Winter (Four Seasons #1) (26 page)

*****

“
You’re not
going to fucking Africa with that psychopath!”

Morgan’s boots
make a creaking noise as we walk through the campus buildings
towards home. We went for coffee, and I’d told her about Noah’s
meltdown. I just haven’t told her what provoked it. She doesn’t
need to know about what happened with Luke. “Journalists die in
Sierra Leone, Avery. They go out there trying to be good Samaritans
and they get their heads blown off by child soldiers. You don’t
want that.
No one
wants that. Plus, correct me if I’m wrong, but it sounds like
Noah threatened you.”

“
Oh yeah. He
was furious.”

“
But he didn’t
hurt you?” Morgan glances at me out of the corner of her eye. This
is the fifteenth time she’s asked me that, and it appears she still
needs some convincing.

“
He didn’t
touch me. I told him to leave and he left. End of story.” Yeah, end
of story if you don’t count him purposefully knocking over the
camera Uncle Brandon bought me at thanksgiving. Noah also punched
the wall on his way out as well, but from his hiss of pain and the
complete lack of damage to the paintwork, I suspect he did more
harm to himself than anything else. I didn’t even switch the camera
on to see if it was still working yet; I did the smart thing and
left to find Morgan in case he came back.

As we approach
our building, Morgan tugs on my jacket sleeve. “I don’t think you
should spend any more time with him. He’s…he’s not been entirely
honest with you about his situation.”

I stop in my
tracks. “What d’you mean?”

“
Well…”
When Morgan looks uncomfortable, that’s when I know things are
serious. “Tell me what you mean.”

“
I only found
this out the night I overdosed. Please don’t be mad at me. I was
going to tell you myself, but then Noah showed up with you that day
at the hospital and he made me promise. He said he was waiting for
the right moment to tell you himself. He made me go outside with
him so he could talk to me before you came back.”

None of this
is making any sense, but I have a really uneasy feeling. “Just spit
it out, Morgan. What didn’t he tell me?”

Morgan
flinches. “He has a girlfriend.”

Okay… I wasn’t
expecting that.

“
Actually,”
Morgan continues, “it’s a little more serious than that. He has…he
has
a wife
.”

“
What? You
can’t be serious? He’s, like, twenty-one years old! Who gets
married at twenty-one?”

“
People who
knock up their girlfriend, whose supremely Catholic family won’t
allow their grandchildren to be born bastards?” Morgan
offers.

“
Holy…that’s
just…
he has a kid
?”

Morgan nods.
“Three years old. Are you upset?” A troubled look forms on her
face. “Please don’t cry. I don’t know how to handle
crying.”

A loud burst
of laughter rips out of me. I slap my gloved hand over my mouth, my
eyes wide. “He has a kid. Ha!”

This clearly
isn’t the reaction Morgan was expecting. She eyes me cautiously as
we make our way inside, and I laugh from the bottom of the stairs
all the way up to my apartment on the third floor. Morgan doesn’t
let up.

“
You’ve lost
it. Girl, most women who discover their pseudo boyfriend is
actually a married man with a small child go on the rampage. What
the hell is wrong with you?”

Maybe she’s
right. Maybe I am mad. The thing is, I really don’t care. If
someone told me
Luke
was married with a kid, well, that would be a different story.
That thought wipes the smile off my face. Morgan makes herself at
home, and I do what I always do when I feel stressed: I start to
clean. I pick up the Super Eight from where still lays on the
floor, assessing it for any visible signs of damage.

“
I’m not
stupid, y’know. Are you going to tell me what’s happened between
you and our friendly local police officer, or am I going to have to
beat it out of you?” Morgan asks.

I freeze, my
back to her. Damn, the woman is too smart for her own good. How the
hell she thinks she knows anything is beyond me. I try and act cool
when I turn around. “Who said anything happened with
Luke?”

“
You did. Or
at least your bright red cheeks are telling me right
now.”

