom gave me a warm smile. “Of course, honey. What’s wrong? You look terrible. Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine. Is Dad around? I have something to talk to you both about.”

  “You’re scaring me. Peter! Peter, it’s Dash. Can you come out here for a second?”

  “Naomi, you don’t need to shout the whole place down. I’m right here.” He came out of the bathroom of their suite, his tie loose around his neck and his suit missing the jacket, which hung around the back of a chair. “Dash, what is it?”

  “He said he has to talk to us about something.”

  “Well, come in. Do you want something to drink?” Dad asked.

  “No, thanks. I’m fine.”

  Mom hovered by the door as I went inside. “What do you need to talk to us about, honey?”

  “It’s about grandmother. Dad—” My throat constricted on the words. “Dad, did you know anything about her bribing the girl I was seeing to stay away from me? The truth, please.”

  “Bribing? What the hell are you talking about?” Dad’s face flushed with anger. “I don’t know anything about bribery.”

  “Jessica?” Mom asked.

  “No, not Jessica. Her name is Layla. She was a student of mine. I went to school with her.”

  “Was a student?”

  “I’ll explain,” I said to Mom. Then I turned back to Dad. “Did you?”

  “Of course not! I haven’t heard a word about it, and frankly, I’m insulted you’d believe she’d do such a thing. She loves you.”

  “Peter,” Mom broke in, trying to alleviate the growing tension. “Don’t get upset.”

  “Don’t get upset? He’s accusing my mother—”

  “You say that as though she didn’t show up to our wedding, dressed in black like it was a funeral, Peter. This is our son, he deserves our trust.” She turned back to me. “Tell us what happened.”

  I sat on the edge of their bed and told them everything. From meeting Layla at the beginning of the semester, to an abbreviated version of our relationship, and ending with our argument from a few hours before. The longer I talked, the more disgusted I felt with myself.

  She’d told me she loved me and the first thing I did was turn her away.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Layla

  Ms. Jensen looked the same as she did at the beginning of the semester, except this time her lipstick was a bright orange-red to match her festive sweater, instead of the deep pink. Her mousy hair was in its customary bun and there was a pencil tucked behind her ear.

  “Well,” she said, then paused, sipped coffee that had gone cold. “Well,” she said again.

  I wondered how many other times she’d have to say it before her vocabulary would expand.

  “I must say I didn’t think I’d see you again so quickly, and over such unpleasant business.” Ms. Jensen clucked her tongue, then shuffled a stack of papers. “I’m sorry to say considering, well, considering, you won’t be able to resume the business ethics class for the rest of the semester.” She paused, adjusted her glasses and then studied me over the rim. “Of course, when we took into account your grade point average and your academic records, we decided to make an exception on a one-time-only basis.”

  I straightened in the creaky leather seat. “I’m sorry? What do you mean?”

  It had been a week since my blowup with Dash. I hadn’t spoken to my mother—who surely thought her silent treatment was punishment rather than the reward it was. My sister spent most of every day alternating between calling, texting, and showing up at my classes. I’d blocked her number and pretended she was a stranger.

  According to her, I should forgive my mother for her latest transgression. Mom only called me stupid because she was so upset about the bad decisions I was making. She didn’t really mean it.

  The one person I hadn’t heard from was Dash.

  Now that the dust had settled, I didn’t know where we stood. I hurt him, that I accepted, but he knew me. He should have trusted me.

  Otherwise, everything we went through was for nothing.

  I realized Ms. Jensen was speaking, so I pushed Dash from my mind and tried to focus on what she was saying. “If you wanted, that is.”

  “What?” I said and flushed. “I’m sorry, can you repeat that?”

  She smiled. “I said considering your academic record and the fact that there was no proof Mr. Hampton showed you any sort of preference whatsoever—the administration will allow you to repeat the course next semester—with a different professor, naturally.”

  This should have been good news.

  It could have been so much worse.

  I could still finish both degrees on time as though nothing had happened. If I so desired, with a little placating, I could even convince my mother everything would be fine. By placating, I meant I’d need to take that finance position she was so all-fired about. Meaning I wouldn’t have any time at all to participate in any showings or work on my pieces. It would mean giving up a part of me that felt as vital as breathing.

  “No,” I said, and it was as though the word unlocked something inside of me. “No, I don’t think so.”

  “No?” Ms. Jensen repeated. “Honey, I understand it’s disheartening to have to repeat a course, but if you don’t, then you won’t be able to complete the requirements for the business portion of your degree.”

  I already felt lighter. Free. “Be that as it may, I don’t wish to repeat the course. I’m still okay to graduate with the degree in art with a minor in education, though, right?”

  Ms. Jensen shuffled through her papers, her cheeks a little pink. “Well, of course, I suppose if that’s what you want. It just seems silly to have done all that work and not receive credit for it.”

