Page 104 of Tell Me When It's Over

Nothing else could get to us.

In that moment, I realize something soul crushing.

Maybe I’m not so different than Mom after all.

And when I wake up in the morning, he’s already gone, the sheets on his side of the bed cold.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Leighton / Age 16

If there’s one thing I’ve learned while living with Mom over the years, it’s that good things never last. Considering those “good” moments were rare before walking into the Bishop home, I hold onto each one tightly. Like meeting Ms. Wynona and listening to the tales she told, or Anna’s friendship before I’d let it crumble after being dragged to California.

In the almost five years of adjusting and adapting to the fast-paced world the Bishops live in, not a lot can surprise me. Everything happens in a blink of an eye—people throw out questions, rude comments, untrue rumors, and expect you to say something about it. I’ve learned to let things slide, to give everyone the benefit of the doubt, and to adjust the best I can to the whirlwind lifestyle.

Like things with Beckham Reeves. The more time we spent together, whether alone or with our group of four friends, it seemed like the more things changed. Nora taunted me about Beckham’s constant flirting until I was red in the face, and even Striker joined in whenever his friend made his interest clear. It seemed like it happened before I knew what to do about it, even though Mia told me she’d been waiting for him to make a move for a while.

Beckham. The boy who kissed me under the old oak tree at Saint Michael’s one day after school. My first kiss had occurred so briefly I almost didn’t know it was happening. I’d been waiting for him after practice like he asked me to, like I’d done plenty of times with Nora because she wanted to see Striker, and when he walked up to where I was reading a book against the large tree trunk, he’d kissed me right then and there, saying, “I’ve been wanting to do that for a while,” before sitting down and smirking when I stared at him in shock.

We’d sat like that for some time, staring and silent, while all the teasing and taunts Nora and Mia had made about my crush on Beckham pushed to the front of my mind. He’d flirted, I realized, for some time, but I never thought he’d do anything about it. Girls at school call him charming, which means he does it with everybody. I’d seen as much. And there are plenty of girls who want his attention, who would be better suited for him than me.

Then he kissed me again, much slower than the first time, like he was testing me. I’d let my book fall, hands twitching in confusion of where to place them, and he helped me. He put one of them on his waist, the other on his shoulder, and guided my lips. It was fumbled and awkward and slightly embarrassing because I couldn’t meet his swipes or nips, but I don’t think he expected me to. Eventually, he’d said, “That was your first kiss, wasn’t it?” Maybe I blocked out the cockiness in his eyes or chalked it up to pride and teenage longing like I read about, because it isn’t until this moment, thinking back to the quick tale that had been whatever we were, when I realized he’d been playing me all along.

When I’d mumbled, “Yes,” he’d smirked and told me there’d be more. And there were. Small kisses, big kisses, mostly private, but some were shared in the hallway or on the courtyard like he was proving a point. Nora always giggled, but Striker looked…off after a while. Like he didn’t approve of what his friend was doing, and I kept wondering why but chickened out on ever asking. Because I didn’t want to know.

I guess I know why now.

Harry stares at me with severe eyes that makes me want to hide behind Kyler. He must sense it, because Ky steps in front of me, tucking me behind one of his shoulder blades. I get why the head Bishop is upset with me, but it’s not something I saw coming.

It’s not my fault.

It’s not my fault.

My eyes move to Mia’s whose brows are arched as she studies her dad, exasperation marking her face over the situation. When mine drift back to the man himself, I study one eye, then the other, noticing how dark his dark gray-blue orbs are as they pin me to my spot.

“How did you let this happen?” Harry finally booms, eyeing me through Kyler. I can feel the penetrating glare that I’ve been anticipating since I found out what Beckham did.

It’s Kyler who solidifies my thoughts. “

It isn’t her fault.”

Mia’s quiet voice cuts in, and I still struggle to look at her after this. “He’s right, Daddy. Lenny couldn’t know he was going to do that. It’s no different than other people getting information on us.”

The way red tints Harry’s neck as the tendons tighten make me flinch into Ky’s back. One of his hands reaches out and brushes mine in comfort. “She led him into our home!”

Closing my eyes, I rest my forehead between Kyler’s shoulder blades to try avoiding the fire that may start shooting from Harry’s eyes. I’ve never seen him this angry. I thought Harry liked me—enjoyed our many conversations, as mundane as they may have been, and maybe even been amused over my love for PR work, romance books, and silly movies that I rant about to anyone who will listen. He doesn’t look at me with the same eased expression now. That disappeared when the media blew up this morning.

The man I use as a shield tenses as Harry says, “She should have known better if she had any brains. Someone with that last name is never up to any good, certainly not with a girl like that.”

What is that supposed to mean?

Jaw quivering, I fist Ky’s red tee and blow out a tiny breath. Mom must have already made him angry. They’ve been tense lately, everyone noticed, but nobody said a word about it. Mia told me it wasn’t worth it. Ky grumbled about how “they’d figure it out on their own” but I wasn’t so sure. Now even less so.

Beckham got his hands on private texts and emails between Mia and Dylan, Hannah Taylor’s ex-boyfriend and Beckham’s older sister, proving that the oldest Bishop sibling got involved with him long before he’d broken up with her. All the speculation that’d graced the tabloids and gossip websites for months and months was right. I never thought Beckham would do something like this, certainly not under the guise of interest in me. How could I? Mom would tell me how pretty I am, Mia would tell me that I deserve to be happy, and Kyler, though he never liked Beckham, never stopped me from hanging out with him either.

Harry seems to be unsurprised by Beckham’s motives, but if that were the case, why would he allow Beckham over as many times as he has? Why would he endure our many movie nights and awkward dinners together? Sure, he’d give him a few scathing looks, but I assumed it was a fatherly type of glare. The one that says, “if you ever hurt my daughter, I’ll ruin your life.” Which, I guess, is true. Beckham Reeves wanted to get revenge for his sister’s broken heart and used me to do it knowing I meant something to Mia.

So, maybe it is my fault.

---