I scowl. “I
don’t want to talk about Luke. Why don’t you tell me about your
meeting with the Dean instead? I’d love to have been a fly on the
wall when you told him you weren’t taking any time off for
rehab.”

Now it’s
Morgan’s turn to scowl. “You’re supposed to be on my side. And he
was pissed, but I managed to convince him it would never happen
again.”

“
I can’t
believe he caved so easily. Actually, I’m surprised he didn’t expel
your ass.”

Morgan rolls
her eyes and tugs on the over-sized red sweater she’s wearing. Red
really isn’t her color. She still looks like death warmed up. “He
did mention a two year judiciary suspension but my mom managed to
talk him down.”

That’s
interesting. Unlike Leslie’s parents and my mom, Morgan’s family
didn’t make any grand donations to Columbia. It makes me wonder
what kind of swing her parents have, and why Morgan never talks
about it. There are a lot of things I apparently don’t know about
Morgan.

“
Just make
sure this is the right thing for you, okay? Your mom was right
about that. A college education is going to be useless to you if
you’re dead.”

A tight smile
pulls at her lips, and I can see what an effort it is for her not
to snap at me. She looks tired. More than tired—washed out and
exhausted. Delicate purple shadows linger under her eyes, and her
cheekbones protrude more than usual.

“
Are you
eating?” I ask as I fold away the last of my laundry. Anything to
keep my hands busy and my mind off the fact that I am supposed to
be back in class tomorrow. Morgan shakes her head.

“
I can’t. Tate
Rhodes has ruined my appetite for life. I finally managed to reach
his mother in Bali. She said she hadn’t heard from him. She didn’t
even sound that worried. She was more concerned about the media
discovering he’s missing. She said, and I quote, “he does this
sometimes, sweet girl. He’ll turn up when it suits him and I’ll
have to bail him out of trouble, yet again. Just let the police
look for him and keep quiet about the whole thing.”

I raise my
eyebrows and sit down at my desk, twisting side to side on my
computer chair. “And have the police found anything? Any clues or
witnesses as to where he’s been the past week?”

Morgan turns a
pale shade of green. “His credit card keeps getting used in strip
bars. They think he’s just out partying.”

“
Has he done
that before?”

“
Sounds like
it,” she says, her voice hushed. “I’m so done worrying over him,
Ave. We’re over. I’ve left him four voice messages telling him so.
Now he can go out and perve on as many strippers as he wants to
guilt free. Not that I imagine he’s been feeling very
guilty.”

Poor Morgan.
She and Tate weren’t really an item, not really, no matter what she
told her mom, but still…he has to know she’s been sick by now and
to not have even picked up the phone? What an asshole. “I’m sorry,
Morgan. You know what? Fuck that guy. We’re gonna rent a movie
tonight and commiserate, and then starting tomorrow we’re going to
find you a smoking hot gentleman who’ll take proper care of you.
Deal?”

“
Okay.
Deal.”

“
I’ll order
some Chinese as well,” I say. Morgan needs to get a proper meal in
her, but as soon as I think about dialing for Chinese food, I
remember Luke ordering for us in his apartment. The stack of
Spiderman comics, the mountains of sheet music, the guitars, the
neatly folded blankets in his cupboard. His ocean of books, and his
endless supply of Jack. “Scratch that. We’re having Indian
instead.”

Twenty Two

Truth Will
Out

I WAKE with
the stale taste of Korma in my mouth, even though I brushed my
teeth twice before bed. The taste isn’t as bad as the ringing in my
ears. I reach out to slam my palm down on my alarm clock, but then
realize it isn’t going off. Perhaps the high-pitched buzzing has
more to do with the five beers I drank last night and less to do
with the fact that it’s time to get up. In fact, when I warily
crack my eyes, it isn’t even daylight yet. The only light in the
room is bright blue, cast off by my cell phone as it vibrates
noisily on my bedside table.

