Page 51 of Our Ruined Beginnings

“I lost everything too.” I sigh, brushing away the tears that continue to spill over my lashes. “But I thought I’d always have him, no matter what. And he doesn’t want to give me that.”

“Then be mad at him, Harper. Be furious. But don’t stop fighting,” she says, and I flick my gaze to her. She smiles, though it’s sad and distorted. “And I’ll fight with you. I have a mind to smack that boy up the side of his head for making you cry like this. But don’t walk away if there’s a chance for you both. You’ve already lost so much; that should only give you more reason to hold onto the things you still have, don’t you think?”

“Normally, I’d agree with you … but now, I’m not so sure.”

“Then let me show you what it’s worth.” She stands smoothly, leaving the room for a minute before she returns with a wrapped package. “This is for you. A few months late, but it’s yours.”

I take it from her carefully, noting the elegant script on the tag that reads my name andHappy Graduation. The tears are a slow but steady stream as I look back at her.

“I—” She holds her hand up gently.

“Please, open it.”

I do, easing the bow off and unwrapping the paper gently. When I see the front cover of a photo album like the many this family owns, but with the titleHarper and Madden, it almost breaks me. When I open it up to see photographs of us both—only us—from when we were toothy eight- and nine-year-olds, I can’t stop the sobs, even if I try. Snapshots of our lives bombard me with memories as I see the proof of our friendship. Physical images of what I’ve wondered if I imagined the past couple of months. School parties, family events, birthdays, Christmases, all with the two of us center stage and ever changing. The last page holds a smaller version of the photo that currently hangs on their wall. My tears don’t feel weak; they feel cathartic. I’m grieving for these two people in this photo, back when they were so innocent.

“Don’t walk away from something like this,” Mrs. Taylor says softly.

But Madden already has.

Campus is bustling when I make it back. I scramble to drop my bags off at my dorm, pulling the cash Madden left behind out and shoving the notes in my back pocket. They burn a hole through the denim, reigniting my anger with each step I take from the building as I make my way into the busy commons and stomp toward where I know he’ll be.

Taunts and teases echo behind me, but for once, their words roll off my back.

The moment I spot him, I steel myself, strengthening my resolve.Don’t stop fighting.Mrs. Taylor was right. I’d all but given up before the holidays, ready to tuck my tail and accept whatever scraps he could offer me, but not anymore. I’m done being his punching bag. Madden can either accept things as they are or get the fuck out of my way, because I’m over it.

Chapter Twenty

Madden

“Howwasyourbreak?”Bethany asks as she sidles up to me. “I texted you a bunch.”

“I know, I saw,” I retort, not offering her excuses. I don’t care enough to. Bethany and I have never been anything, and for some reason, she can’t wrap her head around it. She seems to think annoying the fuck out of me is the way into my pants and my life.

“You could have replied, silly.” She laughs bristly, her fingers curling into my white tee as she leans in closer. I take a step back, but it does nothing to deter her.

Bethany says something further, but her words are cut off by the slam of a locker and a mumbledincomingfrom Evan.

My eyes snap to the sound of the intrusion, my jaw tensing when I take in the sight of Harper standing before me. Her hands are balled into fists, her eyes are alight with anger as she opens her mouth.

“What thefuckis wrong with you?” she yells, and I can’t ignore the fact that the last time I saw her, she was sleeping soundly in my shirt in my bed, but I damn well try.

Leaning my back against the cool metal, I fold my arms over my chest and force a smirk onto my lips. “I’m gonna need you to narrow your question down.”

“You think this is funny?” She slaps her hand against my chest, and a wash of green notes float to the floor, surrounding my feet. I narrow my eyes, ignoring the sinking feeling in my stomach. “Or are you just trying to belittle me one more time? Show me how fucking stupid I was to let my loneliness overwhelm my sense of self-preservation? What’s the next thing, you going to make out I’m some kind of prostitute?” Her voice cracks.

Despite the anger rolling off her in waves, her eyes grow glassy. For some reason, I hadn’t considered leaving her money would hurt her, and my own regret sits heavily on me, though I refuse to show it. My thoughts and emotions feel like they’re on a rollercoaster, and I can’t focus on where I’m landing right now, so I do what I always do—make the situation worse by relying on my anger to get me through.

I grab the notes left in her palm but one, leaving it sitting there alone. “That seems a bit more reasonable.”

The watching audience laughs, but I don’t see their gleeful faces. I see the way Harper’s chest restricts as the breath goes out of her like she’s been punched. I see the fight go from her eyes and disappointment take its place. I see the way she throws the last note against my chest and turns to run.

Anger fills me, but it’s for myself. Or maybe it’s still for her, or the sheer unfairness of life.

Either way, it’s there, and when my teammate grabs Harper before she can storm away, pushing her against the wall and making a crude remark about paying her for “services,” I lose the fucking plot.

Shoving people out of my way, I yank him back by the collar, and as he turns in surprise, I throw a fist straight at his nose. It gives a satisfying crack, but it does nothing to calm my rage. If anything, the more I hurt him with blows to his face, the more hurt I want to inflict.

I’ve never considered myself a violent person, even though my temper is known, but as my fist continues to work at his gut, I can’t help but feel some of the tension leak out of me and pour into the poor bugger who thought it appropriate to touch what’s mine.

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