:: C H A P T E R F I F T E E N | FOR SOME REASON I CAN'T EXPLAIN ::
Thankfully, Liam didn't question all of the things I let slip tonight as he drove me over to Jules' house. He knew me well enough to know that I didn't like to be the person answering the questions, and he had the good sense to take what he got.
The silence in the car was unlike the silence that had hung between us on the drive over to Mrs. Daniels' house. It was comfortable. We didn't talk because we were content, not angry.
At first I couldn't really identify what I was feeling; it was too foreign, too strange. And then suddenly, like that difficult math concept that took ages to comprehend, it hit me.
Happiness.
It wasn't the wild kind of happiness that was unrestrained and disappeared as quickly as it appeared, but the sweet and steady kind that lasted until you couldn't remember what sadness felt like anymore.
Liam executed a pathetically crooked parallel parking job in front of Jules' house and jumped out, already coming around to open my door before I'd even unbuckled my seatbelt. He followed me up the path to the front door, and I turned around to glance at him.
"You're coming in?"
"You don't want me to." Hurt flashed across his features as he turned back to his car.
"No!" I grabbed his arm, little shocks of electricity zapping my fingers. "I do, I really do, but Jules is my best friend, and you weren't very nice the last time that you saw him."
He paused, realization dawning on him. "That's why you were angry."
"Maybe you're not so hopeless after all."
"I'm a Sinclair," he shot back. "We're never hopeless."
A giggle rose in my throat, my hand still on his arm although I didn't make a move to remove it. We were like teenagers on our first date — drunk on the sweetness of a new crush. Except for the fact that we weren't on a date. And I didn't have a crush on Liam Sinclair.
Not really knowing what I was doing (because it wasn't like I was a girl who had boys falling over her feet), I stepped closer, and his eyes widened. He hummed my name, his breath coming in ragged bursts as his free hand reached for my face, and my chest constricted when his fingertips brushed my cheeks — so unlike Skylar's bruising grip on my chin that I didn't flinch away. His eyes dropped to my—
Jules whipped open the door. Liam and I jumped apart, glancing at everything but each other. Normally I would've been happy to see my best friend, but right now I kind of sort of wanted to shove him back inside the house and kick the door closed.
"Reed?" he asked. "What are you doing here?"
"I was wondering if I could stay here tonight?"
"Of course," he said, stepping back to allow us to take our shoes off in the foyer.
"Cool painting," Liam stumbled over the rug, too busy examining the vibrant abstract painting above the shoe rack to pay attention. "Who did that?"
"My mom," Jules explained warily. "She likes to paint."
Liam nodded, humming softly as we followed Jules into the living room. Two flowered armchairs were crammed side by side in front of the television while Enna and Shar squabbled over the remote.
"Knock it off guys" Jules scowled, snatching the remote and tossing it on a side table. "We have company."
"Daddy?" asked Enna hopefully, her black corkscrew curls hanging around her flushed chubby cheeks. She was six, clumsy and cheeky, and eternally hopeful that Jules' dad would come home.
"That's not Daddy," Shar said, glancing at Liam. He was nine and looked exactly like Jules, right down to the wire glasses. I was willing to bet everything that I owned that he'd end up as St. Benedict.
Liam smiled uncomfortably, settling on the floor beside me. "Sorry."
Jules' younger siblings eyed him suspiciously. They were both dressed in their pyjamas, but it was clear that Jules had dressed them because Enna's shirt was on backwards—the tag rested in the hollow of her throat—and Shar's pants were pink and much too short. Jules had been caring for his siblings for years, but he still couldn't master the art of figuring out clothes.
"Where's your mom?"
"Working." Jules glanced at me before looking warily at Liam. He flipped through the channels until stopping on a celebrity news channel where the perky brunette reporter was standing beside a familiar tall, blond man in the station's studio. "Hey, Reed, it's Karter!"
"Karter Kane's recent purchase of a larger estate with girlfriend Helianna Adams has led us to believe that Hollywood's favourite actor might be thinking about starting a family!" she trilled, shifting so close to Karter that she was almost sitting in his lap.
"It might be in the cards." He laughed, running a hand through his hair. "I know I'd be ecstatic."
"I wonder what he'd name it." Jules flung himself onto the carpet next to me. "Celebrities suck at choosing names."
"Pumpkin." We stared at Liam. He shrugged, picking at a loose thread on the hem of his sweater. The corners of his mouth tipped up in a mischievous smile. "If it was a redhead."
"That's so mean," I scolded, reaching over to smack him on the arm.
He batted my hands away playfully. "Come on, think of a name."
"Celery."
"Who's the mean one now?"
"Cinnamon," said Jules.
"Is your kid going to be a hooker?"
"I'm open minded."
"What's a hooker?" Enna wriggled her way onto my lap.
Both Liam and Jules had deer-caught-in-headlights looks, so I tickled Enna on the bottoms of her feet until she shrieked and rolled away. "Someone who makes hooks to put clothing on."
"That sounds boring."
"It is."
"Why, Reed?" Jules asked, snickering loudly. "Do you speak from experience?"
Liam pulled a pillow over his face, giggling like a little girl. Jules grinned at the Inheritor rolling around on his floor. Evidently, the tense moment from lunch had been forgotten.
Enna pounced on his stomach, not at all shy of the stranger I'd brought to Jules. "Don't be silly. Reed doesn't make hooks. She writes stories."
Liam regarded her seriously. "What kinds of stories?"
"All kinds."
"Ooh," he waggled his eyebrows at me and leaned closer to Enna. "Does she write stories about ... boys?" he asked in a scandalized whisper.
"Okay, that's it. I'm going to go change. Is your pyjama drawer open for business, Jules?"
"Go ahead."
