Lessons in Faking (Hall Beck University #1)

Chapter 31

CHAPTER 31

Who’d have thought that after being trapped in a car with Dylan McCarthy Williams for hours on end, the part I would dread most would be arriving at our destination?

got some things to explain, talk when we’re home

The reminder of Wren’s message made me unbuckle my seatbelt uncharacteristically slowly, slip into my coat even slower. I redid my bun twice, adjusted the glasses on top of my nose at least a dozen times.

Dylan had hopped out of the car as soon as we’d stopped in front of the brick complex, grabbing my bag from the trunk. It seemed he hadn’t even noticed my hesitancy, until he swung the duffle bag over his shoulder and saw I was still in same spot he’d left me in.

In the rearview mirror, I could see his brows furrow lightly, scanning me intently with narrow eyes. Whatever he thought the reason for this was, he must’ve been wrong. If I was being entirely honest, I didn’t even know it myself. So how could he?

“Don’t try to psychoanalyze me,” I warned as soon as he swung open the passenger door, wearing the same analytical expression when I faced him. His hands shot up in surrender, an easy smile curving his lips.

“I wouldn’t think of it,” he swore with a laugh that said otherwise, playfully bowing and gesturing for me to finally get out of the Jeep. “Just trying to figure out what about my car is so inviting that you can’t seem to get out of it.” His brow rose with the inquiry. “Or is it just me you don’t want to leave behind?” he added. I made a point of ignoring it.

Getting out anyway, my head immediately tipped back to glance up at the building’s top floor. Although you couldn’t see through the windows, the soft light coming from them was enough to make my stomach turn a second time. My attention fell back to him.

“Wren’s probably home.” I tried not to sound nervous about the fact. “You can give me that.” I nodded at my bag over his shoulder. “No need to add fuel to the fire,” I muttered as an afterthought.

“Athalia,” Dylan sighed in response, moving toward the entrance of my building as if I hadn’t just said he shouldn’t. In a way, I was forced to follow, wasn’t I? So I slammed the door of his Jeep shut and hurried after him. “Don’t you remember? She and I are this tight now?” He crossed two fingers. “There is no fire to add fuel to.”

I pushed past him with a single laugh, the sound loud and completely humorless. “You can give me my bag,” I repeated as I unlocked the door. Pushing it open, I turned back with an expectant look. He walked past me.

I groaned and ran after him once more, but he’d already pushed the button for the elevator when I got to it a few seconds later. Coming to a stop beside him, both of us waiting for the doors to pop open, I shook my head lightly.

“You are by far the most annoying person I have ever come across.” His head cocked in my direction, though the hint of his grin in my periphery told me my eyes should stay on the metal doors ahead, if I wanted to stay firm in my stance. “I just want you to know that.”

“There’s, like, three pairs of shoes, four hoodies, two jeans, sweatpants, shirts, dresses, and God knows what else in here, Athalia. If you think I’m letting you carry a bag that weighs as much as you do, I’m insulted.” He actually sounded the part. A scoff accompanied the words, and my head finally turned in his direction to find a matching expression.

My mind was running overtime to check the accuracy of his list. I double-checked. Triple-checked. How—?

My thoughts were interrupted by a low laugh, and the elevator opened. I didn’t even object when he got in behind me. “I helped you pack. Remember?”

Only he didn’t. I shook my head quickly, eyes jumping to him again, just catching him press the button to the top floor. “You didn’t help me pack,” I reminded him. “You watched me pack.” And I didn’t think he had actually watched, never mind paid any attention to it. Seemingly though, he had.

He waved me off. “Same thing.” Finally, he let the bag fall from his shoulder, catching it in his hand just as we reached the top floor.

But it wasn’t the same thing. Packing and watching. Paying attention and not paying attention to the little things. It was like night and day. Did he not understand that? Or did he just try not to?

“Give Wren my regards.” His voice pulled me out of my thoughts once more, attention sliding to him, standing in the elevator doors to keep them from closing. My duffle-bag stood in the hallway, ready to be slid across the few feet to my apartment— if it was as heavy as he made it out to be.