  “It does, doesn’t it? I could have saved us both some time if I’d realized what I wanted in the first place. Excuse me,” I said and got to my feet. “There’s something else I need to take care of. Have a wonderful break, Ms. Jensen.”

  A few months ago, I’d walked out of her office with the weight of the world on my shoulders. I’d been pursing a degree I didn’t even want, for a mother who only cared how it reflected on her. If I’d told her no years ago, I would have never been in this mess.

  Then again, if it weren’t for her, I wouldn’t have crossed paths, and hypothetical swords, with Dash again.

  As I walked to my car from the admin building, I took out my phone and considered calling him. I wanted to apologize, for everything, but I wasn’t sure what, exactly, I could say to bridge the gap between everything that had happened.

  Instead of reaching out to Dash, my fingers keyed in the num
ber for my mother instead. She’d be overjoyed to hear from me—but only because it meant she’d won—and I’d broken the silence first.

  “Hello?”

  She answered on the first ring, sounding slightly breathless. I’d put money on the fact she’d been waiting for my call, and she’d run to her phone the second she heard it ring.

  “Hey, Mom,” I said. My voice was steady, sure, but I felt more vulnerable than I had in a long time. Vulnerable, but immovable. For so long, I’d tried to be the daughter she wanted. I did everything she asked, even if doing so meant losing parts of myself.

  “Layla. To what do I owe the pleasure?” she asked.

  I could imagine her in her office, leaned back in her desk chair with a satisfied smile on her face. I’d seen the same smile several times before—it was the one she wore when she got her way. Even thinking about it made my stomach tight with anxiety.

  “I wanted to thank you for everything that you’ve done for me.” Her tone of surprised satisfaction made my mouth twist in revulsion. “Thank you for showing me how little I meant to you. Without you, it never would have been so easy to tell you that I no longer need your help. I’ve dropped the business ethics class, which means I will be ineligible to graduate with the business portion of my degree. I’ve already informed Kragen’s that I’m not interested in the internship. I’ve also spoken with the financial aid office, and I’ll be applying for student loans next semester. So your threat about owning my apartment and essentially my life is now moot.”

  “After everything I’ve done for you, how dare you treat me this way?” she screeched in my ear. “You’re going to fall flat on your face without my help, and don’t you dare come running to me when you do.”

  At the start of the semester, facing life without my family as a safety net would have terrified me. Defying my mother had been unthinkable. But after everything that had happened, I’d realized life wasn’t worth living if you weren’t doing what you loved. It may have been selfish to live on my terms, but I’d been selfless long enough.

  “If that’s how you feel, I understand. I wish you the best and hope you find happiness. I know I will.”

  My answer was a click. Somehow, I wasn’t surprised. Disappointed, a little hollow inside, but not surprised.

  I ached a little at the potential loss of my sister. She’d always been my mother’s second-in-command, and I’d never really gotten to know her as a sister, just a flying monkey my mother would send when she didn’t get me to do something she wanted. I hoped with a little space and time, maybe she would change, but I wasn’t holding my breath.

  I didn’t think about either of them as I drove back to my apartment. With the radio cranked up, I blotted out all of my thoughts by singing along with Miley Cyrus’ “Party in the U.S.A.”

  Ember and Charlie were already waiting for me in my apartment. It wasn’t a Tuesday, so they’d brought a couple twelve packs, tape, and boxes.

  “I had these extra from my move last year,” Charlie said as she handed me an ice-cold beer. “I never got around to throwing them away, but I guess that’s a good thing.”

  “It’s not a good thing,” Ember complained. “I can’t believe both of you are just deserting me. Some friends.”

  Since my mom was officially no longer footing the bill for my apartment, I had to find somewhere more affordable. I’d applied for a full-time job with the art charity and had my fingers crossed I’d get it. It wouldn’t pay much, but what it didn’t cover I would supplement with what scholarships I could scrounge up and use student loans as a last resort.

  “We see Charlie just as much as we did before she moved out,” I reasoned, then laughed as Ember fervently shook her head.

  “That’s grossly untrue. She works back-to-back shifts all the time. Before we could see her like that,” she snapped her fingers for emphasis, “but now we basically have to make an appointment. Mark my words, it’ll be the same when you leave. All I’ll have left is Tripp.” She made a face.

  “Oh, that’s such a travesty,” Charlie said with a giggle. “Truly, it’s torture. How many abs does he have? I saw him lift his shirt last year during playoffs, and I swear I counted at least twenty.”

  Ember threw a towel she’d been folding at Charlie’s face. “For the last time, we’re just friends. I’m with Chris.”

  “For now,” Charlie and I said at the same time, then shared a smile. These two—they were better than any man.

