Good Grades & Mystery Games: Chapter 21

Things have not been going my way today. Everything has been just fucking great. First, my uncle completely creeps me out with his casual butcher’s shop in his backyard. Then, I can’t decide if he was gaslighting me or if I was really that stupid to mix up the person, I saw at the jewellery store and the ID I discovered. Then, my date blew up in our faces. Now I’m stomping out like an overstimulated child.

I shrug my coat on, storming through the door as I zip it up. As I step through the small lobby outside the restaurant, I notice it’s raining. Really hard. I stay under the shelter, trying my best to pull out my phone without the wind causing the rain to splash onto the screen.

Of course, it’s a Saturday night and most of the cab services are booked and unavailable. I take a look down into the suddenly crowded sidewalk filled with slap happy twenty-somethings all waiting for a cab.

I shove my Airpods in, blasting ‘Space Song’ by Beach House as I start to walk down the sidewalk. Today has already been a shitshow as it is, sad music won’t do anything but slightly cure it.

The rain is getting heavier, and I can feel it seeping into my clothes, ruining my hair. My coat feels heavy, my hands no longer feeling comfortable in the pockets.

I think about calling the girls, telling them what an insane day I’ve had, but I don’t want to burden them. They’ve always got something of their own going on and when they look at my life, it always seems fine and stress free. When I come to them with problems, it usually isn’t about a failed date because I never have those. I actually liked Max. For whatever reason, I let my guard down around him and I started to trust him. He became that one good thing in the mess my life has become.

That’s how I end up crying as I walk home, the tears disguising themselves in the rain pouring down my face. God, I truly am pathetic.

Part of me blames myself for messing up today’s date. If I hadn’t been so distant, I wouldn’t have messed up the card. If I could chill out for two seconds, I wouldn’t have snapped at him and ruined it before having a civilised conversation. Communication has never been my best strength, but I’m trying.

There’s that word again.

I’m still a few blocks away from my apartment, convincing myself that if I play this song on repeat twice more, I’ll be in the lobby. That logic only works sometimes. My body is too tired to speed up the walk home. I just want the ground to swallow me whole at this point.

I pass the movie theatre and I know I’m not that far from home. It’s completely dark outside other than the odd shop light. I try to keep my head high, not wanting to get freaked out by this dark isolation. Then I see a black car slow on the road on my side of the street.

I try to ignore it, not looking directly at it as I speed up my walk but turn down my music. The car’s pace matches mine. Shit.

Can today truly get any worse? The last thing I need is some creep following me home. I glance over at the car again as the window rolls down. I turn my head forward, keeping my eyes trained on the bright lights of the pharmacy ahead.

“Scarlett?” someone calls. Okay, now it is time to walk as fast as I can. The rain and these heels are not helping. “Angel?”

Of course, it’s him. Of course, Evan Branson has to be here when I’m at my worst. Great. He’s probably having a field day with this, grinning, and smirking to himself about how much of a mess I look.

“I don’t know who you’re talking to,” I lie, walking as fast as I can now, watching my step so I don’t end in a puddle. The car still doesn’t leave my side as I cross the street, pushing my hair out of my face.

“Let me take you home,” he shouts from the car. I look over at him. His window is fully down, his arm and head hanging out of it, his white shirt sleeve drenched by the rain.

“I can walk,” I say back.

“It’s going to start thundering soon.”

“Perfect. Just what I need to add to this already depressing walk of shame.”

“Talk to me, Angel,” he presses. “Let me take you home.”

“I would rather walk in the rain than talk to you right now.” As the words leave my mouth, a loud roar of thunder stops me as I look up at the sky. Of course, he has to be right.

He groans once the thunder stops. “Then let me walk with you in silence. Can I do that?”

I don’t respond and I carry on walking. I swear the universe is against me, distorting time, and distance because I swore I was closer to my house before Evan turned up. Maybe I’ve started going in the wrong direction. I spot his house with Xavier and Miles, and I know I must be close now. Only a few more minutes and I should be home.

I turned my music back up the second he asked that ridiculous question, but I still hear the car door slam. I glance over at the Escalade and Evan’s standing outside of it, now walking next to me as he unhooks the large umbrella that has appeared in his hand.

“What are you doing?” I ask, exasperated as the rain seeps into my mouth.

