Page 107 of Bitter Truths

But I remember Dr. Marks’ warning tone with every consideration, and I envision another week or, God knows, maybe more in the hospital, from which I shy away. Although I believe it helped me the first time around, it’s not a place I aspire to see again—ever.

After class, I wait by the doors for Griffin, staring moodily into nothing.

“Hals?” he says, and I glance his way with a weak smile.

“Hey,” I rasp, grabbing my bag.

Griffin searches my eyes with a frown, but I ignore it as he falls in beside me. I have no energy to lie, and frankly, I don’t want any more deceit between us anyway, but this is coming for me, and I hope I survive the impact.

It’s February and fucking cold. I hunch into myself with a shiver until Griffin pulls me to his side. For a moment so brief it’s gone before he notices, my entire body stiffens with awareness before I relax, pushing away the shameful pulse in my heart.

“You want to get a coffee?” Griffin asks.

Forcing myself to calm down, I exhale slowly and nod. He’s my person, and I know I have to fight through this. Enough. All the negative shit in my head will ruin what I have, and I refuse to let it. I can figure this out, and I can move past it. I just have to find a resolution that keeps me and our relationship whole.

The line is long at the coffee shop, and Griffin nestles me to him as we wait. The heat of his chest warms my back, and I shiver before grasping his arms and holding them tight. I don’t want to let him go. I will figure this out. I will. I have to.

I’m concentrating on the feel of his warm body wrapped around me, which is why I miss Miranda until she’s standing in my face.

“Griff, Halsey.”

“Miranda,” Griffin says while I stare at her with a frown.

I shared my deepest secrets with her, and she stomped on them and me before going back to Griffin, knowing how I felt. It’s hard not to hate her, but I understand her self-destructive behavior because I’ve been there myself.

Her mouth lifts into an approximation of a smile, and her gaze drops to Griffin’s arms wrapped around me snugly before she meets my stare with an intensity that makes goosebumps rise on my arms.

“How’s your dad?” she asks Griffin, although she doesn’t bother to look his way.

Griffin stiffens, and I squeeze his arm, sensing an undercurrent I don’t understand. “He’s fine,” he says, his tone short.

She finally breaks our intense stare-off and smiles, although her eyes are dark when she murmurs, “Good. I know my mom struggled when my dad died. He just needs time.”

Wait. What? Griffin’s mom died? Holy shit.

I twist to look at him, but she intervenes, and I lose track of my thoughts.

“I heard a rumor about you,” she says, and Griff goes rigid around me.

“Oh?” I ask, clenching my hand at my side. What’s this bitch up to now?

“Yeah, Chris Doherty—you remember him?” she asks, cocking her head to the side.

I nod my head rigidly, stepping from Griffin’s arms, and we engage in another stare-off that she loses, dropping her eyes.

Her brows furrow and she says quietly, “Apparently, he lost his scholarship because someone called and reported that he raped a girl in high school.”

Griffin drops his arms from my waist and growls, “Miranda.”

“What?” she says, looking at him with luminous eyes, “Didn’t you tell her?”

“Tell me what?” I whisper.

“Well, when Griff told me your story, I couldn’t help but put two and two together. Was it you?”

My heart clenches. Sucking in a breath, I turn to Griff with wide eyes. His burning glare drops when he turns to me, and he says, his eyes dark, “Hals . . .”

Shoving past him, I bump into the people behind us blindly before exiting into the chilly air. Miranda’s cruelty is unexpected, to be sure, but Griffin’s revelations about my rape? That’s devastating.

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