I snatch the
phone up, wincing when I see it’s six am. The wince develops into a
flat out frown when I see Luke’s name on the screen. I hit answer,
loud-whispering, “Why the hell are you calling me at six am?” For a
second I hope Luke has pocket dialled me and I’m going to be able
to hang up without speaking to him. When he starts talking, I
realize it isn’t so much as a pocket dial as a
drunk
dial.

“
Wyoming’s
actually two hours behind New York, so it’s…um…four am here. Your
uncle said I had to wait until sun up to speak to you, but he
didn’t say where the sun had to be coming up, so…is it up? It must
be by now. Can you check?”

“
No! No, the
sun is
not
up! You
need to go to sleep, Luke.”

“
I can’t
sleep. Not until I know you don’t hate me.”

“
What? I
don’t—” I pinch the bridge of my nose, trying to keep calm. “Of
course I don’t hate you. I might change my mind if you don’t let me
get back to sleep, though. I have an early class and I’d like at
least another hour.”

“
Brandon said
to tell you that you had to let me dig you out,” Luke slurs,
completely ignoring me. “I have no idea what he means, but if you
need help digging then I’m your man, Iris.”

Jeez, this is
terrible. Brandon and Luke really shouldn’t be spending time
together. Apparently my uncle can’t keep his damned trap shut. “I
don’t need any help with digging, but thanks. Now go to
sleep.”

“
Will you see
me when I come home?”

I pull my
comforter over my head and consider swearing. “I don’t know, okay?
We’ll talk about it when you’re sober.”

“
I need to
tell you some things when I see you. That’s why I have to see
you—to tell you some things,” he mumbles. “Brandon says we should
be honest. He thinks I should tell you what happened to me, but I’m
not…you might…

I hold my
fingertips up to my mouth, holding my breath. Brandon has been
trying to convince Luke to talk to me. Explain about his past and
his relationship with my dad. “He’s right, Luke. You should tell
me.”

Silence reigns
supreme down the phone for a second. And then Luke sounds like he’s
sobered up a little. “I’m so sorry, Iris. I know you’re not mine
but still… I can’t bear the thought of losing you. You’ll run, I
know you will.”

“
I won’t, I
swear I won’t. I promise you.”

But it’s no
good. The brief glimpse of sober Luke is gone all too quickly.
“SHIT!” A clattering sound on the other end of the line cuts Luke
off. It sounds like he’s tripped and fallen. He starts laughing
hysterically, so loud I have to hold the phone away from my head.
“Sorry, Iris. Crap, it’s Avery now, isn’t it? Avery Patterson. It’s
like you’re two different people, but you’re not. I keep getting
confused.”

“
I know. It’s
okay. You can call me Iris if you want. Everyone knows now, anyway.
Now go to sleep, okay?”

“
Okay, okay,
I’m going. Promise you don’t hate me? I feel bad for what we…
what
I
did.” The
intense guilt in his voice and the way he adjusts his words makes
it sound like he forced himself on me or something.

“
Luke
.”

“
I
know…
go to sleep
.
I’ll see you in two days, Avery. I’m going to find something to
ex…exonerate your dad in that house.”

He hangs up
before I have chance to remind him it was me who’d jumped him, not
the other way around. Before I can convince him to trust me with
his secrets. Before I can thank him for trying to clear my father’s
name even after how awful I’ve been to him. I don’t go back to
sleep. I lay there until the sun actually does come up, feeling
wretched and conflicted.

******

As predicted,
I’m gawked at from the moment I enter the lecture theatre to moment
I leave. The posters around Columbia have been taken down as
requested by Amanda St. French, who always gets what she wants, but
my mother can’t make people stop staring. I am kind of used to it,
but not on this scale. Columbia University is a hell of a lot
bigger than Breakwater High, with a hell of a lot more people.
Unfortunately they all know who I am now.

The time I’ve
spent living as someone else here has been wonderful, but I passed
every second worrying about what was going to happen when everyone
finally discovered the truth. Now that I don’t have to hide
anything anymore, it’s almost a relief. A sick and twisted kind of
relief, but there all the same.