Page 94 of Palm South University: Season 2

“I’m with Grayson.”

She says those three words like they won’t puncture my lungs, stealing my breath. “Let me take you to formal. Please. Give me . . . I don’t know, give me one night.”

“One night for what?” She stands straighter, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Didn’t you hear me? I’m with Grayson.He’staking me to formal.”

I wince, inching toward her. She’s basically telling me to eat shit and die but I can’t let it go. Grabbing the crook of her elbow, I force her to look at me, hoping my eyes will be able to say what my words can’t. “Shit, Cassie. Did it mean nothing to you? Was this all one-sided?”

She chews the inside of her cheek and I can see her debating whether she should tell me the truth or not. I already know it meant something to her, too, but I need to hear it. I don’t want the lies between us anymore, the secrets, the hidden thoughts. I want it all on the table. I want her exposed.

“It doesn’t matter. You just broke up with Skyler because you knew you were going to get president. You weren’t going to have time for her, so what makes you think you’ll have time for me?”

I open my mouth to respond, but snap it shut again. I don’t have an answer for that. And as I’m trying my damndest to find one, someone rounds the corner into the kitchen.

“Where’s my beautiful redhead?”

I drop Cassie’s arm and grab my glass, quickly lifting it to my lips and keeping my eyes on her as she gazes behind me at Grayson. For a moment she just stares at him, but then slowly, she forces a smile. “Hi. I didn’t know you were coming over.”

“Clearly,” he snaps and I grit my teeth. This isn’t good. “Brooks.” He says my name as a greeting and a threat all at the same time.

Turning in place, I tilt my glass toward him and take another drink. I don’t feel like pretending to give a shit that he’s here.

He runs a hand over his beard and looks to Cassie once more. “Can we talk?”

She nods, eyes flicking to me quickly before following him out of the kitchen. I think this is where I’m supposed to leave. Or apologize. Or do anything but what I’m actually doing, which is leaning up against the kitchen counter, straining my ears to hear their conversation in the next room.

It’s all muffled voices, but every now and then Grayson’s voice will boom out loud enough for me to hear. Mostly, when he’s saying my name.

This isn’t good.

Sighing, I dump the remains of my glass down the drain and flatten my palms on the counter, eyes closed. She wants him. She doesn’t want me. Do I even have a right to be upset about that? I’ve been with Skyler all this time, not realizing that I wanted Cassie, too. Or did I realize it and just ignore it? I’m not sure. It’s not fair for me to ask her for anything now, not when she’s right about my time. And even if I did have the time, do I deserve hers?

“Can you even deny it?! Look me in the eyes right now and tell me you feel nothing for him.” Grayson’s voice echoes into the kitchen and I’m sure I’m not the only one in the house who hears him. I strain my ears for her answer, but hear nothing until the front door slams.

Shit.

After a moment, Cassie shuffles back into the kitchen, the skin under her eyes red and puffy. Seeing her like that breaks me.

“Cassie,” I breathe her name, crossing the room in two full strides to pull her into me. But the moment my hands find her waist, she shrugs away like I’m a flame set to burn her. She crosses her arms tight over her middle, shielding herself from me—the threat, the danger, the problem.

“You need to go.”

My chest deflates. “Just—”

“Adam.” She cuts me off, her voice loud but laced with uncertainty. “You need togo.”

Everything in me screams for me not to leave, to force her to talk to me, but I’ve pushed her enough this semester. I didn’t realize the pain I was putting her through, and now that it’s all come to the surface, it’s all I can do to not kick my own ass. I may want to hold her right now, but it’s not what she wants. It’s time to let me be the one who hurts if it means she gets what she needs.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, as if it’s enough, as if I really know what I’m apologizing for. Am I sorry I kissed her? Hell no. Am I sorry she’s hurt right now? That I’m part of the reason? An ache in my chest answers that question for me.

I pause when my hand is on the back doorknob, words still left unsaid, but I push them back down and force myself forward through the door.

It’s not the first time I’ve left her without saying everything I wanted to, but it’s the first time I’ve worried I may never get the chance again.