When I shuffled past him, and he stepped back into the elevator to allow its doors to close, I suddenly felt really grateful. For everything.

For taking me in over Thanksgiving. For letting me sleep in his bed. For kissing me. For not having sex with me. For buying me my favorite snacks. For driving me home. For not insisting on coming in. For respecting my decision—my boundaries.

The doors slid shut, our eyes still connected when those two words made it out of my mouth again. Words I’d said so many times already—too many, if I wanted to believe he disliked me as much as he insisted he did.

“Thank you.” Although I only whispered them, the way I caught his lip twitching and his head beginning to tip before the doors closed between us, I knew he’d heard me.

I exhaled a long, deep breath; one that was supposed to prepare me for whatever waited behind my own front door. There were a few likely scenarios.

Wren could still be ignoring me.

Wren could be baking again.

Wren could… apologize.

Whatever it was, I felt I wasn’t prepared at all.

And oh, how right I was.

The door to her room was closed. I should’ve been relieved not to find the kitchen full of baking utensils, muffins, and cupcakes, but I was a little disappointed.

I didn’t know what I expected after her text. Need to talk . What did that even mean?

Perhaps instead of the apology I’d hoped for, she’d tell me she couldn’t take it anymore and move out? Oh God.

That thought kicked my anxiety through the roof; my heart started beating twice as fast, my palms began to sweat. I let my duffle bag slide to the ground. Until now, I’d been convinced this argument was just a rough patch in our ever-lasting friendship. One we’d overcome and laugh about in a few years. One she’d owe me for.

Now, though, with the seed of her moving out planted in my mind, that didn’t feel so surefire anymore.

“Athalia.”

I startled as her voice pulled me from my thoughts, jerking around to face her. I didn’t know what she saw on my face, though it made her hesitant smile fall at once.

“Are you moving out?” I couldn’t hold the question back at all. If she was, I had a right to know, as soon as she’d made that decision, right? As her roommate, as her best friend. Or something like that.

“What?” Her brow furrowed deeply as she pushed herself off the doorframe she’d been leaning against.

“You said we needed to talk,” I reminded her. “We’re not dating, otherwise I would’ve assumed you’re breaking up with me. Moving out seems like the equivalent here.” The words sounded more rational as they formed on my tongue, when in reality the thought had just popped into my head and was so scary, my overthinking made me stick with it.

She shook her head. Quickly. “What?” she said again. Perhaps it didn’t sound rational at all. “I’m not moving out—of course not.” Before I could even take a relieved breath, the confusion in her features was overtaken by something else entirely. “Do you want me to?”

“No.” I did not want Wren Inkwood to move out. That much was certain.

“Okay.” She nodded, relaxing. “Good.”

Unsure what to do or say next, my eyes shifted, roaming the apartment as if I hadn’t already been living here for over a year. My arms swung by my side. I blew light raspberries when it stayed quiet for a few seconds too long to be comfortable.

This didn’t just feel awkward to me, did it?

“So.” I cleared my throat in an attempt to fill the silence, and Wren mirrored my gesture, nodding.

“So,” she repeated, dragging it out to keep from going quiet again. “Uh—” I didn’t think I’d heard her stammer once in her life. And I didn’t know if that put me at ease or scared the shit out of me.

“I’m just going to unpack—”

“I’m sorry—”

We spoke at the same time, cutting each other off.

“Oh, yeah,” she quickly agreed, gesturing to my bag with a halfhearted gesture and a nervous laugh. “Go unpack, I—”

But there was no way. Not after she’d just blurted out those magic words. I didn’t even want to unpack. It was by far the worst thing about going on a trip.

“No, no.” I waved her off. “Go on. I’ve got time.”

Wren nodded, her short hair moving lightly. Then she sighed loudly. “How was your… trip?” The question sounded innocent enough, though I saw right through it.

“The trip you organized for me?” I wondered, hoping my suspicions were right. Although it caught her off guard, she nodded.

