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Back When We Were Bright and Beautiful Save as PDF
Chapters (72)
  1. Cover
  2. Dedication
  3. Epigraph
  4. Part One
  5. 1
  6. 2
  7. 3
  8. 4
  9. 5
  10. 6
  11. 7
  12. 8
  13. 9
  14. 10
  15. 11
  16. 12
  17. 13
  18. 14
  19. 15
  20. 16
  21. 17
  22. 18
  23. 19
  24. Part Two
  25. 20
  26. 21
  27. 22
  28. 23
  29. 24
  30. 25
  31. 26
  32. 27
  33. 28
  34. 29
  35. 30
  36. 31
  37. 32
  38. 33
  39. 34
  40. 35
  41. 36
  42. Part Three
  43. 37
  44. 38
  45. 39
  46. 40
  47. 41
  48. 42
  49. 43
  50. 44
  51. 45
  52. 46
  53. 47
  54. 48
  55. 49
  56. 50
  57. 51
  58. 52
  59. 53
  60. 54
  61. 55
  62. 56
  63. 57
  64. 58
  65. 59
  66. 60
  67. Epilogue
  68. Author’s Note
  69. Acknowledgments
  70. About the Author
  71. Also by Jillian Medoff
  72. About the Publisher

For a split second, DeFiore’s face twists in frustration, but Lawrence, lost in thought, doesn’t notice. I remember him in the conference room, squeezing himself, vacant with lust. Dwarfed by the enormous table, he looked diminished. Pitiful. A prisoner of his own cravings.

DeFiore asks firmly, “Lawrence, to reiterate, you were not kissing Cassie? There was no sexual relationship?”

Stirred, Lawrence shakes his head. “Absolutely not,” he says adamantly. “The idea is insane—absolutely insane. I’m sorry my family has been subjected to these lies.” He looks at Eleanor as he offers this apology, imploring her forgiveness. Please don’t be angry, he begs. I will make this up to you. Which I know because he begs me this same way.

Suddenly, there’s a shout. “This is bullshit!” Nate jumps to his feet. Scanning the gallery for me, his face is flushed. “It’s you, Dad. You’re the predator. Cassie was a kid. She did nothing wrong—”

“Order!” McKay smacks his gavel. He admonishes the gallery, and the trial resumes. Meanwhile, I’m trapped here, on this bench, in my body, so angry I could kill someone.

* * *

Hours later, I’m racing up 95 toward New Haven. After Lawrence’s testimony, I called an Uber, with instructions to the driver to meet two blocks from the courtroom. Then I hid in the ladies’ room until he arrived and ran out of the building. He ferried me to the hotel, where I picked up my Porsche, shot Nate a text (Thank you. I’ll call. xx), and headed north.

I’m driving so fast the car is vibrating. The top is down, and the chilly wind pulls my face and whips my hair around like a flag. Traffic is heavy, so I weave across lanes, searching for holes. Every vehicle I pass is a near-calamity.

A mile from campus, there’s a turn I like to take at Mach speed; the kind of turn that’s hit or miss, as far as survival. Fifty yards out, I rocket forward. Driving this fast feels like flying, like nothing can touch me. As I commit to the turn, my wheels skim the pavement. I give myself over to the car. It’s out of my hands; I have no control. Nor do I care. I close my eyes, just for a second, just to feel the darkness—

An air horn jolts me awake. WAKE UP! A giant rig passes by; the driver blasts me again. WAKE UP! WAKE UP!

My car starts to skid. I careen out of control. I try to steady myself, hug the curve, right the wrong. I slam on my brakes, lead with my chest, and hit the steering wheel full force.

A third blast. The driver waves. I raise my hand. I’M UP. I’M UP. I’M UP.

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