“Thanks,” I murmur back, making my way toward it. He’s being too nice, too calm, and it’s putting my entire body on edge. I’m waiting for whatever he’s so pleased about to show itself.
I tap lightly on the door, but I don’t get an answer. So I try again, and this time I hear a sob. “Go away, Aaron!”
I take my chances and push the door open, and right before me is why Aaron was so happy to let me in. Ryan is propped up against her headboard, one arm wrapped around her and the other stroking her hair as she sits between his legs and sobs into his chest. This is what Aaron wanted me to see, but the only reason my heart fucking aches is because she looks broken.
They both look at me simultaneously, wildly different expressions on their faces, but hers is unmistakable.
Betrayal.
“Get out,” she says, her voice cracking. She twists in Ryan’s arms and uses the back of her hands to wipe the tears from her eyes. “You lied to me again! You promised you didn’t do anything, and you lied, Nathan.”
“Stassie, please. Can we talk? I promise I didn’t do anything.”
“Stop promising me things!” she screams, her entire body shaking as sobs rack through her. Ryan buries his head into her hair, muttering something I can’t hear, but her eyes are glued to me. “The dean told Aaron’s parents, Nate! I know you’ve been dropped! I know it was you!”
I feel like I can’t breathe. My head is throbbing and I desperately want to tell her everything that’s happened today, but all I can concentrate on is the white stab of pain in my head and the burning behind my eyes.
Ryan lifts Stas and puts her on the bed beside him. “You good, Hawkins?” he asks, sliding off the bed. “You don’t look so great right now, buddy. Do you need to sit down? You need water?”
My head begins to spin as I feel Ryan’s arms on my shoulders, navigating me backward until my legs hit a chair and I sit down.
“What’s wrong with him?” she asks, panic in her voice.
I bring my palms to my eyes and drop my head between my legs, taking deep breaths. I can’t take any more painkillers, so it’s pointless asking.
Ending up in Coach’s office put too much of a gap between the last dose wearing off and the new dose kicking in, and now I’m paying for it while also embarrassing myself.
Great.
Her soft hands press against my forehead, and I can’t help but lean into her touch. She’s never going to let me near her again. I just wish the moment wasn’t ruined by the hot twinge in my brain and my entire body feeling like it’s being crushed bit by bit.
“Migraine. I’ll drive home. Will come back when we can talk,” I manage to whisper. “He can’t drive,” is the last thing I hear.
TWENTY-ONE | ANASTASIA
I’ve repositionedthe iPad in front of me ten times already, but I can’t help but move it slightly to the right one more time.
Everything I need is in front of me, lined up in order of priority. My planner, water, and Kleenex—the biggest box they have.
I’ve done this hundreds of times, so I don’t know why I’m nervous, but the uneasy feeling is prickling beneath the surface. Sabrina and Aaron went to Kenny’s to get wings and give me privacy, and the silence of my apartment only adds to my unease.
Right on cue, Dr. Andrews’s name appears on the screen as the iPad rings.
Pressing Accept, my heart sinks when the screen fills with the familiar Seattle backdrop and the muted décor of Dr. Andrews’s office.
He’s sitting at his desk, a journal balanced on his crossed legs, with a pen resting between his fingers. “Good afternoon, Anastasia. How are you feeling today?”
Homesickis the word on the tip of my tongue. For the first time since I left for college, I wish I was back in Washington.
I’ve seen Seattle in movies or shows countless times, and I’ve never been affected. Seeing it through a window I looked through for close to ten years makes me want to hop on the next flight out of LAX.
Wiping my sweating palms against my pants, I smile into the camera. “I’m good, thank you.”
“Are you sure that’s the answer you want me to write down?”
Dr. Andrews is in his early forties now, but he was fresh from collecting his PhD when I first became his patient. He hasn’t aged; his face has the same soft lines around his eyes, and his hair has always been the same light brown with flecks of gray.
Med schools grayshe called them when I asked what they were, probably very rudely, when I was around nine. In a way, I think him defying the signs of time is a comfort to me. That feels like something I should address with him at some point.