“Was that a mistake?” Concern riddled her tone, her features—her entire presence was nerves and anxiety at this point, and I quickly decided that I wasn’t a fan of it.

“No.” My answer was deliberately calm, cool, and collected—glad to report I was starting to find my footing again, and I was ready to hear the explanation that was clearly needed; for everything. “I had a good time.”

She nodded, seeming both pleased and disturbed by the statement. With my and McCarthy’s history, I was neither surprised, nor offended by it.

“Did he mess up?” Her next question came carefully, almost regretfully, as soon as it passed her lips.

I couldn’t suppress the amused twitch of my lip, remembering her text vividly. “So that you can kill him?”

“Yes.”

“No.”

A relieved puff of air. Disappointment—probably at the fact she wouldn’t get to beat him up. She was more sure of her words when she slumped against the sofa’s armrest, hands driving across her face in frustration.

“I’m sorry.” She groaned. “God, I’m so, so sorry. You have no idea.” As if just now realizing the weight of her actions, she groaned once more.

The next time our eyes met, the regret in hers almost tore me into pieces, too.

“I overreacted, acted like a jerk and then almost left you by yourself over Thanksgiving—” She shook her head so roughly, it cut off her words. “And all over fucking McCarthy.” She huffed, in disbelief. “It’s not even my business what you do— who you do . I guess I just didn’t expect it, you know? We hate that guy. I thought we did.” She stopped herself, eyes widening. “Or I did. I guess you never really had a reason—” Her gaze lifted from the floor, brown eyes taking me in as I leaned against the kitchen counter, playing with one of the paper takeout menus absentmindedly.

“Did you?” I asked carefully. “Have a reason?”

I’d never really questioned Wren’s dislike for the guy. How much Henry hated him primed me enough not to ask, simply accept that McCarthy was the worst person to walk the campus, and that, of course, meant Wren didn’t like him, either.

“Not really,” she admitted. “I mean, I thought I did. After talking to Henry a few months ago, the way he said McCarthy is so obviously into you. That’s all I saw whenever he happened to be in the same room. And I assumed you hated him just as much as your brother. I guess I kind of convinced myself of that, so I wouldn’t—”

Wren swallowed, hesitating, eyes shifting again. “Just because that way, I didn’t have any reason to be jealous, I guess.”

The other shoe dropped.

Just that it wasn’t a shoe, but a bomb—nuclear and deadly, and the impact destroyed everything in its vicinity.

“You like him.” The deduction made sense, did it not? It’s why she hadn’t liked my revenge plan. Why she didn’t want me to fake-date him, why she’d freaked out when she found out that we’d kissed.

And as an oblivious idiot, I hadn’t realized I was basically dating my best friend’s crush. “I had no idea,” I confessed as the realization settled in.

“Seriously?”

The tone in her voice made me dare a glance at her. Double-taking when I… found an amused smile on her lips? Her pierced brow raised. “I do not like McCarthy.” She actually shuddered at the thought. “God, no.”

“But you said you were jealous.” Why else would she be— “Oh.”

Oh .

Oh Jesus.

When I’d said she was acting like a jealous girlfriend, I didn’t mean mine . “Wait—” But she didn’t.

“ Listen ,” she began, her attention on something else, avoiding my gaze. “I swore to myself I wouldn’t tell you any of this until I was over this— over you. And I am,” she added. “When you said that thing, about the jealous girlfriend—” Guilt twisted my gut inside out. “It’s the first time I noticed how much this stupid crush was affecting our friendship. I didn’t want to lose you, but in order to get over this, I couldn’t just—”

She shook her head, defeat in the sound of her sigh. “I wanted to apologize an hour after I’d stormed off. But I thought… If I could just have some time. You know? A few days, maybe a week. But then it’d been weeks , Thanksgiving around the corner, and I just missed you more . I didn’t want to leave you, I swear—”

She exhaled loudly, eyes finally finding me. I wasn’t sure what she saw in my face, once she examined my reaction. I, for one, couldn’t form a coherent sentence: my mind was too much of a mess for a task so challenging.

