Page 106 of Gilded Fake

“No, she’s not,” he says, giving me a funny look. “She wasn’t then, and she isn’t now. I haven’t talked to her since she was in the hospital, when I went to apologize for everything I did and get the ring back and put it all behind me.”

Guilt twists inside me, and I stare down at my fingers in the grass at the edge of the blanket. “I didn’t mean it, Colt. It was like I lost my mind when I thought I’d lost you. I don’t know what happened.”

“What happened is you endured years of trauma, followed by your brother dying, your family kicking you out, and the entire school turning on you and bullying you, led by Dixie. You snapped. That’s what they said in court.”

“You were there?” I ask, raising my eyes to his, halfway hopeful and halfway mortified.

“A few days,” Colt admits. “Until I checked myself in here.”

I grimace at the thought of what everyone in Faulkner is saying about me. They treated me like a murderer even though I didn’t hit her hard enough to break a single bone. She sustained a lot of bruising, including bone bruises, and had a mild concussion from her head slamming down on the hood of my car. I saw the headlines: “Cheerleader from Hell,” and “God Save the Prom Queen” and others graced the front page for weeks.

Of course Dixie milked it for all it was worth, posting all over social media that I tried to kill her, sensationalizing her victimhood and my evil intent. Among all the scandals that rocked Faulkner this year, it was close to the top. But people got bored after a month or so, since I couldn’t respond or fight back. Still, she grew her platform, vilified me, and made the news, which must have made her happier than she’s ever been. I assumed Colt was part of that.

“She said you got back together,” I whisper, my heart opening like a chasm. “She had a picture of you in bed with her.”

“We were together for three years,” Colt says. “She has lots of pictures of us in bed together. Doesn’t mean we were together then. Or now.”

“Wait… So… I ran over her for nothing?” I ask, swiping at my tears.

“Well, I wouldn’t say it was for nothing,” he says, cracking a grin. “It sent a pretty clear message not to mess with what’s yours.”

I swallow so hard I can’t speak.

“I mean, not a single girl flirted with me at graduation,” he says, looking wounded. “Not even Dixie.”

“But… She said she got me fired and kicked out of Yale. Do you think it was all a lie?”

“I’m sure it was.”

“Damn,” I say, sniffing up my tears and sitting back on one hand like he is. “I guess she really is smarter than me. She got me to do the dirty work for her. And I stepped right into her trap and self-destructed without her having to lift a finger.”

“I don’t think she anticipated you hitting her with your car,” he says. “She’s not that self-sacrificing. She would have waited until I got there and pushed me in front of the car if she knew you were going to go full psycho.”

“Hey,” I protest. “Too soon.”

He shrugs and shoots me a grin. “If you can’t laugh at yourself, someone else will.”

“That’s for sure,” I mutter. “You think I really got fired?”

“I don’t know,” he says. “But I’m not sure there’s a big market for strippers here.”

I roll my eyes. “Seriously, though. Scarlet testified at my trial as a character witness. She must not hate me too much.”

“She doesn’t hate you,” Colt assures me. “In fact, she said she’d come visit if you were up for it.”

“Okay,” I say, tugging at the grass. “It’s not like I have family coming on visiting days. I might as well.”

“I’ll tell her.”

“So, if Dixie was lying about all of it… You think Yale would still be interested in a chick who ran over another girl for stealing her man?” I ask, wiggling my toes. “I mean, I’m pretty much the white trash poster child at this point. Maybe I could write an essay about it.”

“I don’t know about Yale, but I’m interested in her,” he says, leaning his shoulder against mine and smiling down at me.

“Colt…” I look away, my pulse fluttering in my throat.

“I know,” he says. “We both have a lot of work to do on ourselves. But I’m going to do it, Lo. I want to be the man you deserve.”

“I don’t deserve you,” I point out.

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