Page 93

CHAPTER

SIXTY-EIGHT

REMI

It’s my first time seeing Sloane since it all went down, at a little table beneath a copse of trees in the cemetery.

I’ve been going to class, but I’ve stayed at Cortland’s. She’s been at Asa’s, and I finally met him a few minutes ago before he had to duck inside for class.

He’s nice. Kind of quiet and brooding. But polite all the same.

“Nice boys can do bad things.” Van’s words in my head, but I push them aside. It’s true. All boys—people—can do bad things.

We’ve all got it inside of us. Good, bad. The pendulum usually stops swinging somewhere in between. And sometimes, it gets all fucking scrambled and no one really knows which is what anymore.

That’s when we have to figure it out for ourselves. Decide what we can live with, and what we can’t.

Sloane pulls from her straw, furrowing her brow as she looks down at the table. But finally, as if she’s come to some sort of conclusion, she nods. Her eyes travel from my three-quarter length sleeves, to my hair in braids, then she meets my gaze.

“I’ll accept it,” she says with a small smile and I laugh, shaking my head. “Under one condition.”

I arch a brow. “Oh yeah, what’s that?”

Her smile falters, and she leans in close to me, setting down her cup, her fingers flexing around the plastic.

“You tell me, if it ever gets too much.” Her eyes dart to my arms. I haven’t wanted to cut myself since that night before she walked into the dorm.

Just over a month ago. “If he ever pushes too far…” She holds my gaze.

“You tell me. Healing isn’t linear, and sometimes you might need space. ”

I nod, feeling my throat grow raw as she reaches a hand out to hold mine, squeezing me with cold fingers.

“I’ll be here when you do. When you don’t. You’re my best friend, Remi, and he’s not gonna change that.”

I grip her hand tighter, swallowing down the lump in my throat as I stare at my best friend. There from the beginning. When I went to her house after she got back from the coast, and she cried with me while I told her what happened.

She was there when the charges were dismissed, with open arms.

There in my dorm when I woke up from my nightmares.

And she’s here now, when my nightmare somehow morphed into my wildest dreams.

“Thank you, Slo,” I say quietly, squeezing her hand a little tighter. “I love you.”

“I love you too, pretty baby,” she mocks Cortland’s nickname, and I crack up, pulling my hand from hers and blushing hard.

That’s what best friends are for. Make you cry, then laugh, a bruise and a bandaid all in one.

Just like Cortland.