Page 10 of Tell Me When It's Over

I rub my arm, thinking about how nice that perk is considering what’s happened in the past with paparazzi always being close by to snap a picture and yell obscurities. “It’s not like it isn’t a great place, but I’m not sure it’s smart.”

“Smart?” he repeats dryly. “Mia, she’ll call you back.” Before I can argue, he grabs my phone and ends the call, flinging it behind us until it lands in a thud somewhere in the back.

“Hey!” I protest, twisting around and trying to figure out where it landed.

“Your phone is a piece of crap anyway,” he tells me bluntly. “Surprised you haven’t sliced your fingers open on that damn screen.”

“It’s old,” I defend. Not seeing it, I sigh and turn back around. The cell is also an old one of my mother’s. It’s one of the few items of hers I have left. Cracked screen and all, it still works relatively well. It took forever to get a new number because the original one kept getting suggestive texts and pictures that my eyes did not need to see.

“I’ll get you a new one.”

“No, you will not!”

“Leighton.”

“Kyler.” Does he not understand my problem? He’s never had to struggle with money or the pride in earning something when you come from nothing. I palm my eyes and lean back against the seat to collect my thoughts. “This is my problem. I’m aware I’m the one who reached out first and asked for help, but I shouldn’t have. I appreciate everything you want to do for me, but it’s not necessary. I’ve been searching for jobs, and—”

“You need to search for schools,” he argues in disapproval, “since you’re so dead set against going to Stanford now. Your focus needs to be getting into college and doing what you’ve always wanted. UCLA has a good Public Relations program and it isn’t far from any of the places we’ve seen. Half an hour, forty minutes tops depending on traffic.”

Gaping at him with parted lips, I slowly blink and consider the information. “Did you look that up?”

“Yes.”

“Oh.”

He hums.

“Well…” I don’t know what to say. He’s always done research for me, but this seems next level. “I’ll still need to work, Ky. College obviously isn’t cheap, even with loans. And if I take out a loan that’s more than it costs to attend just so I can afford books and food, then that means more debt later. It’s a lot to think about. Plus, there’s housing costs, and—”

“Don’t worry about housing.” His lips flatten for a moment. “Unless you’d want to live on campus.”

Truthfully, I always considered living in a dorm room when I was younger. The ones at Stanford that we saw on tour were nice and I imagined the built-in shelves lined with my textbooks, trinkets, and pictures of my family—of Mom, Kyler, Mia, and even Harry because he made Mom smile. I liked to pretend my future roommate would be my best friend and we’d go everywhere together and experience what it’s like to be college students. Parties. Drinking. Boys. The works.

I find myself smiling. While it took a long time adjusting to the move and my new life with the Bishops, I managed to hold onto a part of me that wanted simplicity. The houses we saw aren’t that, and the Stanford dream isn’t either. It’s too costly. “I don’t know. I used to want that, but things have changed. What I know for sure is that big, flashy, expensive things make me uncomfortable. They always have and I don’t see that changing anytime soon. My clothes are all from Walmart, what little items I own are all second hand, and I’m fine with that. I prefer it.”

He’s quiet for a moment, taking in my words. I appreciate that he does because not many people would give my thoughts the time of day. Finally, he breaks the silence with, “What happened to things you had when you lived with us? The clothes and whatnot.”

Glancing down at the hands folded in my lap, I peel them apart and touch the frayed hem of my shorts. “I grew out of most of them. The ones that still fit were a little too fancy for my life and I ended up selling them to get money for food and bills that Mom couldn’t pay.”

His hands grip the steering wheel harshly, but he doesn’t say anything. I won’t tell him about the one thing I feel horrible about to this day—the thing that got me the most money on eBay. I’m not sure he’d understand.

“We didn’t really leave with much else,” I tell him cautiously. “At least, I didn’t. I think she hocked some of the jewelry Harry gave her to get us a new apartment, but I don’t know about anything else.”

“The car?” he all but growls.

Closing my eyes, I let the A/C cool my suddenly tight, overheated body. Hand going to the necklace tucked under the collar of my shirt, slicked with sweat, I whisper, “That’s what she was driving when she…” My voice cracks under the pressure of the words, memories flooding of crime scene pictures plastered in the papers.

“Fuck me,” he murmurs to himself. He takes a deep breath. “I shouldn’t have asked, Len. I’m sorry.”

All I do is shrug. What else can I do? Can I say? What’s done is done. My mother is never coming back. I’ve had to come to terms with that and figure out where to go from there.

I feel his eyes on me. “Is that…?”

When I look over, he dips his chin toward the piece of silver in my hand. I manage to smile, knowing what he’s asking. “It is.”

The necklace was a gift from him for my sixteenth birthday, right before all hell broke loose. I could have sold it, I’m sure it would be worth a decent amount since it’s real silver. But it’s special to me, a gift from the boy I could confide in about anything, and I never once thought to sell it for extra cash even if I needed it because it meant the world to touch it when my mind wandered to bad places. Ky grounded me.

His hand reaches out and takes mine, threading our fingers and squeezing once in comfort. “Let’s go to dinner a

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