Page 144 of Where Your Scars Meet Mine
Cheyenne looks down at the phone in her hand, then back at me. “Maria called me after she dropped Kadin off,” she says. “He made it sound like you were the reason she fell apart.”
“I might be part of the reason,” I say. “But not for the reasons he thinks.”
Her eyes narrow. “What does that mean?”
“It means this isn’t simple.”
“No shit.”
That almost gets a laugh out of me. Almost.
Noticing the almost, something in her posture loosens, not into trust, but into something more complicated. Realization, maybe, that whatever this is, I’m not standing here trying to charm her into an easy version of events.
“She really…” Cheyenne stops, looking away toward the driveway, then back at me. “This wasn’t just you pushing yourself on her?”
The question should piss me off.
It mostly makes me tired.
“No,” I say. “It wasn’t that.”
She holds my gaze, and I let her. Let her look for the lie. Let her decide whether she sees one.
There must be enough in my face to answer for me, because some of the fight drains out of her, leaving behind a much rawer confusion.
“You actually care about her.”
There’s disbelief in it. Maybe even a little fear.
“Yes.”
The word comes out before I can polish it. Maybe that’s for the best.
Her eyes flick up toward the second floor for a brief second, toward the room where Octavia is still getting ready, still completely unaware that I’m out here telling one of the people she loves most the one thing she has every right to be furious with me for saying first.
“And she knows?” Cheyenne asks.
A pause pulls between us.
“Yes,” I say.
This time, I feel the answer land harder.
Because it’s one thing for Cheyenne to suspect I want Octavia. Another to know Octavia knows it too. That this isn’t me circling her from a distance or making decisions for her in the dark. That something already passed between us too real to be dressed up as confusion.
Cheyenne rubs a hand over her forehead, clearly trying to reorganize the whole situation in her head. “Jesus Christ.”
“Yeah.”
“She still owes me an apology.”
“She does.”
That earns me the first look from her that isn’t outright hostile.
Small, but noticeable.
Then her face sharpens again. “If you hurt her, I will make your life hell.”
