What Ambrose said.

What people heard.

“You okay?” Quinn asks.

I feel the tears well again as we stop at my next class. I grip my bag so tight my fingertips start to tingle. “I’m good.”

“I um…” His eyes won’t meet mine. “I can’t do that again.”

“I’m sorry?”

“I’m just…” He starts backing away. “I’m probably the worst person to be defending you at this point, especially against him, all things considered. I just wanted you to know it’s not you, it’s—“

“—me.” I finish for him. “I’ve lived through a million apologies in my lifetime Quinn; what could possibly make you think that this one would be any different?”

He reaches for me.

I back away and shake my head once. I have no idea why he’s suddenly acting like he’s bailing on me, and I don’t need to know his reasons.

People fail you.

People leave.

“I don’t need a savior, remember?” I don’t say anything more and walk into my classroom with my head held high.

I listen to the teacher talk about numbers.

I grab my school planner and cross off the date.

Twenty-nine more days to go.

But I’ll never be free.

Chapter Fourteen

Ambrose

Every time I see her, I want to fight, but how do you fight someone who’s so fucking pure looking?

I slam my hand against my desk, then reach for my phone.

“Heard you and Quinn had it out earlier.” Hudson sits down and laughs. “I knew it would happen one day.”

I roll my eyes. “Not this again.”

“Bro, you went to comic con every year together until the tenth grade—of course, this conversation is going to happen. I mean, that was the biggest falling out of friendship I think the world has seen, and I watch Euphoria.”

“For all the sex and dick, good for you.”

He shoves me away and grabs his earbuds from his pocket. We both know he’s not going to be listening to any chemistry for the next hour, and because of how rich he is and how good his grades are, nobody really cares.

The guy scored a near-perfect score on his SATs and ACTs.

I hate him.

I mean, I did well, but still, he didn’t even do test prep, asshole.

He pulls his black lacrosse hoody over his head and slinks back into his chair, still watching me with that stupid smirk on his face like he knows things.

I try to focus on the textbook in front of me as people file into the classroom, and then I stare at my phone and see a picture of my family and want to throw it at his face.

“You haven’t talked to Quinn in two years.” He just has to point out.

“He was in my way.” I lie.

I saw him holding her, and I just snapped. I don’t even remember everything that I said, but I do know it was hurtful.

“Look,” Hudson’s about to give me advice, perfect, just what I want on a Tuesday morning while suffering in agony over my father’s death, the pressure, the person at fault, and why she was being held by my nemesis. “It’s not like he stole your girlfriend on purpose… Tessa always liked him. She kissed him first, blah, blah, blah, they dated, she…” He clears his throat. “Clearly moved on just like him, I mean, of course, only after the whole we may have a kid now thing, which got real intense at fourteen, but he’s a different guy now; she’s happily already at college, living her life…”