  “Whatever. Are you two going to pack or are you just going to sit there and run your mouths?”

  “I think we’re going to run our mouths while we watch you pack,” I suggested.

  “I’ll remember this.” Ember began throwing towels and washcloths into a bag willy-nilly at Charlie’s burst of laughter. “Next year, when it’s my turn to move, I’m going to sit back with my feet up, mark my words.”

  “Sure, sure. I don’t think you’ll ever leave your apartment.” Her face fell a little, and I reminded myself I wasn’t the only one with problems. “I think you need another beer as much as I do,” I said and grabbed her a fresh one.

  “Are you going to tell us what you decided to do about Dash?” Ember said in a clear bid to change the subject.

  I sipped my drink and considered. “Maybe… once we finish packing.”

  They both threw towels at my head.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Dash

  “You’re a good man, Dash. I’m sorry to have to do this, but it’s university policy.”

  Professor Michaels stood at the door to my office and watched as I packed. Official policy mandated suspension and immediate termination for grad students who fraternized with their students, but as there wasn’t concrete evidence my relationship with Layla went beyond one kiss he witnessed, I was given the termination and advised to steer clear of applying for any other T.A. positions.

  It could have been worse.

  I had one more semester before I graduated, anyway. And I didn’t need the money, although the experience was useful.

  “Don’t sweat it, Professor. I understand. Thank you for going to bat for me. I appreciate it.”

  “I wish I could do more, but my hands are tied. You’ll let me know if you need anything? I’ll be in my office.”

  “Of course, sir. Thanks again.”

  He nodded, rapped his knuckles on the doorjamb, then left me to my thoughts.

  After the conversation with my parents, I’d gone home; painfully aware of how close it was to Layla’s. I was too consumed by guilt and fury to be in the right frame of mind to face her. Especially considering I hadn’t figured out how to confront my grandmother.

  After I finished packing up my office, I planned to drive over to my grandparents’ place on the way home and talk to them. Even if I had no clue what I was going to say.

  I worked steadily during the afternoon, clearing out the bookshelves, the mini fridge, and then finally, my desk. It wasn’t until I sat down in my chair that I noticed the book sitting on the center of my blotter. I knew what it was the moment I laid eyes on it.

  It was a first edition copy of The Hobbit. The cover was bound in a deep teal with gold foil and filigree. I opened the cover and confirmed the publication date. Inside was a piece of paper. I recognized the handwriting from papers I’d assigned in our class.

  In Layla’s neat penmanship were the words:

  There is some good in this world, and it’s worth fighting for. — J.R.R. Tolkein

  Beneath it, she added:

  I think you’re worth fighting for.

  Before I could jump to my feet to race home to her, there was a knock at my door. For a split second, I was swamped by pure joy thinking it was Layla coming to see my reaction to her gift. I stood, still holding the book, but it wasn’t Layla waiting for me.

  It was my grandmother.

  “Dashiel,” she said primly.

  My mouth firmed and a white-hot bolt of rage shot through me. “Grandmother,” I replied. “What
are you doing here?”

  She stepped inside, closed the door. “You haven’t been answering my calls.”

  “There was a reason for that.”

  She lifted a brow. “I assumed so. That’s why I came to speak with you in person, like an adult.”

  I barked out a laugh. “Interesting.”

  “What?” she asked.

  “It’s interesting that you’re suggesting we should treat each other like adults.”

  “And what is that supposed to mean?”

  I gripped the back of my chair to keep myself focused and to steady my twitching hands. “You know what I’m talking about.” Despite my fury, my voice was deadly calm.

  “Really, Dash, I don’t have time for these games.”

  “You offered Layla Tate money to stay away from me.”

  I already knew she wasn’t going to cop to what she’d done unless she was confronted directly. It was disappointing to realize how similar she was to Layla’s mother. No wonder the two of us got along so well…relatively speaking.

  A parade of emotions washed over her face. Shock. Anger. Denial. Then she cleared her expression and affected a mask of sorrow. If I hadn’t been watching her so closely, I wouldn’t have believed it.

  “You’d believe that girl over me?”

  “That girl is a beautiful, kind, genuine person. Which you would know if you spent two seconds getting to know her.”

  “I don’t have to get to know her to know who she is. She’s exactly like your mother. Money-hungry and only interested in what she can leech from you.”

  I shook my head. “You’re delusional. You’d rather have me with Jessica, who would dance on my grave to inherit my portfolio, than with Layla, who genuinely cares about me. What is wrong with you?” I asked, exasperated.

  “The only thing wrong with me is caring too much for my family, which goes unappreciated. I won’t speak anymore about this, Dashiel, and if you want to have a place in our lives, you’ll stay away from that girl—and understand when I do something—it comes from a place of love, because I care about you.”