Page 38 of Filthy Beautiful
I studied her, but she wouldn’t look at me. Her shoulders were tight and there was a little crease between her eyebrows. She was really worked up about this idea she’d gotten in her head—that I was gonna be an asshole around her friends?
“Okay,” I said.
She got up to leave.
“I called you last week.”
She stopped in her tracks.
“I wanted to let you know… about Joseph Fetterman.”
She turned to face me and actually looked me in the eye. “I already heard,” she said, like that excused the fact that she didn’t answer or return my call.
Or send me a fucking courtesy text to acknowledge my existence.
“I wanted you to hear it from me,” I told her. “Or from someone you know, not on social media or wherever.”
She sat back down. “Gabe’s dad called my parents or something. Dad told me. I think he tried to call Cary but… you know how that goes.” She searched my face, like maybe I was withholding something from her. “Does Cary know?”
“Yeah, he knows.”
“How did he take it?”
“I don’t know. He won’t talk about it.”
She went silent for a long moment. “I think he’ll be okay,” she said, but it lacked conviction.
Obviously, she was concerned about her brother. She wasn’t admitting it to me, but that had to be why she was here. Why she’d moved in, taken this job.
I rested my elbows on my knees, leaning in a bit, and looked her in the eye. “How are you doing, sweetheart?”
“I’m fine.”
I stared at her. She returned my gaze, guarded.
I knew she was eighteen, but there were moments, to me, when Courteney Clarke had always seemed way too grown-up for her age.
Ever since she was fourteen, anyway, and the world she’d known flipped upside-down on a dime. A world where her friends and family were safe, and nothing horrendous could suddenly happen to them.
No fourteen-year-old should have to go through that.
But she did.
And she pretty much did it on her own.
I knew, deep down, no matter how much I loved the guy, I’d probably never be able to forgive Cary for that.
“I’m not calling you a liar, okay?” I said, gently. “But I don’t think that’s possible.”
“I’m fine,” she repeated.
“If you want to talk about it—”
She got up, abruptly, and hugged herself. “It’s getting late. I’ve gotta go.”
“Sure.” I watched her walk away. “See you later.” She faded up the path to the house, disappearing into the dark of the living room.
Man… Even when I was nice to her, I scared her away.
