My phone starts vibrating incessantly, call after call from Zayne. I ignore them all. Texts come through, one after the other, but I don’t read any of them.
Carlton makes a little chuckling sound in the back of his throat, and I shoot him a glare. “I know what you’re thinking,” I say, breaking the silence.
He tilts his head. “Am I allowed to talk now?”
“You’re thinking that you were right about Zayne and that I never should have trusted him.”
“He’s just not a good guy, Dot.” He sighs. “I’m sorry you had to find out like this.”
“Yeah,” I murmur. “So am I.”
Carlton drives off when I’m at my front door. It’s then that I allow the tears to really fall. The sobs I’ve been holding in burst from my chest. I let the angry thoughts have their way, shouting in my mind.
Zayne is nothing but a liar.
How could he do this?
I trusted him!
The anger builds inside me until I can’t see straight. I unlock the front door and walk in. Dad is on the couch in the living room. A football game has him leaning forward, palms perched on his knees like he’s ready to sprint.
I try to walk past him to my room, but he hears my heels on the floor. His gaze darts away from the TV to myface and he stands, a look of confusion crossing his features. “You’re back early?” And then he sees my tearstained face, and his own transforms, going from alarmed to murderous. “What happened? Do I need to pay Zayne a visit? Did he hurt you?”
Did he hurt me?I want to laugh. “I guess that depends on your definition ofhurt.Read this, Dad.” I take out my phone and show him the Little Birdie post.
I’m tempted to walk away while he holds my phone and reads so I don’t have to see his reaction. But I don’t. I watch the redness appear on his cheeks. I watch as the corners of his brows turn down. I can only imagine how similar Mom’s reaction would be if she were here.
Dad’s eyes flicker to my face. “What’s the meaning of this, Bardot?” He hands me my phone and crosses his arms. “Is this true?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. Probably.” My voice sounds so small, even to my own ears. I just want to crawl under a rock, hide, and never come out. Everyone at Fallbrook is going to have a field day with this news. My shoulders sag. “I just want to go to bed and forget all about this.”
At first, he looks like he wants to argue with me, but then his gaze seems to soften. He nods. “Alright, baby. Let me know if you need anything.”
I shuffle down the hall to my room, kicking my heels off once I’m inside and the door is shut. My breathing starts to come in heavier, faster spurts, and my vision blurs once again.Zayne lied,my brain screams.He lied, he lied, he lied.
I strip out of my dress with harsh, rushed, movements. There’s a chance I’ll tear the fabric of this beautiful dress if I carry on like this, but I don’t care. At least not right now. The sound of a thread snapping does nothing to my heart as the dress falls around my ankles. I kick it to the corner of my room and get into bed wearing nothing but my undergarments.
And then I continue crying.
I don’t know how much time passes, but it feels good to let it all out. Really good. In fact, I can’t remember the last time I cried like this, and part of me wonders if this is really all because of Zayne, or if my emotion is the product of other, heavier things as well. Either way, I don’t stop until I’m all cried out, eyes dry and throat hoarse. My temples are sore from the strain, and my nose is stuffed.
Quietly, I dress into pajamas so I can get a glass of water and some tissues from the kitchen. When I crack my door open, I hear a familiar voice that leaves my heart thundering.
“Please,” Zayne begs. “Please, Mr. Bennett. Just let me talk to her.” I can’t see him, but I imagine him holding up his hands in a praying motion. “This is all a huge misunderstanding.”
“Seemed pretty clear to me,” Dad growls. “I read the passage that—what was its name—Little Birdieput out.”
“Little Birdielied.” Zayne’s voice is strained. “Please. I’m telling you it was a lie. I never said any of that. Not one word.”
“Goodnight, young man,” Dad says. The door closes in Zayne’s face.
I disappear back into my room before Dad can notice my eavesdropping. He trudges down the hall past my cracked door to his own. My heart softens with gratitude for him. It’s a good feeling, having someone stand up for me no matter what. But I can’t deny my hope that maybe, just maybe, Zayne’s being honest.
My phone chimes with a text. I open his message.
Zayne
Please talk to me, Dot.