He looks at me, his jaw set, and his stare harsh. He opens the umbrella; his body heat makes me shiver more as his shoulder brushes against mine. He lifts the umbrella above us, shielding me from the rain and I can breathe for a second. He nudges his shoulder into mine. “Walking in silence, remember?”

“Do you ever take no for an answer?”

“I understand what consent means if that’s what you’re asking. But you’re clearly upset, and I was taught better than to leave someone to walk alone when they’re upset,” he explains simply. I find that slightly hard to believe, but he sounds serious. “If you really wanted me to leave, you would have pushed me into oncoming traffic by now.”

He’s right, so I don’t say anything.

As much as it pains me, we walk the next few blocks in silence. I don’t want to tell him about Gio. I don’t want to tell him about my date with Max and he doesn’t push it or ask me. It would be too embarrassing and as much as I can usually handle his jokes, right now I just want to sleep and forget today ever happened.

When we get to my apartment, he insists (silently, of course) to walk me up to my floor. I’m a capable woman. I can usually do these things on my own, but he’s helping me, and I can’t figure out why. He’s being somewhat bearable and it’s messing me up on the inside.

When I get to my door, I stand outside of it, staring back at him.

His white shirt is sticking to him because he’s an idiot and he didn’t wear a jacket. He’s not wearing a tie this time, but his top is slightly unbuttoned, showing off a slice of his tanned chest. His shirt is doing annoyingly wonderful things for his build. It’s stuck to him in all the right places, expressing his large chest and the defined muscles of his stomach. If I didn’t know what he was really like, I would even find him attractive right now. I’d want to run my nails down the creases in his abs and scrape my nails along his back. Especially with all the nice things he’s been doing lately, it’s overwhelming.

The filthy thoughts start to bombard me at once. “Stop doing these nice things for me. It’s confusing.”

He runs his hand through his hair, shaking it off as it drips with water droplets. “What’s confusing?”

“I’m supposed to hate you and you’re not making it easy anymore. What’s your game plan?” I ask. There must be something behind all this. Some grand scheme that I’m not aware of.

“I have no plan,” he says simply. He steps closer to me, my back pressing further against the door. This is the kind of proximity I can’t deal with right now. Not while he’s being so nice to me. He drops his voice lower as he whispers, “As cute as it is watching you try to hate me, just give in. I know you want to.”

“That’s the thing. I don’t want to,” I challenge, watching the way his eyes dim as they zone in on me. He’s so close to me now, I can see the light shade of blue that swirls within his eyes. So close that I can’t tell which of our hearts are beating so fast. I do my best to ignore the strange chill that runs down my spine at his proximity. “You’re annoying and rich and blonde and you talk too much shit. Oh, and did I mention that you’re blonde? It can’t get any worse than that,” I say in one go. I take a deep breath. “Actually, it can. You’re also really-”

He cuts me off with his hand on my face, covering my mouth. I knew his hands were huge, but Jesus Christ, they’re just massive. They’re still wet from the rain and so is my face, but they still feel warm.

Holy shit.

Evan Branson’s hand is covering my mouth and I’m not telling him to move. Something must be seriously wrong with my brain tonight.

“Do you ever know when to shut up?” he growls, those dark green eyes pinning me with a fierce glare. He groans lightly and I shake my head, desperate to smile under his hand. My eyes drop to his hand and then back to his face. “Are you going to stop shit-talking me now or do I have to keep my hand here to keep your little mouth quiet,” he rasps.

This guy can have a really filthy mouth when he wants to. On the outside, he’s this typical nice guy with a slight bad-boy complex, smiling and smirking at everyone. On the inside, he says things like that, and I wonder for a second – a second – if he uses that kind of language elsewhere.

I nod frantically and he drops his hand.

“God, Branson. If you wanted me to be quiet you could’ve done that in a million different ways,” I sigh, pushing some distance between us as I wipe my mouth. He shrugs.

“Have you got any updates on the situation?” he asks.

“I spoke to Gio, and he says that he doesn’t know Gerard in the way we thought. He’s an old friend of Lucas’ and apparently makes the best falafel in town. He said I was confused,” I explain.

He seems to dismiss the first part of what I just said and instead easily asks, “Do you think you were confused?”

“I don’t know anymore.”

