Progress Report
“Dude. You have to stop moping.”
Rainey plops down next to me on the couch and I wince.
“Hey, watch it—I’m still in pain here, you know.”
She rolls her eyes. “Yeah. I know. You’ve used it as the reason for why you haven’t moved off the couch in the last week.”
I glare at her. “A little sympathy wouldn’t be out of the question.”
From across the room, Carson snorts.
“Cyn. I love you. Rainey loves you. And it’s our love for you that makes it imperative that we tell you this.”
She takes a dramatic deep breath.
“You smell.”
I make a face at her. “I do not!”
“Well, okay—maybe not. But your hair is a hot mess and you’ve been wearing the same shirt for three days.”
“It hurts to lift my arms, you ass.”
“I know.” Carson crosses the room and sits on the other side of me. “We aren’t trying to be dicks. I just hate to see you like this.”
“Yeah, I hate to see me like this, too, which is why I’m avoiding the bathroom mirror.”
Rainey throws up her hands.
“You know what? Forget it. Sit here and imprint your ass into the couch cushion. See if I care.”
I grimace as she gets up and stalks back to her bedroom.
“What’s up with her?”
Carson sighs. “She’s worried about you. I’m worried about you, too.”
“I’m fine.”
Carson barks out a laugh. “Bull-fucking-shit.”
I shrug, picking at the pilled upholstery on the couch’s arm. She’s right. It is bullshit. I’m not fine.
But what am I supposed to say?
That I can’t stop picturing Smith’s face, fear-stricken, just before the Mustang slammed into my body?
That the only person I want near me, the only person I want to see right now, has been lying to me since the moment we met?
“Just call him back,” Carson says, clearly reading my mind. I shake my head.
“No.”
“He’s called you a dozen times, Cyn.”
“I know that.”
“Don’t you want to hear him out?”
Yes. I wanted to hear him at least—his voice, his chuckle, his growl, his moan.
I shake my head. “No. I don’t want to hear him out.”
Carson shifts to face me on the couch, tucking her legs up underneath her.
“Why not?”
I glare at her. “Do you not think I’ve been betrayed by men enough in the last year? I let the last one hurt me before he walked away. I’m not doing that this time.”
“You already have,” she mutters under her breath. When I open my mouth to protest, she holds up a hand. “Look, I’m just going to say this one time and then I promise not to bring it up again. But I think you’re making a mistake.”
“Cars, I really don’t need to hear this right now.”
“Yes, you do,” she says. “And since you aren’t cleared to drive yet, you really have no choice but to sit here and listen to me.”
I close my eyes. “Look, Brent hurt me. Badly. He gave up on us long before I realized it was even happening. When he left for med school, I was sure he’d change his mind—that he was just branching out and that he’d realize we were right for each other eventually. Instead, I found out he was hooking up with some chick from Delaware or some shit. That he never had any intention of thinking things through or taking time. He just didn’t want to be with me. Our relationship wasn’t important to him—I wasn’t important to him.”
I pause and take a breath.
“And now—now I find out that one more guy has completely misled me in every way? Yeah, no. No fucking way. Not again.”
I let my head fall back against the couch cushion, and Carson sighs.
“I don’t want to make you feel bad. I’m not saying that what Smith did isn’t sort of fucked up. But he was undercover—he was working with the school and the police department. It was his job. It’s not like he chose to seek you out and seduce you.”
I crack one eye open. “I know all of this.”
“Yeah, maybe, but you aren’t accepting it. You think he’s done something to hurt you when, in fact, he was trying to protect you.”
I lift a brow. “Sounds like he’s got you convinced.”
She shrugs. “He’s called here every day. I wasn’t going to ignore the poor guy forever.”
I close my eyes again. It’s been two weeks exactly since I got out of the hospital, which makes it three weeks since I’ve seen Smith. According to Officer Rains, he stayed with me in the hospital the night of the accident until he had to report back to the station. He even called my dad to let him know what happened. I was still unconscious, so I don’t remember that part—all I remember is the look on his face just as J. D. plowed into my body with his car.
“I’m only asking you to think about it,” Carson says.
I want to laugh. Like I can do anything but think about it.
“By the way, what time are we going to Holly Fields?”
“Five.” I roll my eyes. “They eat early. It’s an old people thing.”
She nods. “That’s cool. And you’re sure you want me to come to dinner? I really don’t mind dropping you off and picking you up.”
I shake my head.
“No, I want you to come. You didn’t get a chance to talk to Wyatt at the hospital, and I promised him I’d hook you all up for the tutoring thing.”
Carson clears her throat. “We actually did talk a little at the hospital—he was sort of a dick, Cyn.”
I blink at her.
“For real? Wyatt’s, like, the nicest guy ever. Maybe you just read him wrong.”
“I don’t think so.” She shrugs. “I mentioned tutoring him and he snapped at me. Said something about not needing help. It was weird.”
“Huh. That is weird.” I think back to my conversation with him about finishing his college credits. “Well, I’ll talk to him about it tonight. And, yes, you’re still coming to dinner. If I get to experience the Holly Fields turkey sandwich tonight, I want you to be doing it with me.”
“Fantastic,” she mutters as she walks into the kitchen.
I chuckle, then groan, putting a hand against my left ribs. They’re really tender, especially when I laugh.
Or move.
Or breathe.
My right wrist is still in a brace, too, but the doctor said I’ll probably be able to take it off next week. Most of the bruises and cuts have healed, save a persistent purplish mark on my right cheek. Aside from the wrist brace and a really gnarly case of bedhead, I look pretty normal. Not like someone who got hit by a car. Not like someone who just had her heart broken.
In the end, I do actually shower and change my clothes before leaving with Carson for dinner with Dad. I figure it’s the least I can do. Well, actually, it’s literally the least I can do. I certainly don’t bother with makeup or a blow-dryer.
“So, did you hear?” Rocky asks me once we’ve settled down at the cafeteria table.
“Hear what?”
“About the charges—there was a big press conference on the news this afternoon.”
I blink over at him. “What charges?
Dad and Carson share a look.
“J. D. Fenton was charged today, princess,” Dad says, reaching over to pat my hand.
“Apparently he and a few other Franklin students were selling drugs at the school for a larger kingpin based in the city. There are about eight or nine people they’re trying to take down, I think. It was all over the news this morning.”
“Oh.” I stare down at my sandwich and pick up my apple instead. “So, was it just drug charges?”
Dad nods. “The hit-and-run will be a separate trial, so you won’t have to worry about testifying at this one.”
I nod, still staring at my apple. Wyatt, who’s sitting on my right side, pats my arm.
“Eat, Cyn. The apple isn’t going to hurt you. And you look like you’ve lost about ten pounds since the accident.”