“I . . . I have to go.” Panic finally pushes me out of my seat and out of the restaurant.
As soon as I push open the heavy door and the humid summer air hits, I start running and I don’t stop until I reach the main road leading back to the Reserve at Horizon Creek. The curls I decided to let free are stuck to my forehead and the back of my neck, and my lungs burn as they fight to get enough oxygen. I put my hands on my head in a weak attempt to slow my breathing and gather my thoughts.
I don’t know if I should go back to Ashleigh and try to explain what she saw, but the thought of showing my face again makes my stomach turn. The awful thing about going viral is you know there’s always a chance someone you meet will stumble across one of the lowest moments of your life. A little voice in the back of my head is constantly warning me not to get too close, that I’m always a second away from being plunged back into humiliation. I know I fucked up and that vandalism is never the answer, but it feels extra shitty that I’m still being punished for my reaction to the bad behavior Peter was rewarded for.
Since there’s no way to gracefully slide back into the booth and explain this away to Ashleigh—and also because I’m a coward—I continue walking the familiar path back to my parents’ house. The summer sun is high in the sky and every step feels harder than the last. My slip-on sneakers are like bricks on my feet, and by the time my house comes into view, I’m dripping sweat and absolutely miserable.
But besides the sugary tequila treat I decided to drink, something else isn’t sitting quite right.
I’ve been back in town for a while now. So long, in fact, that the internet has found more new targets than I can count. I know the video of me will never disappear, but I was hoping the times of it making its rounds on social media and having think pieces written about it had come and gone. The last time I checked, the number of views had stopped climbing and settled into a slow crawl.
So why, after all this time, is this video only now making the rounds in this sleepy suburb? How did Angela find the video to post in the HOA group?
There’s only one thing that’s changed, and I know exactly where to find him.
My dad’s outside inspecting how the white oak is coming along when he sees me. He aims his bright smile at me, but it falls the minute he gets a good look at me.
“Oh no.” Concern colors his words. “Are you okay?”
“Fantastic.” I look down the street, my pace never slowing as I focus in on my target. “I just have to take care of something real fast.”
You’d think that my hyperreactive ways would’ve changed thanks to the time they destroyed my entire life, but the opposite is true. Once the worst has happened, it loses its power. If I survived it once, I can survive it again.
Maybe.
I stomp up Nate’s brick pathway not seeing any of the beauty I noticed last night. I pound on the door that I’ve now decided is the ugliest effing door I’ve ever seen and hope my fist punches a hole through it.
“Nate!” I shout, not caring who witnesses what’s about to happen. “Open the door, you coward!”
I hear him before I see him.
The sound of muffled footsteps running down the stairs precedes his confused expression and tousled hair appearing through the long, rectangular window next to the door. He doesn’t hesitate before swinging the door open.
“Collins?” His eyes are full of questions as they flicker back and forth from my scowling face to whatever’s happening behind me. “Is everything okay? What are you doing here?”
“Is everything okay?” I practically screech from the sheer audacity of it all. “Are you kidding me?”
Before I can say anything else, he grabs me by the elbow and pulls me into his house, shutting the door behind me.
“What the hell, Collins? Why would you—”
He starts but I cut him off. I’m hot, humiliated, and my feet hurt. I’m not in the mood for his crap.
“Why would I? Why would you?” I step into his space and barely manage to keep my hands to myself. His neck looks like such a wonderful place to rest my hands.
He squeezes his eyes shut and drags his hands through his mess of dark hair. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
For some reason, this pisses me off more than I thought possible. I’m furious I let him embarrass me, but I might be able to respect him if he owned up to being a scumbag. This I’m such a good guy bullshit is such a cop-out.
“Okay. Yeah, sure.” I laugh even though nothing about this is funny. “So you mean to tell me that it’s a coincidence that the day after I confide in you about everything that happened with Peter, the video just happens to show up in the HOA Facebook group? And that Angela, the asshole who’s constantly kissing your ass, didn’t hear about it from you?”
“Wait—” He shakes his head and tries to interrupt me, but I’m so over this shit.
“No. Nope. No fucking way. I will not wait, because you know what? I went to lunch with Ashleigh today and she was begging me to share what happened last night, and you know what I told her?” I don’t give him a chance to answer because the sound of his voice is liable to make me murderous. “Nothing! And even though you couldn’t wait to use what I told you against me, I’m still not going to tell anyone what you told me. Because contrary to popular belief”—I pause and take a deep breath before screaming—“I’m a good fucking person!”
“Collins—” he starts.
“Don’t talk, don’t say my name.” I’m still yelling when I fling open his front door. “You, Nathanial Adams, are the fucking worst and I will never forget this.”
I’ve said all I needed to say and my adrenaline is starting to fade fast. I need to get out of here before I break down in tears in his goddamn foyer.
What a nightmare.
I march out of his house and down his walkway with both middle fingers raised high above my head.
When I reach the sidewalk, I notice Angela standing across the street, a bitchy smile evident from even a hundred yards away.
“Why are you here? Don’t you have a family to take care of?” I scream across the street. “For the love of god, get a fucking hobby!”
The smug look disappears and her over-Botoxed face attempts to crumple. Unfortunately for her, the only Karens I deal with aren’t out here and I’m not buying tickets to this show.
I keep my head held high, and even though I want to run, I hold my pace steady as I march toward my parents’ house. And much to my credit, I do a fan-freaking-tastic job of holding it together . . . until I see my parents outside.
Their concerned expressions cause their gently lined faces to crease with worry, and it undoes me.
“Inside.” My voice is hoarse with unshed tears as I rush past them. “I can’t let these people see me cry.”
There’s not much I’m feeling thankful for in this moment, but managing to keep it together until I’m safely concealed in the comfort of my parents’ house is one of them. And that when I do crumble, for the second time in as many months, at least I’m not alone.
Chapter 15