“Well, just because he said you were, it doesn’t mean you actually were. You don’t have to listen to him. I know he’s your uncle and all, but if you know something was off, then go with it.”

He’s definitely making this whole ‘hating him’ thing worse when he says things like that. Things that I need to hear that just make sense.

“I know,” I say. He nods once. Twice.

“Listen,” he begins, shifting his gaze from my eyes to the floor. “I know you don’t want to talk about whatever happened tonight, but just so you know-”

The door to my apartment swings open, and I stumble back in my heels, but Evan reaches out and he catches me.

He catches me.

He grips onto my hand, pulling me up into a standing position. I don’t even get time to register the sharp electric pang that shoots from my hand to my brain because his hand is shoved in his pocket just as quickly. His eyes roam over my body for a second, possibly checking for injuries, but when he sees I’m fine, he scowls at Kennedy who’s standing beside me, smiling ear to ear.

“Maybe check the peephole before opening the door, Ken,” Evan says to my best friend in her Christmas pyjamas.

“If I’d known it was you, I wouldn’t have opened it at all,” Ken says. God, I’m going to kill her. She looks at me, still smiling. “You should have told me you were going on a date with Evan. I wouldn’t have burst through the door. Your Find my iPhone was still on, but you’ve been in the building for fifteen minutes. I thought you were getting attacked.”

“We didn’t go on a date,” Evan says sternly. I was going to say it, but the way he seems slightly angry by that pisses me off. Yes, it’s true. But the irritation in his eyes and the tick in his jaw makes me queasy. As if just the thought of being on a date with me repulses him.

“Ken, I told you it was with Max,” I say to her.

“Could’ve fooled me. You guys have been sneaking around with this top secret project for class,” she retorts, trying to sound casual, but Kennedy does not do casual, so she sounds like she’s up to something. “I thought it was about time you two banged out-”

This time I cover her mouth, doing exactly what Evan did to me as he smirks. I swear this girl is a ray of sunshine when she’s not trying to meddle.

“Okay,” I drag out, walking us backwards into the apartment. Evan still stands at the open door, grinning at us.

“I don’t think Kennedy finished her sentence,” he teases. “You know, if you wanted to tell her to be quiet, you could do that in a million different ways.”

“Goodbye, Branson,” I say, kicking the door shut with my foot. When he’s out of sight, I turn to Ken who’s smiling like a clown beneath my hand, so I drop it. “You’re so annoying, sometimes, you know that?”

“Ah, but you love me,” she says, waving me off.

“You’re still annoying.”

“No, it means that you love me.” She beams at me. “So, I take it the date didn’t go to plan if you ended up with Evan.”

I sigh, walking into the kitchen. “It’s for the better.”

“You’re just telling yourself that,” she says, rolling her eyes. “You don’t have to be closed off with me, Scar. I pride myself on being able to read people, but recently, you’ve been making it difficult. I want to be here for you.”

I know I’ve been off with her and Wren, but sometimes I feel like they won’t understand what it’s like to be in my position. They always have their own things going on. And though I know they’d never say it, I’m sure they would realise that my problems can’t be that big if I have money and a decent family to solve them.

When I look at Ken who has moved away so far from her family and doesn’t have her dad anymore after he passed away, I shouldn’t be allowed to complain about my dad who is still technically alive. When Wren talks about her parents and their divorce, I can’t talk about how sometimes I feel ignored in my own family even when my parents are happily married, which is why I’ve put off therapy for years. I don’t want to take up space in a place where some people have real problems when mine can be fixed temporarily by throwing money at it.

“I know, Ken and I’m sorry,” I say truthfully, pulling her into a hug. She somehow always manages to smell like a beach even when she hasn’t been to one in a while. She constantly smells like summer despite her last name. I breathe her in. There is nothing quite like a Kennedy Wynter hug.

“I know how you can make it up to me,” she muffles into my skin. I hum in response, recognising that slight child-like mischief in her tone. “Miles is doing a Halloween-themed game night at his house next weekend. It’ll be a few of the hockey guys and Evan too. You should come.”

“I’ll be there,” I say, squeezing her again. A day not thinking about my dad and the company could be good. I need a few days to recoup and start working on a different theory. Something about what Gio told me is still not making sense to me.

I’m missing something.