one
Content Warning: If you’re still here, you don’t need one of these, do you? Didn’t think so. You’re my dark-hearted little inner circle, those who dared to venture down this unsafe path and keep going until the end. We’re almost there. Trust me one more time?
Okay. Let’s go.
Harper Apple
When I walk out of my house Monday morning, I’m zero percent surprised to see a black Range Rover parked in my driveway. It doesn’t fill me with fear or dread this time, though. I’m not sure what I feel, and I don’t want to think about it when I have to get to school and deal with the drama I inadvertently started last week.
I shake my head and make my way past my own car to where Royal’s is parked. He rolls down his window and flashes me a smug grin. “Let’s go, Cherry Pie.”
“What are you doing here?”
“Taking you to school.”
I sigh. “I thought we went over this. The party didn’t change anything. The sex was a mistake. And you’re supposed to be leaving me alone.”
“Yeah, we tried that, and it didn’t work out so well,” he says. “So now we’re trying things my way. Get in.”
“We also tried things your way,” I point out. “How’dthatwork out?”
I fix him with a flat stare, forcing myself not to examine his face or show any emotion. In truth, I’m so proud I want to crow like a fucking rooster. A wide bandage covers the entire bridge of his nose and part of his cheeks, and he has stitches in his lower lip, which is swollen even more than the top one. Both his eyes are black, and the left side of his face is completely discolored. I’ve never seen him anywhere near that beat up, and I know he fights at the Slaughterpen every Saturday night.
I did that, and I’m not sorry.
“Get in the car,” he says. “You know you’re going to.”
“I do?”
“If you really didn’t want to be around me, you’d stop fighting with me and get it over with,” he says, looking so fucking smug I want to bust up his face all over again. “You’re just wasting time so you can keep standing here flirting with me.”
I roll my eyes and circle around the car, telling myself the smile on my face is solely a result of the evidence of how much I hurt him.
“See?” he says, shifting into gear when I climb into the passenger side. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”
He reaches over and lays a hand on my knee as we start down Mill Street, his fancy car looking even more out of place than mine does.
“Uh, what do you think you’re doing?” I ask, plucking his hand off my leg and pushing it back at him. “I forgave you. That doesn’t mean I want to be with you.”
He gives me a look. “Okay.”
“In fact, this forgiveness thing is more of an ongoing process than just saying it and it’s magically done. Just because I’m forgiving you doesn’t mean I’ll forget or act like it never happened.”
“I don’t expect you to.”
“Good,” I say. “Because I still hate you, and I don’t trust you for a second.”
“Ditto.”
We drive in silence for a few minutes. What I said is true—I forgave him, but I’m not ready to act like nothing happened. But I’ve barely thought aboutwhyit happened, what I did to him. I’ve thought even less about how it hurt him, because on the surface, it didn’t. Now I know why Mr. D never divulged his secrets, why he never wanted to help me take down the Dolces. Nothing came of me leaking Royal’s secret, except now his brothers know.
But that doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt him in other ways. Just because his reputation didn’t suffer and his family didn’t pay, that doesn’t mean Royal didn’t. I hurt him. He trusted me in some way, even if he never trusted me enough to spill the secret himself. He trusted me with his heart, and I fucking sold it down the river to the highest bidder.
I turn to him before we reach the school. “Did you talk to Baron?” I ask.
After the party on Friday, we went to talk to Preston and get the DNA results. Afterwards, Royal barely said a word as he took me back to his car. Obviously, someone convinced him to go to the doctor between then and now, but we didn’t talk all weekend. I figured he had family shit to work out, and it’s not like we’re dating. Still, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t check my phone a time or two to see if he’d text after our hookup.
Royal glances at me. “No,” he says, returning his attention to the road.