Page 18 of Fallen Stars

I hate this for me, for her, for the people we care about and who care about us. Sure, I could walk away and move into my own place. Hell, Oliver or Tymber would happily offer me aplace to stay. But running away won’t solve the problem; only exacerbate it.

I stay because it is the only way to consistently express myself, not that my father hears a word I say. I stay because no one should be bullied into something they don’t want or need in their life. I stay because, dammit, I have a say in how my life goes.

And Jefferson Thornhill-West does not own me.

He wants to shove Abigail Calhoun down my throat? Fine. I’ll give him what he wants but on my terms.

My eyes meet hers.

On our terms.

“Want to get our parents off our backs?”

Her whole face brightens. “Yes.”

I glance over to the door to make sure we are alone. “What if we make our parents believe we’re dating, but we’re not?”

“You want to… fake date?” Her forehead wrinkles with confusion.

“I don’twantto, but it’ll shut them up.” How blissful the silence will be. “We carry on as we have been. Live our own lives. Go out for the occasional dinner to keep up appearances. But other than that, we do whatever the hell we want. You go out with whoever you’re dating. I’ll do my thing. We can coordinate in texts when our parents think we’re together, but we’re not.”

Abigail bounces in place. “This is brilliant.”

I shrug. “Beats being forced to have awkward dinners with our families.”

“We’re fake dating?”

“Yep.”

She squeals. “I can’t wait to tell Desmond.”

“As long as he won’t tell anyone else…”

“He won’t.”

I take my phone out of my pocket, unlock it, open a new contact, and hand her my phone. “Add your info and I’ll shoot you a text.”

After she keys in her name and number, she returns my phone. We move farther into the garden and talk logistics for a bit. Once we are both on the same page with the major details, we head back to the house.

We tell our parents we decided to give this a shot, and both families are overjoyed.

A half hour later, I drop to my knees in front of the toilet and lose my dinner.

FOUR

OLIVER

Doyou ever feel like the rest of the world is moving forward while you’re stuck in a perpetual cycle of the unknown?

Oblivious to my surroundings, I stare down at the server kiosk with an unfocused gaze. My breaths come in quick, shallow bursts as a light sheen of perspiration blankets my skin. Everything is foggy—the restaurant, the people, my thoughts.

I’ve cashed out customer’s orders countless times over the years. I could probably do it with my eyes closed. Yet my hand is immobile above the screen. My fingers twitch every other breath but otherwise remain motionless. As though I’m broken.

In a way, I am broken.

If anyone is to blame for my malfunctioning brain, it is one-hundred-percent me. Because no matter how much time passes or how many times I attempt to drill reality into my head, I never see the truth for what it is.

Levi West is not mine.

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