Dearest Series Boxed Set (22 page)

He exhales loudly. “I liked you so much, Clementine. My God, I thought I loved you.”

Nausea ripples through me. Laughing without conviction, I try not to be overwhelmed. “What do you mean you thought you loved me?” I can’t hide the bitterness in my voice.

“We grew up together. You were my best friend. I worshiped the ground you walked on, but you’d barely even let me hold your hand or kiss you in public. I thought I was the only one in the relationship half the time.”

“You can’t be serious.” After everything he put me through, after all the heartache and humiliation, he has the nerve to say this to me?

“Emmie, you held me at arm’s length. And I don’t mean physically. Once we started dating, you changed. It was like you were afraid to let me get close to you. I would have waited as long as you wanted to sleep together. Fuck, I thought I’d marry you some day, so it wasn’t about the sex. You just kept slipping farther and farther from me, and I know I should have confronted you or maybe broken up with you, but I couldn’t bring myself to do that. The thing is, I wanted to be with you, but you were somewhere else. This might be the biggest dick thing to say, but it’s the truth—I think I started hooking up with Veronica so I could get over you before you crushed me.”

He thought he loved me
? A few years ago, hearing Daren say that would have been blissful. But now, after all this time, it leaves me hollow. The universe is mocking me with a boulder-sized serving of irony and a giant Fuck You.

I sniffle, only to realize that I’m crying. God damn it.

“Honey, I’m so sorry,” he says, scooting over and wrapping his arms around me, and I can’t help it—I start sobbing. The dam of tears I’d been holding for him comes pouring out, and Daren lets me cry as he strokes my hair and kisses the top of my head.

“Why are you telling me this?” I hiccup into his shoulder, still not able to bring myself to look at him.

“Because you’ll always be special to me. Because I should have apologized years ago. Because I want you to be happy.”

Of course, that makes me cry harder. In my mind, I’d built him into this horrible prick. This hurts so much because I know he’s right. I’ve never been good when it comes to admitting my emotions, but I didn’t realize that I’d shut him out. My whole life I’ve been terrified of turning into my mother, who thinks showing emotion is a display of weakness. So what did I do? I bottled myself up in every possible way. And I haven’t gotten any better in college, especially when I was on my meds.

“I’m sorry, Daren.” I pull myself away from him and wipe my face with the sleeve of my shirt. “I guess you had no way of knowing that I was in love with you, and apparently I didn’t know how to deal with it.”

I swallow and manage to finally look up at him. He’s pale. “You… you loved me?” he asks, echoing my thoughts a minute ago.

Nodding, I offer a grim smile. “Yeah. Should I not have told you?”

“Really?” His jaw tightens, and his hand curls into fist. “Fuck.”

This is a mistake. I should have kept my mouth shut. “It was a long time ago, Daren. I’m over it now. I’m… I’m okay.”

“Shit, Clementine.” He lets out a long, pained sigh. “You might be okay, but I’m not.” What does that mean? He pulls away from me, propping his elbows on his knees and staring down at the ground. “I’ve spent a long time trying to rationalize what I did with Veronica, why I’ve stayed with her. We’ve broken up a few times and dated other people for a while, but we end up back together. But the really fucked-up part is that I always come to the same conclusion that she’s not right, that… that she’s not you.”

I reach out and touch his shoulder. “You just feel guilty about what happened between us. You need closure. We both do. We were so young, and neither one of us dealt with this well. Daren, this isn’t totally your fault. I played a part too.”

He looks up, a flicker of hope in those large hazel eyes. “Do you think you could forgive me?”

“Yes.” Of course I forgive him. “Can you forgive me? For being an ice princess?” He laughs and puts his arms around my waist, crushing me against his chest and making me laugh. “If it makes you feel any better, I almost slept with you a dozen times.”

He groans and pushes me away, making me laugh more. Eventually, a smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. “You want to torture me, don’t you?”

I snicker. “Maybe a little.”

“It’s okay. I guess I deserve it.”

I
wake
up for class on Tuesday refreshed. Lighter. Hopeful. While I told Daren I thought he needed closure, I didn’t realize I did too.