Had it been obvious? Had I just been too focused on myself to notice my best friend developing feelings for me? How ironic that I’d accused my brother of being too selfish to notice anyone else around him, when I clearly wasn’t any better.

I still felt too confused, too dumb, too guilty, to give an acceptable answer. Like, Hey, don’t worry about it. You can’t choose that type of stuff, and I’m flattered . Or thank you for telling me . Or: Oh my God, I had no idea. I’m so sorry for being an oblivious asshole who’s been telling you all about the bad sex with her ex-boyfriend.

I felt the worst about that. Every time I’d talked to her about my love life. My ex-boyfriends. Sex.

Her voice drew me back to reality. The one in which she’d gotten over me, apparently. Otherwise we wouldn’t be having this conversation. That’s what she’d said, right? “But if you would’ve come home with me, I’d have been back to square one, I think. Even with—I wasn’t sure—” she stuttered.

“With what?”

Wren swallowed, and I think she was… blushing? I wasn’t sure because I didn’t know she was capable of that. But alas, her cheeks were as red as the HBU logo.

“I met someone,” she blurted. “I think.”

“You think ?”

She slid from the armrest she’d sat against and onto the couch, and I followed her lead, sat down and got comfortable for what could very well become a long conversation. One I looked forward to. But Wren waved me off, shook her head with a laugh. “Later. I’m trying to apologize right now, you nosy ass. The list is so long. First of all, I’ve been a dick for the past weeks. Maybe it makes more sense now that you… know, but that doesn’t excuse how childish it was. Moving on: Thanksgiving—”

I didn’t like the way my stomach clenched just at the mention of Thanksgiving, which was the only reason I interrupted her apology.

“You needed your space,” I said quickly, shaking my head with how much sense it made. You can’t get over someone when you lived with them, even less so when you brought them home with you over the holidays.

“I needed my space, but I still could’ve handled this whole thing so. Much. Better.” Guilt withered her features. “Instead of just up and leaving without so much as a note—” She sighed. “Fuck, this is so bad.” Her eyes jumped back to me, almost panicked. “I really am sorry. So, so sorry. I don’t know what came over me.”

“Well.” I cleared my throat, giving her a gentle smile. The serious distress radiating off her made me unnecessarily nervous. “You did leave me with McCarthy, didn’t you? So that’s… certainly something.” The hint of amusement in my voice tilted her lips. Her nose twitched.

“He behaved?” she wondered, and the choice of words made a single laugh fly out of me.

I shrugged. “Too much so.”

“Good.” She hummed, then looked back at me. “I think?” Her words carried a questioning tone, and I couldn’t help but snicker in amusement.

“I’m not so sure.”

“At least,” she mused. “It seems he’s not as bad for you as I initially thought.”

The doorbell rang before I could ask more questions. So many of them. Wren hopped off the couch with the agility of a top athlete, then buzzed the downstairs entrance open, not even asking who it was.

“Expecting anyone?”

“Not unless Prem’s taking orders telepathically now. I was about to order when I saw you pull up—” She quickly cut herself off, eyes narrowing at mine. “Yes, I was watching the street from our window like a creep. Do not comment on it.”

I only managed to ask one of the questions still swirling in my head. Undoubtedly, it was the most important one. “Are we good, Wren? Seriously and honestly good?”

“If you can forgive me?”

I huffed a laugh at the absurdity of her words. If I could forgive what ? Having a crush on her best friend? Taking the space she deserved to get over it? Making sure I wouldn’t be by myself over Thanksgiving? Leaving me with the one guy who’d managed to get my mind out of the gutter?

I nodded. “Of course.”

Wren smiled, relief written all over her when she opened the door. My face fell at who she revealed.

Henry’s frame filled the doorway, and his eyes found mine in a heartbeat. He didn’t wait to be asked in, pushing past Wren with an infuriating sense of purpose.

“Henry—” stuttered out of me, immediately on high alert. I stood up.

He seethed as he made his way over to me, stopping only a foot in front of me. “One day I think I might kill you, Athalia.” With the way he sounded, I wouldn’t doubt it.

