Page 145 of Come Break My Heart Again

I slap him, the stinging in my palm as shocking to me as it is to Archer. I’m not a violent person. But I’m not me right now. I’m witnessing this scene take place like an outside observer, surrounded by a haziness as to what’s happening. It’s like I’m trapped in a nightmare and can’t wake up.

Archer glares at me as he rubs the red spot on his cheek.

“You know why he hit you,” I hiss. “And you called the cops?”

“I didn’t call the cops! I threatened to, yeah. But I didn’t.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“I don’t give a shit what you believe,” Archer snaps. “That psychopath is wearing off on you.”

“That psychopathwasn’t the one who held me down on a bed.”

His face goes pale beneath the remnants of his summer tan. “That wasn’t?—”

“Wasn’t what?” I shove him for a third time.

Archer’s expecting it. He barely moves, and it makes me madder. Reminds me of when I could barely move.

“Whatever you did, I willneverforgive you.”

“Miss Clarke!”

There aren’t just students in the hallway anymore. I step away from Archer, registering some of my surroundings again.

Shocked faces.Somany shocked faces.

Students. Teachers. Principal Walker, who I was supposed to meet with after school about the Spirit Week schedule.

“My office, Elle,” he tells me, his expression more serious than I’ve ever seen it.

I swallow, then follow him that way. My gaze falls to the floor, not meeting any of the eyes I can feel on me.

I should be panicked about what’s about to happen. Me, who’s never gotten a tardy or a detention, getting sent to the principal’s office for attacking another student. I can’t imagine what my friends will say. What myparentswill say.

Ishouldbe panicked about what’s about to happen.

But all I can think about is Ryder. Pray that Keira was wrong and Archer wasn’t lying.

29

Along, low whistle makes me turn around. I toss an old cabinet that got torn out of the kitchen yesterday onto the junk pile, then walk toward the front path that was redone two days ago.

“This is the place, huh?”

“This is the place,” I reply.

“It’s nice, man. Really nice.”

“It still needs a lot of work.”

“I mean, duh.” Cormac toes the pile of mulch waiting to be spread in the flower beds.

The debris that littered the lawn is almost gone, the weeds removed and the grass neatly mowed. It’s starting to match the exterior of the house, which was freshly painted.

“You wanna tour?” I ask.

“Sure, yeah. That’d be cool.”

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