I consider the possibilities. Maybe I
can
work through my boatload of baggage and come out the other side. Despite the weird weekend I had, I only popped that one pill and managed not to fall apart.

Gavin was too sweet after my brother and Daren had been such douchebags at the gym. When they’re together, they revert to being twelve. I’m rolling my eyes thinking about it when my phone rings. Although I need to get to class, my heart races when I see Gavin’s name on the screen.

“Hey,” I say sweetly, embarrassed that I threw down that ultimatum this weekend. I need to smooth this over. I can’t believe I’ve been so jealous of Angry Red. If Gavin says he’s going to explain what happened, I’m sure he will.

“I need to ask you something.” The cold tone of his voice is unexpected. When I saw him at the gym last night, there was a tenderness to him that melted me inside and out.

“Okay,” I say, trying not to be paranoid.

“Why was Daren Sloan leaving your place after midnight?”

My breath shallows from the accusation in his voice. I don’t know why I’m worried. It’s easy to explain. Daren and I talked until Harper came home, and the three of us ordered pizza and watched reruns of
The X-Files
.

I’m about to say this, to tell him what happened, but I get a moment of pause as I open my mouth. Apparently, it’s okay for him to ask me what I’m up to, who I see, where I go, but I can’t ask him any questions. What a hypocrite! A chill creeps through me.

“Well, I’d tell you, Gavin, but I’m going to need some time. I’m sure
you
won’t mind waiting.”

A half laugh escapes him, but I know he doesn’t find this funny. Neither do I. “Just tell me. Is there something going on between the two of you?”

Anger coils in my stomach. “If you tell me why
you
went to another state with Angelique, a girl who clearly still wants to fuck you, I will gladly tell you why Daren Sloan was with me in my apartment until midnight.” I can’t help it. The evil bitch side of me is pissed. All I hear is silence. “No? I didn’t think so.”

And I hang up.

Staring at my phone, I don’t know what just happened. My hands are shaking, and I’m starting to sweat.
Shit. Shit!
I didn’t mean to come off like I had something to hide, but I can’t believe he had the nerve to suggest that I’m running around with Daren after I’ve been so open with him.

Should I call him back?

No, no way.
Even though I want us to go back to the way we were, I’m setting a precedent. If I cave now, I’m telling him it’s okay for him to do things I can’t. That’s not the kind of relationship I want.
But damn it, Gavin, how can I want you so badly and be this furious at the same time?

Glancing at the clock, I realize I have twenty minutes to get to class. I don’t have time to lose it now, so I grab my jacket and bag and race out the door. A cold blast of air hits me in the face.

Why do I have to be so stubborn? Why couldn’t I simply answer his question? Part of me is practically apoplectic at his double standard and the other half wants to track him down and apologize. The tension is becoming unbearable. Why can’t he tell me what’s going on so we can stop playing this stupid game?

I duck into the convenience store to grab a cup of coffee. I see Brigit’s black bob, and when she glances my way, I wave. She grabs her bagel and walks over. We chat for a minute, and seeing her helps me get my head out of my backside for a few minutes. I still need to have a serious conversation with her about Wheeler, but I’m not sure what approach I should take. If I lay it out on the table the way I want to, I might lose the little bit of trust I’ve built.

“Clem? Can I ask a favor?” she asks, her bubbly demeanor unusually somber.

Nodding, I try to ignore the fact that this conversation might make me late to class.

Her hands fidget, drawing my attention. Her nails are now a bright blue with little white swirls painted on the ends. “Would you mind taking a look at the first draft of my novel? Jason has been editing it, but…” Emotion clouds her eyes, but she quickly shakes her head. “He’s so busy these days, and he’s been kind of moody lately, and I thought maybe you could help me with some dialogue.”

“No problem.” Smiling to reassure her, I can tell it was hard for her to ask me for help.

I reach into my bag to grab my phone, and the neon flyers that Kade gave me catch my eye. I bite my lip, debating what to say.

“Brigit, you just met Jason this fall, right?”

“Yeah, I’m in his frosh writing course.”

