Page 63 of Where We Left Off

I’m paralysed in shock and fear for an immeasurable amount of moments before my brain starts to re-register what is happening to me.

I risk a glance at Hudson’s hand and clamp my mouth down to stifle my sob.

Nomore.No. More.

I look to the side to see if there’s something that I can smash against Hudson’s temple and my eyes instantly land on his canister deodorant. Thank God.

I grab the can and immediately spray it in the direction of his face, aiming for his eyes or his mouth but my own vision is too blurry right now to make the situation out clearly.

Hudson instantly jerks away, cursing wildly as he covers his eyes, and I raise my feet up, shoving him hard in the ribs and sending him toppling backwards. I pelt the can at his body like a shot-put and lunge off the bench, streaking around the cornerand crashing myself straight into the door. As soon as I breach the exit of the boys’ changing rooms I thunder towards the doors marking the entrance to the Gym, suddenly overwhelmed with gratitude for always running track with Kit.

I push through the entrance and almost topple over the tiny step that I’ve never really noticed before, but I manage to keep my footing and I sprint across the yard, leaving the Gym building behind me and heading directly for the now deserted car park.

A sweat that I don’t remember releasing is making the hairs around my face stick to my temples and my forehead. I swipe at it with my shaking hands and the icy air laps at the tear-streaks completely covering my cheeks. I hurtle towards the end of the emptied lot, desperate to get out of here as quickly as I can.

I should never have believed him,I think to myself.I knew that this was too good to be true.

My trust.

My faith.

My fault.

As soon as I turn the corner I crash into the solid planes of Tate’s chest.

At first he smiles down at me, a wondrous look in his eyes, but then his face quickly drops and his forehead contorts into confusion, fear, pain.

I instantly stumble backwards, refusing to become trapped in his arms, and I meet his eyes with some confusion, fear, and pain of my own.

But also rage. Mainly rage.

“River,” he says, in a hushed but urgent tone, his hands reaching for me. “What’s wrong? Baby, what happened? Where have you been?”

He’s distractedly running his eyes all over me, perhaps checking for clues that what almost just happened actuallydidhappen, so I take the opportunity to throw back my arm and smack him across the face.

His eyes widen momentarily but he takes the hit, a soft pink glow instantly spreading across his cheekbone and jaw. He meets my eyes, seeming even more desperate than before, and clasps my shoulders in both of his hands.

“Ugh!” I groan disgustedly and I shove at his chest, trying to get him off me, but he holds me firm. “Get away from me, Tate! Get your hands off me right now!”

He doesn’t take his hands off me. Instead he dips his head down to mine so that our eyes are level and he gazes at me with a worried look on his face. “What happened, baby? I’ve been waiting for you. Tell me what I need to do.”

Rifling through my bag I slap the note from my locker into the centre of his chest and he catches it in the splay of his palm so that it doesn’t fall onto the frosted concrete.

“You’ve done enough,” I spit out, and I wriggle myself free from his grasp on my shoulder.

Tate brings the paper between us so that he can look down at it and his eyebrows pinch together. His eyes don’t even run over the lines, and why should they? He wrote them. They more swirl around the page, his desperation and frustration increasing by the second, until he shoots his eyes back to me, then back to the page, and up to me again. Is he shocked that I’m calling him out? Is he experiencing some form of delayed guilt? I don’t know and, right now, I don’t care. He inhales deeply, like he has the audacity to be hurt and irritated, and he crumples up the note, tossing it to the gutter as he reaches for me again.

“If you want to say something to me, I don’t want it in a letter, I want you to say it to my face,” he says, momentarily confusing me. I can’t help the startled laugh that bursts out of me because technically I wish that that had beenmyline, but my laughterseems to anger him further. “River, please tell me what’s going on.”

“Tellyouwhat’s going on?” I shriek, my whole body quivering with shock and cold and hate. “If only you had toldmewhat was going on. That… thatshitwith Hudson? Unforgiveable,” I say and I go to move past him, absolutely done with this, but he blocks me. I slash my nails across his bicep, attempting to claw him out of the way, but he’s actually backing me into the side of the wall now.

“This has something to do with Hudson?” he asks, his tone so low that I almost don’t hear it.

“This haseverythingto do with Hudson!” I growl. “You’re a monster and I can’t believe that Itrustedyou! I shouldneverhave trusted you!” My eyes overflow as my mind suddenly fills with the image of my mom, the wants that she tried to instil into me for my whole life. I went along with her but I never trulyagreedwith her, obviously thinking that I had some deeper, more enlightened understanding of the twenty-first century than she did.Why can’t I date a handsome jock? Why do I have to pick a ‘sensible’ job?

Now I know. If I had just listened to her, this would never have happened to me.

Tate’s eyes are shimmering and I choke up a half-laugh half-sob. Did he think that I would have been okay with this? With him and Hudsonsharingme? I don’t care about whatever dumb-ass bro-code they have together, I want absolutelynothingto do with it.

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