Page 22 of You Belong With Me

“Yeah,” he says, slapping my shoulder again. It’s the equivalent of a bro hug. “I get it, dude. I do. And I guess this means you’re off the hook for his murder.”

I shrug a shoulder. “Sure, yeah. I guess so. I haven’t even talked to my lawyer yet, but seeing as how Gabrielisn’tdead…”

Roman moves toward the door. “You want to ride over together?”

“Nah,” I say. “You go ahead. I have some shit I need to take care of. I’ll head over in a minute.”

As soon as the guys are gone, I head upstairs to my bedroom. I need to take a shower and get my head back in the fucking game. And somehow, I need to purge myself of Wyn Barker…

CHAPTER TEN

Wyn

I’mrelieved when Gabriel doesn’t contact me for the rest of the night. I’m sure he’s busy being celebrated—which is great, but if I’m being honest, I’m just happy to have a second to process what happened today.

Lux called to check in on me, and so did Alexis. I assured both of them that I’m okay. But the truth is, I’m far from okay—and selfishly, it has very little to do with Gabriel. Something is happening between Lucas and me, and that’s all I can think about. He’s a contradiction of emotions that confuses the fuck out of me. One minute, he’s clawing at me, desperate to fuck, and the next, he’s beating the shit out of my poor wall. What the fuck am I supposed to make of that?

Pulling sweats and a sweatshirt out of my dresser, I shake my head. I shouldn’t give a fuck about Lucas. The things he’s done are unforgivable—stalking me, breaking in, fucking me under the cover of darkness, drugging me, forcing me to be his consort…the list just goes on and on. If the word “toxic” ever took human form, it would look exactly like Lucas West.

Andyet…

“Ugh!” I don’t even allow myself to finish that thought. “Lucas West isnotgood for you, Wyn. Fuck his pretty face and his parade of narcissistic red flags.Fuck.Him.”

To aid in my brand-new resolve tonotthink about Lucas, I take a CBD gummy before bed. It takes about thirty minutes to kick in, and the second it does, I drift off watching an old Dateline episode.

When I wake up, it’s mid-morning—I can tell by the way the sun filters in through the windows.Shit.I sit up abruptly and grab my phone. I must have forgotten to set my alarm.

I have three missed calls from Gabriel and one text.

Morning, Pretty Thing. Had a late night at Mom’s. Pick you up later for the thing at Rush House?

Thethingat Rush House…? I blink and try to remember. Finally, it comes to me. He’s referring to the welcome-back party that Lux told me about.

I don’t text him back immediately, because I’m not ready to deal with him just yet. Instead, I get up and get the coffee started, then head to the bathroom to do my morning stuff. As I pull my medicine cabinet open, I spot a razor blade sitting on one of the glass shelves.

Without even really thinking, I pick it up and clean it with alcohol, then pull my sweater sleeve up, and pull the sharp blade across my inner arm, just below my elbow. The sting is intensified by the alcohol, and I suck in a quick, relieved breath. All the tension immediately drains from my body, and I tilt my head back as the warmth of pain washes over me.

Suddenly, there’s a knock on my door. Actually, knock is being polite. Someone is pounding on my door.

Reluctantly, I put the blade back in the cabinet, put a small bandage over the new cut, smooth my sweatshirt sleeve down, and then walk over to the door. I squint into the peephole. Could it be Lucas? He still has my key, and something tells me if he wanted to come in, he’d just use that. He wouldn’t fuck around with knocking.

“Wyn, open up.”

It’s Gabriel.

Sliding the chain lock off, I open the door. I don’t even have it fully open before Gabriel pushes past me. He walks into the middle of my studio and then turns on me.

“Why the fuck haven’t you been answering your phone?” His tone is more than angry. He’s furious.

I shut my door and blink at him. “I was sleeping.”

He glances around and notices my steaming cup of coffee on the kitchen counter. Then he looks back at me. “Oh, really? You could make coffee, but you couldn’t fucking text me, Wyn? It takestwoseconds.”

Holy shit. I don’t know if I’m awake enough for this.

“I’m…sorry,” I say, walking over to my coffeemaker. I pour myself a cup, and it smells heavenly. And it’s the expensive stuff that I got from Rush House the other day, so after pouring in my creamer, I savor that first, blissful sip.

“Are you, though?” he says, taking a menacing step toward me. “You know, you‘re not evenactinglike you’re happy I’m back. Everyone else is celebrating me, and you…” He motions to me. “...you can’t even fucking text me back. What does that say?”

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