I nod, wondering where I’m going with this. “He and I haven’t had a chance to catch up. Um, was he in London
all
summer?”

She gets dreamy-eyed. “He went everywhere this summer—all over England, Spain, and Scotland. I forget where else. I can’t believe Jason’s friend loaned him his yacht like that. He has some amazing photos. I’m surprised he hasn’t shown them to you yet.”

I shrug. “We’ve grown apart in the last few years because he was teaching abroad.” And because he wanted to get in my pants.

My cell buzzes in my hand with a text from Jenna
. Get your ass to class!

I see the time stamped above the message.

Shit. I’m gonna be late.

“Brigit, I have to run, but I’m happy to read your draft.”

We exchange numbers, and after I pay for my coffee, I turn back toward her. “Let’s meet up for lunch in a day or two, and I can take a look at your story.” Of course, she could email it to me, but this way we can have a serious talk about Wheeler.

I’m out of breath when I get to Marceaux’s class, and the room is packed, so I stand near the door and glance around, hoping to find Jenna. I finally spot her, and she waves to me from the fourth row, so I trudge toward her. The aisles are narrow, and I stumble over a guy I’ve never seen before. He’s wearing a plaid shirt and black-rimmed glasses, but despite his geeky exterior, there’s something really intense about him. I apologize as I scoot by and try not to trip over anyone else before I settle next to Jenna.

“You ready for today?” She looks concerned.

Why wouldn’t I be ready?
I submitted what I thought was a pretty strong draft last week, and I have several pages of notes for the upcoming chapters. I think our professor should be pleased. I think I’m even ready for our small group feedback sessions.

Jenna tilts her head toward me like she’s waiting for me to get with the program.

“Oh my God. The critique.” With the drama this weekend, I’d forgotten we’re discussing my book today. Fucking hell.

Jenna pats my hand, seemingly content that I haven’t fallen off my rocker and developed early onset Alzheimer’s.

Professor Marceaux claps her hands to start the class, and everyone quiets. She mumbles to herself at the lectern and tilts her glasses up so they’re perched on top of her head.

“Today we’ll be discussing
Say It Isn’t So
by Austen Fitzgerald. Typically, it’s considered a Young Adult novel, but it crosses into Romance and more specifically New Adult because the character turns eighteen early in the story, and it also deals with first love and infidelity.” She starts her strut across the room. “I chose it because it was an e-book bestseller, one that does not have the happy ending generally associated with YA novels.”

Jenna nudges me. My eyes slide from her to the door of the class. My mouth goes dry as Jason Wheeler strolls in.

“I have a special treat.” Marceaux holds her arm out dramatically. “Some of you may know Professor Wheeler, a very successful YA author himself. He’s written four books, and his fifth is in the late stages of the editing process and should be on bookshelves this spring. Because
Say It Isn’t
So is somewhat of a crossover novel—actually, one he suggested—I thought it apropos if he directs this discussion.”

Wheeler strolls over, kissing Marceaux European-style on both cheeks.
What a poseur.

He’s wearing a tailored black suit and a pale salmon-colored shirt. If I didn’t know what lurked beneath that coiffed exterior, I’d think he was someone to emulate.

Tapping on the podium, he soaks in the sight of the class. In about two minutes, everyone will be eating out of his hand. Thinking back to my freshman year, it was easy to get mesmerized by how he talked about books and poetry. He spoke with such passion, conviction even.

While he’s read my book and we’ve had dozens of discussions about my work, having that acumen pointed at my novel in public makes me ill. Like a distant storm rolling in, I know this isn’t going to go well. I don’t trust his intentions. I mean, why else would he suggest critiquing my story except to humiliate me somehow?

“Jason, why don’t you tell us a little about your next book. I think everyone is dying to know.” Marceaux waves him on, letting him take over the class as she settles into a chair behind him.

“This one is a bit of a departure for me,” he says, loosening his tie in a faux attempt to look casual. “As you know, I tend to write about coming-of-age themes. My latest novel, which is my first attempt at romance, is more of a murder mystery so the reader pieces together the love story in the aftermath of a tragedy.” When the words leave his lips, I close my eyes briefly, fighting the urge to leap out of my seat and run as far away from this man as possible, like maybe to Indonesia. “It’s about a girl who betrays her boyfriend and ends up dead. The story picks up after she disappears, when the girl’s friends and family realize they didn’t know the first thing about her. She had built so many walls that she was nearly unlovable.”

