Their conversation was cut short as Amara chased Erik around the corner. “Erik don’t!” she cried, panic in her face.
Erik stormed up to Cara. His nasty expression made her take a step back. “You were so quick to blame me for putting pictures of you on the internet! Your brother was relentless, and my family was furious with me! They took my credit cards and canceled the Bugatti I’d ordered.” He leaned his face close to hers. “I didn’t do it.”
Cara was suddenly weary. “It doesn’t matter anymore.” She turned to walk to the parking lot.
“Ask yourself, Cara.” He called after her. “Who took the pictures? Who else was there for your girls’ strip-poker night? How would I even know about it?”
Cara froze.
She didn’t have to ask. Amara looked green, guilt etched on her face.
It felt like someone had punched her in the stomach.
“Cara, I didn’t. I never—”
Erik scoffed. “You had them on your phone, right? Who else had them?”
Cara felt ill. The coffee roiled in her throat and burned as it threatened to come back up.
She was vaguely aware of Amara pounding on Erik’s chest while he laughed. “You took my phone! You son of a bitch!”
Cara’s head whirled. The tingling that started inside the café intensified, spreading down her arms. It was too much. She needed to get home.
“Cara, let me explain! I swear I didn’t give them to Erik!”
Cara barely recognized her own voice when she said, “I believe you. The question is why did you still have them? Why did you keep them all these years? I don’t remember much of that night, but I remember we agreed to delete the pictures we all took. Why would you keep them unless you thought you might need them someday?”
Amara shook her head, a hand over her open mouth, tears spilling down her face.
“I don’t know.” Her voice shook, and the tears flowed faster. “I should have—”
“Stop.” Cara put her hand up to stop her. “I can’t talk to you.”
Colin led her back to her car. “Are you okay to drive?”
“I’m fine.”
He hesitated, looking back to the empty spot where Amara and Erik had been standing.
“I don’t know this for sure.” Colin fidgeted, the flush on his cheeks clashing with his ginger hair. Cara wished he would go away. She wasn’t sure if she was going to cry or throw up. “I don’t think Amara knew. About the pictures, I mean. I don’t think she would do that to you.”
Cara looked at Colin’s kind eyes. She could never understand why he stuck by Erik.
“Goodbye, Colin.” She pulled the door shut and merged with the heavy Atlanta traffic. Cara felt numb as she navigated her way back to the house. Putting her car in park, she stared at the front door. Wes’s truck was in the driveway.
Half of her wanted to go inside and tell him what happened.
He was her best friend.
Cara didn’t doubt that even after this morning, he would put his arms around her until she felt better. But she was tired of looking pathetic in front of him. She rested her folded arms on the steering wheel. “I’m not going to cry. I’m done crying over this.”
Her phone had rung constantly since she got in the car. Amara’s name flashing over and over across the screen. Maybe when she had time to think logically, she would realize Amara hadn’t intentionally hurt her, but for now—she slid her finger across her phone, and it went silent.
CHAPTERTWENTY-EIGHT
Wes was waitingfor a new infiltration device he was developing to finish when Cara called out from the door of her bedroom. He hadn’t seen her except in passing since the towel run-in, though he wasn’t sure which of them was better at playing the avoidance game.
“Don’t worry about me for dinner. I’m going out.”
