Page 141 of Filthy Beautiful
Without music taking up my time, keeping me busy, I was in danger of some kind of major meltdown or something, if I spent too much time around the Clarkes—or even just sitting around brooding over them, like I did last night.
I cared too much about both of them to fuck up the delicate relationship I had with either of them.
I could feel it coming, like the vacuum of silence before a wicked storm.
Disaster.
I had way too many feels last night about way too much shit.
I felt hungover, and I didn’t even have a drop to drink.
Who could stand to feel shit like that all the time?
No wonder Cary locked himself away.
I knew I had to tell Courteney that this thing between her and me—whatever it was—was not happening. And the only way I could back that up with action was to get away from her.
I found her in her room. The door was open and she was sitting on her bed. She had that big photo album open in her lap; the page had what looked like newspaper clippings taped to it.
“Hey,” I said, as I rapped a knuckle gently on the doorframe.
“Hey,” she said with a little jump. She closed the album in her lap.
“Working on the book?” I asked, stepping carefully into the room. I shut the door behind me, just in case; I didn’t need Cary hearing any of this if he happened to venture out of the studio.
“Yeah,” she said.
“Cool. I read it last night.”
Her eyes widened. “You did?”
Guess she hadn’t seen my lame-ass email yet.
“It’s really good.” I could see she wasn’t sure if she could believe me on that. “I’m not just saying that because I know you. It’s really well written, and I’m sure when you finish, it’ll be even better. I’ll read it for you again, if you want, when you’ve got the final draft, just to look it over again for you. And you can interview me, if you still want to.”
“I do.”
“But I have to move out for a bit.”
“What?” She set the album aside and slid over to the edge of the bed. I took a step back, leaving space between us.
“I talked to Cary yesterday. He seems, uh… pretty good.”
“Oh. That’s good.” Her face brightened a little. So hopeful—like I might have some breaking news that her brother was in full recovery and his reentry into life was imminent.
I looked away.
“Yeah. I think he’ll be okay. You know, the Joseph Fetterman thing will just pass and he’ll be okay. I mean, if nothing else upsets him.”
I let those words sit between us, heavy as fuck.
She knew what I was insinuating.
“It’s not going to upset him,” she said. “What we did—”
I looked at her. “As long as he doesn’t know about it,” I said, “you’re right.”
She sighed. “We should talk about it, Xander.”