I hauled my bag over my shoulder and stood, avoiding the tangle of limbs on the floor. Shar was curled in one of the armchairs with his nose in a book, and I ruffled his hair on the way to the bathroom. "Stop reading, kid You'll rot your brain."
"Thanks, Reed."
"Anytime, Einstein."
I grabbed a pair of pyjama pants and a t-shirt from Jules' room before locking myself in the bathroom. It'd been a while since I'd last used the toiletries kit in the bottom of my bag, and it took a lot of tugging to get it past my books. Kian's journal flew out of my bag along with the kit, and I stared at it, my good mood vanishing.
With a sigh, I picked it up, smoothing out the pages that had been bent when it'd fallen out. My fingers caught on a bulge in the spine, and I flipped through the pages past Kian's last entry to the blank pages near the end, nearly missing the slim envelope that was jammed in the crevice between two pages. Opening the flap, I pulled the paper out. There was a sticky note with "send to Kian Daniels" written in messy, black scrawl I knew I'd seen before.
Reading the letter was just another violation of Kian's privacy, but I did it anyway.
Hello, the note said.
Thank you for contacting me, but I am not interested in meeting to discuss further arrangements.
Regards, Karter Kane
And scribbled across the journal page was a single line in Kian's hand.
Even my dad didn't want me.
***
After tucking the letter the pocket of the jacket I wore over my pyjamas. I drifted back into the living room where Jules was still flipping through the channels. He landed on an episode of Dora the Explorer that had Enna squealing with happiness and all three boys cringing in horror.
Plopping on the floor closest to Jules, I dropped my backpack by my feet and attempted to watch the irritating little kid on the screen.
But I couldn't pay attention. Karter Kane—famous movie actor and my dad's employer—was Kian's father. He'd written that cruel letter, acting like getting rid of Kian was just a task to check off his to-do list.
And then it dawned on me: my dad did everything for Karter. That meant that he had mailed the letter.
How could I have missed it?
My dad loved sticky notes; they were his way of organizing all of the things he needed to do. The memo—send to Kian Daniels—on the sticky note was his writing. Had he known what was in the letter?
Because I now knew what had sent Kian over the edge. How could it not? Rejection from a university was difficult. Rejection from a parent was unbearable.
"Did you get that polynomial question in Calc?" Jules asked at the commercial break.
Liam scooted closer to us. "Yeah, I didn't get it at all. What about you, Reed?"
"Check my notebook." I glanced down at my clenched hands. "I'm pretty sure I figured it out."
Jules reached in my bag, pulling out my books and Kian's journal in his search for my math notebook.
"You have a journal?" Liam asked, a teasing smile on his face as he flipped it open. "What are the great Reed Elliot's private thoughts?"
Jules frowned. "Hey, don't do that. That's none of your business."
Oh shit.
"Give it back, Sinclair," I demanded, panic infusing my tone as I reached for the book that would irreversibly change Liam's miraculously good opinion of me. "I don't want you reading that."
"I won't."
There was a retort on the tip of my tongue—something about how his actions spoke opposite to his words—but I couldn't provoke him into actually reading the book. I lunged, desperately grabbing for the book as I launched myself into his lap.
"Please, Liam, just give it back!"
"One sentence," he argued, his eyes softening.
"No!"
Pushing me at arms' length, he held the journal close to his face, reading and recognizing that the words weren't my own, but the most private thoughts of his best friend. Colour drained from his face, faster than water from a cup tipped upside down, his mouth pinching in barely retrained fury.
"What the fuck is this?"
"Bedtime, guys!" Jules sang, his voice cracking anxiously as he hustled his siblings out of the room. "Don't swear around them, Sinclair," he added with a final glare before disappearing.
And then we were alone.
"You said," Liam wet his lips with his tongue as his eyes met mine. I flinched at the anger in the normally calm cobalt depths. "That you had no idea what I was talking about when I asked you about his journal."
My voice trembled. "I lied."
He stood up, sending me tumbling to the floor. "How could you?" he snarled. "What were you going to do with it? Put it in the article? Let everyone see how Kian really felt?"
"No!"
"I don't believe you."
I scrambled to my feet, not glancing away from his cold, hate-filled eyes. "It wasn't for the article. It was for me!" I tangled my fingers in my hair, tugging at the ends. "Kian was more to me than just Scire's golden boy who committed suicide! I don't know why, but he was!"
Liam grabbed his coat and keys, backing towards the door while I followed him. "Bullshit. You know what you are, Elliot? You're selfish and you're scared. You won't let anyone in because it means not being in control for once. You hate risks. Hell, you couldn't even write Kian's article without crossing every single line because you're so damn afraid of failing!"
"And do you blame me?" I screamed as he stumbled over the threshold, his shoes halfway on his feet. "People like you have never given me a chance! I can't afford to fail!"
"Failing is part of life! It makes you a better person," he said, quieter this time. "But you're never going to become better because all you know how to do is stand still."
I opened my mouth and nothing came out.
"Exactly." His hands tightened on Kian's journal.
"It wasn't for the article, Liam—"
"Don't call me that, Elliot," he snarled coldly, wrenching open the car door. "And if any of Kian's journal turns up in the feature I will fucking ruin you. Understand?"
Without waiting for an answer, he drove away, and all I could do was watch as Liam Sinclair — a person who I never expected to make a place for himself in my life — walked out of it, slamming the door loudly behind him.
I heard Jules join me on the doorstep, and he draped my coat over my shoulders when I began to shiver. Whether it was from the cold or something else, I didn't know.
"You screwed up, Reed." He didn't sound angry, only disappointed, like he expected so much more from me. I expected a lot more from myself too.
"Yeah," I didn't turn around. "I did."
***