Page 124 of A Ballad of Betrayal and Beauty

“Okay,” I whisper back. “I’ll get dressed and be right back . . . then we can talk.”

He nods, and I wind my way back to Joel’s bedroom. When I enter, it’s like a punch in the gut. The room smells of sex. The sheets on the bed are everywhere and my body can’t help but remember the ghost of Joel’s touch. How he made me feel.

I gather up my underwear and clothes, and I nearly get dressed, but the faster that happens, the sooner I’ll have to talk to Key.Take a shower, Dusty. I meet my reflection in the wardrobe mirrors and nod to myself, shaking out my hands. The spray of warm water will clear my head if nothing else. Besides, the idea of Key smelling it on me is too much to bear.

The water runs hot and I climb in, letting it soak my hair and ease the tension off my swollen face and sore neck. Yes, this was a good idea. Things are starting to seem less impossible. But even though my brain doesn’t feel befuddled anymore, I still have no idea what to do. The bravest decision would be to leave. To tell Key and Joel that they deserve better than me. That I don’t care about them and they’re better off without me in their lives.

But I’m so tired of lying. So tired of having to be brave. Key was right. Sometimes I just need to be fucking saved. For someone to make the decision. But what if they make the wrong one? What if Joel never calls me and that’s the end? What if Key can’t forgive me? What if this is all just . . . tragedy? Can I survive any more?

When I find myself back in the living room, skin raw and wearing the clothes I arrived in this morning, Key is sitting on the couch, looking at the picture I held in my hand an hour ago. He looks exhausted but so undeniably handsome.

These past few years have turned him into a gorgeous man. His wavy brown hair is slightly too long. Just long enough to piss off the parents of his fans, I’m sure. He’s filled out. His upper body is lean and strong, the muscles in his neck defined.

“Hey,” I say, announcing myself.

He looks up. “Hey.”

“Sorry, I just . . . I figured I should shower.”

“It’s fine.”

I join him on the edge of the sofa, unsure where to start. For a long moment, we sit in silence, the tension building between us.

“What a mess, huh?” he says, the faintest hint of a smile on his lips.

I breathe out a laugh and nod. “You could say that.”

He presses his head into his hands, ruffles his hair and sighs. “I’m sorry about earlier.” He twists his mouth before taking a deep breath. “I shouldn’t have said what I said. I was just . . . shocked and angry and everything that happened between us just came rushing back.”

I shake my head. “It’s fine. A shock is putting it mildly.” His mouth twitches at the side into a half-hearted smile, and my stomach flutters. It’s been so long, and I thought I’d done a good enough job of burying my feelings for him, but apparently not enough, because here they are. Like a shot of adrenaline to the heart, my body is vibrating. Overwhelmed by so many conflicting emotions.

But here’s my chance. It’s now or never.

“Why didn’t you come?” I whisper.

Our eyes meet, and he doesn’t need to ask what I’m talking about. He knows. “I did.” His answer hits me in the gut, and I have to gulp down air. He did come. He did. How can two words make everything better and more painful all at once?

“You did?” I ask, my voice shaky.

“I tried to get away,” he explains, “but my mom had her friends over and she kept . . .” Another deep breath. “It doesn’t matter. What matters is I was there, and you weren’t. Why didn’t you stay?”

I blow out a breath. “When your dad came to the bus station, I was terrified. Panicking. I thought something had happened to you. I thought your parents found out. But when your dad gave me back the necklace . . .”

He closes his eyes. “I should’ve known they found it?—”

“I was stupid and scared. When he told me you didn’t want to do this anymore—that you were afraid of ruining your life—I believed him. How could I not? I was terrified too, but I couldn’t get away from the mess we were in like you could. So I gave your dad the ring you made me, got on the bus, and left.”

“I thought you changed your mind,” he says, almost to himself. “It just confirmed all of the doubts I was already having. God, and my parents? How did they even know? Fuck, I’m so stupid!”

“We were both stupid,” I admit. “We were seventeen trying to act like grownups. It was foolish to think we could make that work.”

He looks at me then. “I would’ve tried.”

My lip trembles as I smile. “I know. I know you would have.”

He nods, clears his throat. “Can I ask what happened? With the baby?”

My chest aches at the thought of it. “When the bus stopped in Nevada, the bleeding started,” I say through a shaky breath. “There was so much, I knew something was wrong. I left the bus station and went to the hospital and that’s where they told me . . . it just went away.”

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