Page 74 of Repairing the Wreckage

Mine, mine, mine.

Nothing you saw on television was real.

“Weird way of showing it.” She shrugs as if she doesn’t care one way or another.

“I tried calling and texting you as soon as I got my phone back, but you blocked my number.” That sounds weak as fuck, but I don’t want to talk about how broken my body was when I returned home. And I’m not ready to admit to stalking her on campus, either.

Her chin trembles. She wraps her arms around her middle even tighter. Like she’s doing everything she can to stop herself from coming apart.

“Molly, everything you saw was a lie. I didn’t…I’d never…” My words falter as she crumbles. “I’d never do that to you. To us. I swear.”

Twin tears glisten on her lashes, then spill, dragging inky trails down her cheeks.

“Baby, please don’t cry.” I cup her face and swipe my thumb over her cheek. “Please.” My own voice breaks.

“I can’t do this,” she whispers.

Her words are a punch in the gut.

“Molly, please,” I plead. “All I’ve wanted to do is talk to you.” I snort a humorless laugh. “Without someone listening in.”

At the mere mention of the show, Molly’s body freezes. The hurt in her eyes hardens into ice. She brushes my hand away from her face.

Wrong move, Royal.

Why’d I have to say that?

“So, did you win the whole thing?” she asks in a caustic tone I’ve never heard from Molly. “Was it worth it?”

Fuck contracts or lawsuits. Any questions she asks about the show I have to answer honestly. “No.”

“Sorry to hear that,” she says without an ounce of sympathy behind the words.

“Please talk to me. Tell me about school.”

“School’s fine.” She scoffs. “Thankfully no one’s recognized me there. Or if they did, they had the decency not to say anything.” She casts a stink-eye toward the door. “Unlike around here.”

My stomach knots. “Remy told me how bad it was. I’m sorry. I didn’t know they?—”

“I can’t.” She throws one hand up in a clear stop gesture and shrugs off my coat. “Here.”

“Wait. Molly, we still need to?—”

“No we don’t.” She shoves the coat at me and swipes the mask off the counter.

I grab the woolen bundle and tuck it under my arm. “You sure you don’t want it? It’s still cold out.”

“I’m fine.” She slips the mask over her head and adjusts the snaps in the back.

My turf or not, this was the wrong place to try to talk to her. “How long are you going to be home?”

She shrugs. “I have plans tomorrow.”

“With who? Torch?” I gesture toward the door. “What the fuck are you even doing with him?”

Her jaw tightens but she won’t even look at me. “None of your business.”

Her denial’s a match to my own temper. This isn’t how I saw tonight going. At all. I know she’s pissed but she won’t even let me explain?

---