I’m having difficulty breathing. His eyes shift toward me, and I know this is a threat. That he means to harm me. He continues. “She was a stranger to everyone but her boyfriend. To him, she was like Dante’s Beatrice who should have led him to paradise. After all, he was the only one who knew her, who loved her, who was even capable of loving her and appreciating her brilliance, but her foolishness led her astray, and instead of paradise, she led him… somewhere darker.” He chuckles, and the sound rolls my stomach. “I’m going to have to let you read it to see what happens.”

Everyone applauds except Jenna and me. She and I make eye contact, and the expression on her face confirms that I should be afraid of Jason Wheeler. Very afraid.

“Thank you. Gracious, you’re being too generous,” Wheeler says. “It could be total crap.” Everyone laughs. “Well, let’s discuss
Say It Isn’t So
. We can start with something easy before I rake you over the coals.” Again, the class laughs. “What did you notice?”

After a couple of comments, someone says, “It seems a little sexually graphic to be YA.”

“That’s true,” he says. “That’s one of the noticeable flaws with this story. I think it goes too far.”

What? That was something he repeatedly told me he loved.
Of course, maybe he had ulterior motives for encouraging me to describe those scenes.

“I liked it,” Jenna says loudly as she grips my hand. “I thought Isabella’s honesty about her breakup with Evan pulled you into the story because of her desperation. They grew up together, and he slept with another girl, practically in her face. I think most girls would go postal over something like that.”

I squeeze her hand.

Wheeler’s eyes squint slightly as they pass over us, and I shiver under the weight of his stare.

“Perhaps, but don’t some of you find that Isabella might be a little, I don’t know, pathetic? Especially with that sad one-night stand?” he asks, almost grinning.

Jenna tenses next to me. A few hands go up, but I don’t hear what they say because blood is thundering in my ears. The discussion continues, but all I can do is take deep breaths as I try not to hyperventilate. I keep watching the clock behind the podium, waiting for the instant I can leave.

Wheeler’s laugh gets my attention, but I haven’t been following. He clears his throat. “Perhaps one of the most unappreciated details here is that I have it on good authority that Miss Fitzgerald borrowed several ideas from one of her writing partners.”

Holy. Shit.

Jenna gasps as hands start flying up. Marceaux sits straighter, tilting her head at her colleague. Wheeler calls on a student in front of me.

“Professor, are you saying this author plagiarized?”

“I am.” He looks so smug up there that I could leap over these seats and strangle him.

There are instances in life when the powers that be push the pause button, and you can see your future before you like an endless road stretching into the horizon. I see this now, realizing that how I react to this situation has a myriad of life-alternating implications, like dominos set up to clatter against one another as they reach the ground in quick succession. Biting back the fury that has taken residence in my body, I struggle to swallow.

He smirks at me. “I know Miss Fitzgerald personally, and I know that she outright stole portions of her manuscript—”

“What the
fuck
are you talking about?” I cut him off, fisting my hands in my lap. Professor Marceaux’s head jerks toward me. “I’ve sat here, listening to you insult
my
novel, the one I wrote when I was a freshman, the one you called brilliant when you helped me edit it.”

The class erupts in murmurs, and Marceaux’s eyes widen. I know there will be hell to pay for what I’m doing, but I can’t stand another minute of this man’s insane accusations.

“You know that I have several journals’ worth of evidence that prove this is my work, and if my peers are curious, I’ll also add that you were the only person who saw the manuscript prior to publication. So unless you’re saying that I stole this story from you, you should shut the hell up.”

I get up and balance myself against the seat in front of me. Forty pairs of eyes are on me, so I’m hoping I don’t faint. Looking up at him and seeing his steely defiance pisses me off more.

“You have some nerve, Jason. You’ll be hearing from my attorney.” Shit. That means I need to get one.