Page 105 of Personal Foul

She finally looks at me. “Nothing bad. He reminded me of your family values. And the bright future in front of you. He didn’t say so directly, but the message was clear. I have no place in your bright future. You and I both know that. There’s no use pretending otherwise.”

The agent finishes with the person they were helping, and it’s Charity’s turn to approach the front desk, but we don’t move. Standing silent, locked in this moment where everything is going wrong in all the ways I feared most.

Her eyes grow glossy with unshed tears. “At first I brushed him off. I thought it didn’t matter. But when I went to find you, I saw you talking to your mom. I heard what she said. About the stain on my family’s name, and how that will do nothing but drag you down. I can’t do that to you, Dylan.” The last words are a whisper. “In another world, maybe this could’ve worked. Maybe I could’ve learned to fit in here. For you, I would’ve tried.”

My heart is breaking the longer she speaks. I reach for her, but she flinches away, so I let my hand drop. “Don’t do this.”

She lifts her hand again, palm up. “What other choice do we have?”

I look away, rubbing my jaw with one hand and trying to come up with an answer to that question. “Let me take you home at least.”

“But the party—”

I shake my head in a quick negative. “You really think I could go back to the party now? Please just let me take you home.”

At last she nods, bending to set her shoes on the floor and stepping into them again. We make our way back to the coat check to claim her wrap. She lets me hold her hand on the way to the car, and it gives me the barest glimmer of hope. We still have the entire drive back to Spokane. Maybe I can convince her to change her mind.

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

Charity

When we get to Dylan’s parents’ house, he surprises me by heading straight for his room, pulling out our bags, and beginning to pack his things.

I watch him for a moment, dumbfounded. I’d assumed he meant here when he said he wanted to take me home. I was still planning on calling my mom and asking her to pick me up and give me a ride back to Spokane tomorrow. But now that I think about it, if she starting a new job on Monday, that wouldn’t work very well.

Honestly, I wasn’t thinking all that clearly at the hotel. I just knew I needed to leave.

Apparently Dylan feels the same way, though. Because I guess we’re going home—all the way home—tonight.

That’s better, though. No need to draw this out any longer than necessary. The only way to give it a quicker ending would be for him to buy me a one-way plane ticket. But that would be crazy expensive, and that’s too much to ask of anyone.

He begins to undress with jerky movements, wadding up his pristine white button-down shirt and stuffing it in his bag. He takes more care with his suit, hanging it up on its wooden hanger, hooking it on the back of his desk chair. Then he pulls the wadded up shirt back out of his bag and tosses it on the bed. “That stays here,” he mutters to himself. “I don’t need to take it with me.”

More slowly, I begin to gather my own things. His head jerks up as I pull out my change of clothes. “Will you let me unzip your dress?” he asks. He holds up his hands, palms out. “Just to help. No funny business.”

I give him a wan smile. I’m definitely not in the mood for funny business. I’m too sad. And the fact that he feels the need to clarify is almost too heartbreaking for words. Because this, whatever this was, is officially over. We just have to get through the next few hours, and then we can go our separate ways and move on with our lives.

Fighting back tears at that thought, I turn and present him with my back. “Yes, please. I would really appreciate it,” I say quietly. If I speak softly enough, you can’t hear the catch in my throat, and my voice doesn’t wobble with unshed tears.

The backs of his fingers brush against my skin as he grips the top of the zipper, slowly drawing it down with his other hand. He hesitates a moment when he reaches the bottom before releasing me and stepping away. Closing my eyes, I draw in a deep breath, praying to whatever gods who will listen for strength.

Keeping my back turned, I quickly change into the comfortable clothes I packed for the drive home. I replace my dress and its hanger inside the garment bag. I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to wear this dress again. For one thing, where would I wear it? And for another, it will always remind me of Dylan. And this night.

I sniff and reach for the box of tissues on the nightstand. I’m losing the battle with my tears. More than anything, I need to stop thinking. The more I think, the more I want to cry. Before, being with Dylan was always the distraction I needed to get out of my own head. Even when I hated him, hating him was distraction enough from everything else. It’s strange to think, but even the blackmail helped me deal with getting through the shock of everything with my dad. If I hadn’t had that to focus on, if I hadn’t had Dylan to focus on, I would’ve collapsed weeks ago.

But I guess all of that was just delaying the inevitable. Because here I am on the verge of collapse anyway. I just need to hold it together for a few more hours until I can get home and fall to pieces in peace.

It takes less than thirty minutes for us to have all our things packed. Dylan zips his bag shut and straightens, regarding me with his hands on his hips. “Ready?”

At my nod, he grabs both our bags, just like he did when we got here just over twenty-four hours ago. I follow him through the house and out the front door, waiting as he tosses our bags in the back seat, then passing him my backpack and garment bag for him to put in the car as well.

We begin the drive to Spokane in silence. And I’m grateful for the reprieve, even if part of me wishes for the distraction of conversation. I don’t know that we could have a conversation about anything other than what happened tonight. And about what it means.

I should think the answer to that would be obvious. Our conversation in the hotel lobby seems pretty cut and dried. Which would explain why we’re not talking about it now. What else is there to say?

For the first half of the trip, our exchanges relate solely to our physical needs—food, drinks, bathroom stops, and nothing more.

Somewhere after Ellensburg, I give in to my tears, letting them fall silently, trusting the darkness to hide them. I don’t think Dylan notices, because he doesn’t say anything. And he’s the type of guy who would definitely say something if he knew I was crying.

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