Page 34 of Phantom
My jaw drops. “Excuse me?”
His hands shoot up as if he’s innocent and didn’t just gaslight the shit out of me. “I’m just asking. I’m worried about you. You seemed happy a few minutes ago and all of a sudden you look pissed, like your bipolar meds aren’t working.”
Shock, embarrassment, concern, and anger run through me like a dissonant chord and I’m not sure which note to listen to, which emotion sounds and feels right for this situation.
“What you’re describingisn’tbipolar disorder, just what everyone thinks it is. Not that it’s your business, but Ididtake my meds.”
Just not the right ones last night.
Reality begins to shift on me again as I try to catch the truth in all the windy chaos in my mind. IknowI took medication last night that would stave off an episode. IknowI’ve been taking care of myself. And yet, Rand has the audacity to look at me like I don’t know what I’m talking about.
“Listen, if anyone should know about what’s going on insidemyhead, it’s me, okay?”
He shrugs, obviously not believing me. “Okay. If you say so.”
“I do. Say so, that is,” I add awkwardly. There’s a moment of silence for the death of mediocre conversation and I end it by dumping the remaining powdered sugar into my chicory coffee.
“Scarlett,” he admonishes. “That’ssobad for you.”
“What can I say? I like a little chicory in my sugar,” I joke as I stand up and collect my bag.
“Hey, where are you going?”
“Home. Thank you for the beignets. They hit the spot. I’ve got rehearsal tonight and I really should practice.”
And now I need to go before I smack you, I finish in my head.
“Wait, I’ll drive you—”
“It’s only a couple of blocks,” I insist with a wave of my hand. “I need the exercise… especially after all these calories.” I pat my stomach for emphasis with my sarcastic response.
He frowns and wraps his hand around my arm, stopping me. “I think you’re getting the wrong impression. I didn’t mean to offend you. I’m just worried about you. I’ve always cared about you. You know that. It’s why I paid for your room and board at Bordeaux.”
“What?” My stomach drops. “Youdid that? I thought I won that scholarship—”
His smile is warm as he reaches for my hand. “That was me, Lettie. I sponsored it after your dad died so you could still attend. And now I’m making sure you’re taking care of yourself during your schooling.”
“I… I had no idea.”
Confusion and questions cloud my mind, but guilt that I’ve been harsh with him creeps in. It’s almost unbelievable, but the more I think about it, the more it makes sense.
Jaime had found out about the scholarship and suggested I fill it out, but I’d been depressed and half-assed the form. When the school reached out to tell me that I’d won, I’d been surprised as hell. Getting to live in a dorm and keep going to school was a dream come true. I’d previously been renting a classic, New Orleans-style shotgun house with my dad off campus, but I was on the verge of being homeless after he died because I couldn’t pay for tuition and housing. The scholarship covered both.
“I thought you didn’t need to know, but if telling you keeps you from seeing me as the bad guy then I’ll spill my secrets.”
His confession and concern unruffles my feathers and I relax in his grip. “You’re right. I’m sorry. Thank you so much. I guess I’ve been a little… irritable today. I do need to go, but you could walk me?” I suggest, trying to smooth things over.
Glancing down at his feet, he grimaces. “Sorry, but I’m wearing Armani. I can’t walk on Bourbon Street.”
A good-natured chuckle mixed with relief huffs from my chest. “No worries. I’ll be fine. Like I said, it’s just a couple of blocks. Bye, Rand. Thanks for the beignets.”
“Wait, is tonight’s rehearsal open to the public? Maybe I could cheer you on.”
I appreciate his support but I shake my head. “They’re closed to the public, and I think you’d make me more nervous.”
“Aw, do I make you nervous, Little Lettie?” His hand curves over my shoulder and squeezes.
Yeah, actually, now that you mention it.
