I WAKE up to the sound of notifications popping off on my phone, one after the other, from a variety of social media. I roll over, the mattress dipping, a heavy arm coming to land around me and I smile.
It’s West. He spent the night with me, too tired to go back to his dorm room. And I’m glad. I’ve never shared the bed with anyone beyond my sister when we were really young, and this is a completely different experience.
I enjoyed it.
Don’t enjoy how noisy my phone is though.
Carefully, I slide beneath West’s heavy arm and roll out of bed, watching as he rolls over onto his right side, facing the wall. He must’ve slipped his boxers back on sometime during the night, but that’s all he’s wearing. Oh, and that always present, heavy watch is on his left wrist.
A flash of a memory hits me. The time I thought I caught a glimpse of ink beneath that steel band.
Ignoring my still blowing-up phone, I reach toward West’s arm, turning it so I can see the inside of his wrist, my gaze on his face the entire time.
He doesn’t even flinch.
With my index finger, I push the watch band up, catching sight of the ink. It’s not much. A very small tattoo, really, but I can’t make out what it is without taking the watch off.
My phone starts ringing, startling West awake, and he catches me with my fingers on his watch, his brows furrowed in confusion. I immediately drop his hand and go to my desk where my phone sits, answering it without seeing who’s calling.
“Have you been on social media yet?” It’s Sadie, and she sounds way too alert for this early in the morning.
“No.”
“Um. You should check it out. Though you’re not going to like what you see.” Sadie’s voice is actually shaking, like she might be upset on my behalf.
My stomach cramps at the implication in her unspoken words. “What are you talking about?”
“Just go look, okay? And call me if you need me.” She hesitates. “Where’s West?”
I decide to be truthful. “In my bed.”
She doesn’t even laugh or make a funny comment. “Okay. Like I said, call me. Text me. Whatever you need, I’m here.”
Sadie ends the call and I immediately start checking social media, my heart leaping to my throat when I see someone shared a video.
Someone I don’t even know.
Who has a video.
Of me and West.
In my bed.
“Oh my God.” I cover my mouth with shaky fingers, staring in horror at the video as West unbuttons my shirt. Reaches for the front of my bra, undoing the clasp. The cups fall away, our mouths still fused and—
It’s over.
“What’s wrong?”
I glance over at West, who’s scrubbing his face with both hands, his hair an absolute mess, his eyes bleary when he meets my gaze. “Someone posted a video of us together and now everyone is sharing it!”
“From what, last night’s party?”
“No, from my room. When we were together and thought we heard someone in the hall.” I thrust my phone toward him, and he doesn’t even flinch. Or react.
He just calmly takes the phone from me and watches the video on replay. Again and again, not saying a single word. Unease slips down my spine, cold and foreboding, and I take the phone out of his hand, turning it off.
“No reaction? You don’t have anything to say?” I’m furious. Upset. I don’t want my private business put on such public display. “We need to find out who did this and put a stop to it immediately.”
He hangs his head, his fingers plucking at my comforter, his voice barely a whisper when he says, “I know who did it.”
My head spins, his words on repeat.
IknowwhodiditIknowwhodiditIknowwhodidit …
“Who?” My throat aches with just that one word.
West looks up at me, pain in his gaze when he admits, “Mercedes.”
“Are you fucking serious?” I open my phone back up, finding my father’s phone number and immediately calling him.
“What are you doing?”
“Calling my father.”
“What the hell? Are you going to tell him that a video is circulating of the two of us about to have sex?”
“I’m going to tell him a private video between the two of us is out there and I need to talk to our family lawyer immediately.”
My father doesn’t answer, of course, and I don’t bother leaving a voicemail either. How would I describe that to him in a message?
“Don’t sic the lawyers on her yet. I’ll talk to her,” West says as he crawls out of bed.
I glare at him, hating how good he looks standing there in just his boxers and nothing else, that tantalizing line of dark hair that leads from below his navel and disappears beneath the waistband. His hair is a disheveled, glorious mess and the stubble lining his cheeks makes him look that much more attractive, which is infuriating.
I’m so pissed, he starts to blur right in front of me. I collapse on the edge of my bed, my stomach curdling at the thought of having to face everyone.
At the realization that West admitted he knew Mercedes is responsible for this, and he did nothing to stop it.
“When did you find out?”
“Last night.”
“Last night?” I repeat, rising to my feet again. I start pacing the length of my room. “You knew about this since last night and you conveniently forgot to mention it to me? I had to find out via social media that she was the one who spied on us and now, like the total bitch she is, leaked the video to people at our school so they can share it?”
