Page 5 of Brazen Criminals

Seriously? I couldn’t be quieter if I tried.Keep your chill, Clara. Follow the script.“I’m sorry, was I being loud? I didn’t mean to be.”

He hauls himself off the couch, tugging the clothes out of my arms and marching to the bedroom. “I’ll do it. At least I’m not impersonating an elephant.”

Barely holding my tongue, I follow him as he jams my clothes into the closet. Turning, he freezes. “Clara, did you move my stuff?”

“Your decorations were crooked. I know you like things a particular way, so I straightened them.”

He picks up the picture of Lake Superior, running his fingers along the frame. “Did you break anything? Did anything fall off?”

“No. Bryce, why are you being so weird?”

He locks eyes with me, fury in his gaze, crowding me against the bed. “Do not, ever, touch my stuff. Do you understand?”

I know this look. This is where I’m supposed to apologize. This is the point where I weep and ask for his forgiveness.

But I’ve done nothing wrong. Since he picked me up, I’ve loaded all my stuff into his car solo, skipped breakfast, carried my boxes upstairs, cleaned the kitchen, tidied the bedroom, and started unpacking. And I’ve been doing it alone and in near silence. So I what, scooted his picture frame three inches to the right? He has no right to be so angry.

Bryce takes a step, looming over me, waiting for me to go through the usual motions.

But I’m too hungry to apologize. He’s making a big deal over nothing. And I’ve been letting him get away with dumb shit all morning. I’m over it.

He waits for me to cry. I don’t.

“I need your promise,” he says.

I shrug, struggling to keep my emotions from coloring my words. “So, what? Now I can’t sit on your couch? Sleep in your bed?”

Yup. Failed on that one.

Bryce crosses his arms over his chest, his blue eyes ice. “Real mature, Clara.” He shakes his head, stepping around me to the door. “You know what? I don’t think this is going to work.”

“How so?” I ask, trailing him.

“If you’re not going to respect my things, you obviously don’t respect me.”

“W-what?” I stammer.

He stands in the doorway to the bedroom—to our bedroom. “If you can’t promise to leave my things alone, then this isn’t going to work. You’ll need to find somewhere else to stay.” His disappointment hangs heavy over the room before he disappears into the bathroom, the door clicking shut behind him.

What the fuck just happened?

I pace to the kitchen, trying to catch my breath.

Did Bryce just kick me out? Because I touched a photo of a freaking lake?

Yeah. I think he did.

He just kicked me out for moving his stupid knickknacks.

Oh my God, what am I going to do? Class starts in three days, and I’m officially homeless. Shit shit shit.

My heart pounds in my ears, but I dig into my purse, ignoring the rising beat of my panic. Because I’m not going to panic. Not yet. I can panic once I’ve fixed this. My phone in my hand, I click my brain into problem-solving mode and force a deep breath. Problem solving. I’ve got this.

So, what are my parameters? No car, so I need to be on a bus line that goes past the coffee shop. I can’t move in with Emma because my bestie is on the St. Paul campus, while all my classes and work are on the Minneapolis campus. And I have barely any money. I was counting on sharing expenses with Bryce.

And…here comes the panic. Shit shit shit.

I scrape any sites I can think of for a last-minute sublet. I don’t want to live with strangers, but what other choice do I have? Holding my breath, I pray for a miracle. I fucking need some luck.

---