Page 70 of How to Walk Away

I looked up at Ian. He was motionless with suppressed tension. I knew in an instant my dad had been right, that the acoustics between my room and the hallway went both ways. I could hear them out there perfectly—and they could hear me just as well in here.

Ian had just witnessed this whole, humiliating, life-crushing conversation. Enough of it, anyway.

“Can I do anything for you?” Ian asked me then, his voice as tender as I’d ever heard it. “Get you a glass of water? Beat the crap out of this wanker?”

I gave a microscopic smile, but Ian caught it.

I shook my head.

“Can we finish our conversation, please?” Chip asked, though I couldn’t tell if he was asking me or Ian.

“Maggie?” Ian said, never shifting his gaze from mine. “Is this a conversation you’d like to continue?”

I shook my head again. “I think we’re done.”

“That’s it, prick. Beat it.”

But Chip wasn’t ready to go. “Margaret—”

In a flash, Ian was right up next to him, looming a good six inches above. “You heard her. Get out.”

Chip put his hands up and backed away. “Okay.” He took several stepsback, without turning, seeming to consider his options, and then, because he really didn’t have any, he turned to leave.

Just as he did, I called, “Chip! Wait!”

He turned back, and I pulled off his grandmother’s engagement ring and threw it at him with all the force I could muster.

He ducked, and I missed.

The ring bounced off the wall and then skittered under the empty bed next to mine—so Chip had to get down on his hands and knees to crawl after it. It was just enough humiliation to give me a twinge of satisfaction.

But only a twinge.

***

AS SOON AShe was gone, the fog closed back in.

It was like suffocating in plain air.

I started panting, but in deep, swooping breaths, pushing them out and then sucking them back in. For a second, I couldn’t see. The room didn’t go black—it went white. It blurred out of focus until there was nothing.

Except Ian’s voice. Ian was still there. “Slow it down,” he said, near my ear. “Take it slow. Count to four going out. That’s it. Now four going in. Good.”

As my breathing slowed, the world came back, and I felt Ian’s hand on my forehead, stroking my hair. I opened my eyes, and there was his face, just a few inches away.

“You’re all right,” he said. “You’re okay.”

“Ian,” I said next, when it felt safe to speak. “I need you to do me a favor.”

“Anything,” he said. “Of course.”

“I really, really need you,” I said, “to get me the hell out of here.”

Sixteen

IAN STOOD UPand evaluated me for a minute. Then he reached over to pull back my covers.

“Right,” he said. “Scoot to the edge of the bed.”

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