Page 25 of Harnessed in Gold

I’m in my own world, writing and rewriting my intention, simplifying it as best I can, when my phone shimmies at my elbow. I snatch it up, foolishly hoping it’s Leo or Avery calling to tell me they found the weapon and this whole saga is over. But it’s neither of them. Nor is it Aaron or Rime. I have to blink and look twice, the name on the screen not quite registering in my head. Zander? My ex, Zander? But that was years ago, wasn’t it?

No, it was three nights ago. A mere seventy-two hours since his hand was up my dress and my tongue was down his throat. I shudder as regret and anger draw the blood from my extremities to my face. I want to ignore him. Badly. But that would be throwing yet another log onto my bonfire of wrongs.

I answer, “Hey.”

“Betts, ba…” He cuts himself off. “Hi.”

“What’s up?”

“Oh, I… I was just making sure you’re okay. I mean, Liv said you got home from the hotel alright, but, you know, I wanted to make sure.”

“I’m fine.”

“You took anUber?”

“Yep.” With a very long stop in Breakridge.

“Betts.” He sighs. “Come on. Are you really that pissed off?”

“No.” Not so much now. “I mean, yes, I was. But whatever.”

“I’m sorry.”

He’s always sorry.

“I thought it’s what you wanted.”

“You planned it before we even left,” I snap. Apparently, I’m still a little indignant. “How could you have known what I wanted?”

I glance over at Liv who’s not even trying to hide her interest in the conversation. She mouths, “Is that Zander?”

I nod and mouth back, “I’ll go,” and duck out of the room. As Imake my way to the nearest lounge, I say to Zander, “Sorry. Liv was asking me something. What was that you said?”

“I said I was trying to surprise you.”

Was he? Or was he simply paving the way for me to do what he wanted?

Like everyone else does?

God, why do I let them?

In the lounge, there’s a guy working on his laptop who appears to have been temporarily abandoned by his study partner. Beside him sits another computer covered almost entirely in Pusheen stickers.

Too lazy to go upstairs, and figuring the guy can’t hear me through his earbuds, I perch on the chair closest to the door. This conversation is almost over anyway.

“Come on, babe,” Zander urges. “Just come to the house on Friday. We’ll talk it out.”

“That’s not a good idea.”

“Just talk. That’s all.”

Like I would consider doing anything else with him. Look where it got me a few nights ago. I sought comfort in him and came away more wounded than I was before.

“Look, I shouldn’t have gone to the masquerade at all,” I admit. “That’s my fault, and I’m sorry. I’m just dealing with a lot of complicated shit right now.”

“Complicated shit, huh?” He snorts. “Yeah, well, I told you to stay away from Hawthorn.”

Seriously?