reason,” I snap.
He runs a hand through his hair, looking pained. Good. That helps make me feel better.
“Look, I’m an asshole, alright? I admit it. My parents ditched me, and I was mad, but … I shouldn’t have said that to you. I’m really, really sorry.”
He sounds so genuine, it’s throwing me off balance. Slowly, I unfold my arms and gaze down at the sandy ground between us.
“Fine. I’ll stay.”
He releases a deep breath, as though relieved. My heart is pounding uncomfortably in my chest. This feels so strange, so close to something real. We’ve just had a fight, and he’s apologized. I’ve forgiven him.
That’s something couples do.
Are we a couple?
I clear my throat and look back up to meet his gaze.
“I really am sorry your parents did that to you,” I murmur. “That’s really shitty.”
He hunches a shoulder, but I don’t miss the way his jaw flexes. “It is what it is.”
I can see in his expression that he means that, and that’s just tragic. My hand lifts, as if of its own accord, and cups his cheek.
“No, it sucks, and you’re allowed to feel angry about it.”
He covers my hand with his and squeezes my fingers gently. A low growl of frustration escapes his lips, but I know it’s not directed toward me. At least, I don’t think it is. He drops his hand, pulling mine down with it, but doesn’t release me.
“I really do hate my father,” he confesses softly. “Really, truly, despise him.”
It’s a shocking thing to say, but it doesn’t necessarily surprise me.
“Why?” I make my voice gentle.
He looks out over the water as he speaks through gritted teeth. “I hate the way he conducts his business. He’s a cutthroat bastard, and he’s not different in his personal life. I also hate how oblivious my mom pretends to be about it all. So long as he keeps bringing in money, she doesn’t give a shit how it happens, or how unethically it was earned.”
“Has he always been like that?”
“No.” Saint shakes his head. “At least, not from what I’ve heard. When he was working with his old business partner, he was different. Better. He’d be nowhere if it wasn’t for Benjamin Jacoby.”
“As in Jacoby House?” I ask with a shift of my eyebrow, remembering that it’s the luxury girls dorm where Laurel lives.
“Yep. They were best friends in high school, and my dad latched onto his buddy’s success to make himself something … more. Something better than just an Angelle.”
For some reason, his words make me think of that old photo of his dad and friends in the trophy case back at the school. Something painful tugs at my gut, but I’m not certain what, or why I seem to care so much.
Still, I’m curious. “What happened to your dad’s business partner?”
There’s a strange look in Saint’s gaze that unnerves me. He seems distant, somehow, even though he’s standing right in front of me.
“He died. And then my dad got the whole company. Lucky him, right?”
His words are weighted with a heavy sorrow and resolve. I don’t know what to say to him to even begin to make him feel better. The silence that stretches between us is awkward as hell, and the longer it goes, the more clueless I am as to how to break it.
It’s Saint that eventually speaks first, but he asks me a question I’m not really prepared for. “Were you serious earlier? About your mom?”
My eyes widen and I’m momentarily paralyzed with panic. I consider denying it, saying it was just a way to make him feel bad, but that feels so wrong after his apology. With a sigh, I decide to tell him the truth, at least in part.
“Yeah, I was,” I murmur, though the truth about my mom is really only skimming the surface of my fucked-up life.
“Fuck,” he breaths. “I’m … I’m sorry, Mallory.”
I roll my eyes. “Please, don’t pretend you give a fuck about some drug dealer from Rayfort. I know you better than that, Saint.”
His expression turns thoughtful for a moment, and then he nods.
“You’re right, I don’t give a fuck about your mom.” He grabs me around the waist and yanks me toward him, making me gasp. “But you, on the other hand…”
My heart races as I stare up at him in disbelief. Those aren’t words you throw around casually with someone you’re sleeping with. Those are words you say when you actually care for someone.
Does Saint care for me?
“Saint, I—”
“Why don’t we go