“I was drunk last night, okay? And I’ve been going through some shit—”
“Shit you won’t tell me about. Shit you keep secret because you don’t want to burden me or whatever,” I retort.
He runs a hand through his hair. Grips the back of his head with both hands, his elbows bent, his face turning red. Like he’s embarrassed and angry and frustrated. Well good. I feel the same way.
“It’s family business,” he grates out through clenched teeth. “You wouldn’t understand.”
“If you’re actually implying that I don’t understand complex family relations, then you really have no clue who you’re talking to, do you? My family is so fucked up, it’s not even funny. And we’ve been talked about publicly for hundreds of years. Everyone knows the Lancasters. Everyone knows how messed up we are. Every generation a new crop of the family comes through, and there’s always a few of us who make a public spectacle.”
His expression turns pained. “I’m sorry, okay? We don’t actually know each other that well and—”
“Don’t know each other that well?” I keep interrupting him. And I keep repeating what he said. Maybe because I’m having a difficult time comprehending what he’s truly trying to explain. “We just had sex last night, West. I think we know each other pretty well.”
“You know what I mean. We don’t share deep dark secrets with each other, Carolina. We mess around, we talk, we hang out, but you have to admit, you can be pretty closed off sometimes.”
“You are not throwing this on me.” I gather up his clothes that he left on the floor and throw them at him. “Get out.”
His face is one of pure shock. “What?”
“Get dressed and leave. Now.”
“Carolina …”
“I don’t want to hear your explanations! You knew, West. I’m guessing you probably talked to Mercedes last night at the party and she somehow dropped that little bomb on you that she was the one lingering in the hallway and that she actually recorded us together. And you didn’t mention it to me. Not once. And that is so incredibly fucked up.” I choke on a sob, realizing that I’m crying, but I don’t even care. “You don’t care about me. You only care about yourself.”
He’s quiet, quickly pulling on his clothes while I stand in the middle of my suite, crying. I hate him. I can’t believe he didn’t tell me. He had all of last night to confess and he kept it to himself.
Why, I don’t know, but the why doesn’t matter. He did it.
And I don’t know how we will ever recover from it.
“You’re really kicking me out?” He’s got his hand braced on the wall as he slips on his shoes.
“You really didn’t tell me what happened,” I throw back at him.
At least he has the decency to appear remorseful. “I didn’t know how to bring it up to you. And then I drank too much.”
“Right. Drowning your worry in alcohol. Look how well that worked out for you.”
He puts on the other shoe, both of them untied and I can’t help but worry he might trip and fall.
Then I remind myself, it would be karma and he’d deserve it.
“I’m sorry I fucked up.” He stands close to the door, looking helpless and for the shortest second, I almost feel bad for him. “I’ll make this right.”
“How?” I throw my arms up in the air. “I don’t know how you can fix this.”
“I will,” he says, his voice determined. “I’ll talk to Mercedes.”
“Talking to her will only make it worse.”
“I’ll talk to Matthews.”
“And get the both of us in trouble? I don’t think so.” I shake my head. “Just go, West.”
Hanging his head, he opens the door and leaves my suite, closing it behind him with a quiet click.
My phone rings in my hands, my father’s name flashing across the screen, and I answer it, the tears immediately starting.
“Darling, what’s wrong? Tell me,” he demands, going into full protective father mode.
I explain everything to him, leaving out a few embarrassing parts, pinning all of the blame on Mercedes.
“What’s her last name again?”
“Browne. Her father is in tech.”
“Curtis Browne? I know who you’re talking about. I’ll have my lawyer reach out to him immediately.”
Satisfaction curls through my blood and I breathe out a sigh of relief. “Thank you.”
“No one fucks with a Lancaster and gets away with it. I can guarantee all of these posts will be pulled down within the hour. Any mention if it will be scrubbed from the internet by the end of the day,” he says, his voice so confident, I know he’s speaking the truth.
“I still can’t believe this happened,” I admit. “I hope you don’t think less of me.”
“We all do stupid shit, especially when we’re younger. You need to make sure you’re spending your time with the right crowd, Carolina. Some people will do anything to bring us down,” he reminds me.
He’s right. Mercedes’ intentions were never pure with me, no matter how much she tried to act like my friend when we first met. I eventually understood that and steered clear of her.
What hurts the most is West. What he did feels like a betrayal of the worst kind. And worse?
Like a fool, I trusted him.
