Page 149 of Fearless

Thirty-Three

Ronnie’s apartment was part of a new-construction block not a quarter mile from the school, the facades fresh brick, the balcony railings iron, the front gates manned by a surly security guard who made her wait while he buzzed Ronnie’s unit and confirmed that she was in fact his girlfriend.

Whatever that meant after she’d promised to spend the night with someone else.

There was an empty space beside his Lexus in the parking lot, and she walked up the brick-enclosed outdoor stairwell with a guilty, thumping pulse. This wasn’t her; she wasn’t the girl who played two men at the same time. But she couldn’t bring herself to see it that way: Mercy didn’t count; Mercy wasn’t cheating; Mercy was a given. Ronnie would never understand that.

Ronnie had to go.

She took a deep breath and let it out slowly through her teeth as she knocked.

It took him a minute to answer, and when he did, he was dressed for the day: plaid oxford, Dockers, loafers, dark hair combed down and to the side. He had his phone in his hand – that damn phone again – and his brows went up, like he was surprised to see her.

“Ava. Don’t you start class this morning?”

“I’m on my way there now.” She had the impression he didn’t want to deal with her now; he seemed distracted, his gaze not quite landing on her. “I wanted to check in with you. You didn’t answer my calls yesterday afternoon.”

That brought his eyes to her. “I was busy. I was moving my stuff in.” An accusation there:you should have been here helping me.

“Right. Still…I left you several messages.”

“Ava,” he sighed, “I applied to UT’s grad program because that’s where you were going. I rented an apartment here, I’m interviewing for jobs here, because of you. I amherebecause of you. And it’s more than obvious you don’t want me here.”

“No, Ronnie–”

He pulled a disgusted face. “Stop denying it. You got back home with your biker people and you don’t want anything else to do with me.”

“My biker people?” she asked, bristling.

“I’m sorry – Biker Americans. Is that the PC way to put it?”

“You’re being an ass.”

“Well, it’s about time, apparently.” He was really getting worked up now, his cellphone-free hand braced on the doorjamb, his breath picking up. “Maybe that would turn you on for once, huh? If I was some psycho asshole.”

She took a step back, arms folding across her chest. “Stop it.”

“No, you stop it,” he bit back. “I’m sick of this bullshit, you giving me the brush-off and getting embarrassingly tipsy in bars over someone so much older than you he ought to be in jail right now.”

Ava took another step back, hand curling tight around the strap of her purse.

“You need to tell me, before I spend four months here waiting around to start school, if you have any intention of turning back into the Ava I met at UGA. Because if this is what I’m stuck with” – he gestured to her – “then I’m out of here. I deserve better than this.”

She hadn’t expected it to sting so hard. She was in the wrong, yes, but she hadn’t thought he’d pull out all the old rich-boy tricks: she was some biker slut, she wasn’t good enough, there was something wrong with her, she ought to be ashamed.

“You’re right,” she said, voice brittle. “You deserve way better. You deserve a girl who’ll abandon everything she’s ever loved and be exactly the girl you want her to be.”

She whirled around and put her back to him, marching down the stairwell the way she’d come, her heels striking the concrete like hammer blows.

“Ava, wait–”

“Goodbye, Ronnie,” she called without turning. “Don’t let me waste one more second of your precious time.”

Her hands were shaking as she climbed into her truck and wrapped them around the steering wheel.

“Tell me I’m not stupid,” she whispered to herself.

But she thought about Mercy’s voice over the phone last night – “Come spend the night with me tomorrow” – and knew she was.

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