The icy cold of his voice made an uneasy feeling crawl down my neck, and the matching gleam in his usually warm green eyes only made it worse.

He huffed without any amusement in the sound, shaking his head. “You’re just sitting around.” He examined me, hand casually sweeping to the sofa that I had, indeed, been sitting on a few seconds ago. “Enjoying a nice conversation with your friend. Probably waiting for takeout. Or about to order some?” His eyes scanned the room to check whether his guess was correct. I wondered how he always just knew . “While your brother thinks you’re lying in a ditch somewhere!”

I flinched when his voice turned into a roar, sounding angrier than I’d ever heard. “I’ve called the police twice now. Crying on the fucking line about how my sister’s been kidnapped.” His head fell back in another display of faked amusement. He shook it. “And here you are.” Henry’s eyes snapped back to mine. The ache in my chest doubled.

I’d felt bad reading his texts earlier, but this was something else entirely.

A different kind of vulnerability in his words, his voice. The way he looked at me, as if there had never been any kind of malice between us until I’d decided to take off without telling him—as if he hadn’t been ignoring me for the past seven years, and this was the first time he seemed to care at all.

He didn’t let me say that. Just kept ranting and rambling and getting as much off his chest in these few minutes, as he’d shared with me since their deaths.

“Getting out of McCarthy’s fucking car, of all things.”

I wondered if he’d just so happened to be looking out of his window across the street. Or if he’d been watching my building, hoping I’d come back. And I wondered just how much worse that made the situation for him—me getting out of Dylan’s car.

My chest rose and fell heavily; I was unsure what to do, what to say. I just stood there, dumbfounded and guilt ridden.

“And you’re fine.” Again, he gestured to me, faked joy in his voice before his head snapped to Wren. “She’s fine.” He nodded in my direction when he looked at her, as if he had to confirm it to himself, rather than Wren.

“You could’ve texted Wren to check on me.” I think I short-circuited again when those words shot out of my mouth. I wouldn’t otherwise be dumb enough to accuse him of not doing enough , when I was clearly in the wrong here. Somehow, at least. But the way Wren looked at him—like she was about to physically fight the guy, despite their glaring height difference—I was sure I’d wake up to a kitchen full of cakes and muffins, and I’d rather not have them argue right here, right now. I had enough to sort out with my brother as it was.

Henry’s attention landed on me again in a heartbeat. His brows rose. “You don’t think I did?” At this point, he sounded fucking defeated. And I think hearing that hurt more than any word he’d said today.

Because Henry Parker Pressley didn’t give up—his ego wouldn’t let him. He didn’t get defeated, and he most certainly didn’t cry on phones to anyone. And the realization that I’d been the cause of both… stung. Terribly. Trying to shove those thoughts to the furthest corner of my mind, my eyes fell on Wren again. If he’d texted her, why wouldn’t she just tell him where I was?

She shrugged nonchalantly, eyes pointedly on me. “If you’re angry with him, so am I. Doesn’t matter if we’re fighting or not.”

Henry groaned, shaking his head as it fell back again.

“This whole thing has taken twenty years off my life,” he muttered in a sharp tone, hand washing over his face before he looked at me again. He hesitated for a moment, his nose twitching at what he saw.

When he moved, I half expected him to hit me in the face, maybe even tackle me. I did not expect an embrace, his arms around my body. He was squeezing harder than he should. I let him because otherwise I’d probably still get that blow to my face afterward. “Please don’t ever do that again,” he muttered, all anger blown out of his voice; the only thing still lingering desperation.

The same desperation that made him cling to the hug like a toddler. “ Please. ” His breath came unevenly. I felt his chest rise and fall rapidly when my head landed on it in reciprocation. And I just nodded, unable to say anything—not quite sure if I even wanted to.

It had been seven years since I’d been in my brother’s arms like that. When he wasn’t mysteriously drunk, trying to annoy me or playing around. His last serious hug had been right after we’d found out about their deaths—and right before he shut me out.