Mom and Dad had been . . . hovering. For the first time since I could remember, they were more worried about me than Harlow. Mom was worse than Dad, even coming in to check on me in the middle of the night as if I were a toddler. She’d startled me awake several times.
But they’d both been pissed, livid, when they first found out what we’d done—that we hadn’t told them the second we found out Will and Drew were involved in something illegal, that we got ourselves involved. I knew most of it came from a place of worry for us, so I did my best to remain calm, take the verbal lashing, and act appropriately contrite.
Once they’d calmed down, I did the mature thing and told them everything. I went through every detail of what we found out—glossing over Harlow’s potentially illegal methods of getting the information—why we chose not to tell anyone, how the night had played out. They were grudgingly happy Hendrix was willing to go to great lengths to protect me like that but still didn’t condone his reckless actions.
I left out my regular visits to Davey’s—figured my parents didn’t need to know how many guys I’d fucked—but I told them about how I’d been feeling suffocated, pressured, and overwhelmed and that I didn’t want to go to law school anymore.
With everything else that had happened, they were hardly even bothered.
“You do whatever you want, go to whatever school you choose, study arts for all I care.” Dad waved a dismissive hand, his hair a mess, an empty glass sitting on his desk. “We just want you to be happy and safe.”
“You’re not mad about all the work I’ve put in over the years going to waste? All the connections I’ve made and . . . and . . .”
“Honey.” Mom scooted closer to me on the couch, and Dad pushed off his desk and came to sit on my other side. “We’re not mad at all. We want you to be successful, but what that looks like is entirely up to you. Above all, we want you to be happy. And safe.”
I nodded, a lump forming in my throat. “I just want you to be proud of me, and I feel like I’m failing.”
“Donna.” Dad took my hand and made me look at him. “We are proud of you. So proud of you. No matter what.”
My tears spilled over.
“We love you so much, honey.” Mom wrapped me up in a hug.
That was pretty much the end of the conversation. The following week had been focused more on Hendrix’s recovery, police statements, and my parents constantly reassuring themselves I was safe and well. They’d been hovering over Harlow and me both, but I was definitely copping more of it after opening up about how I’d been struggling.
I shook my head and pushed the memory away, taking a deep breath of the fresh, sun-soaked spring air. I still got a bit misty thinking about what an emotional roller coaster the past week had been.
Nicola walked past with Luke, and they both smiled at me and waved. I smiled and waved back. A lot of the guys from the football team had been at the fight when the police busted in, and were arrested. Every single one of them had walked away without being charged—thanks to expert lawyers, their parents’ influence, and their enthusiasm to testify against the Frydenbergs. Nicola and I had talked, bitched about Will, and we were cool now.
“Let’s head in.” Amaya picked up her bag, linked arms with Mena, and took the lead. Drew slung an arm over Harlow’s shoulders, and they were cracking jokes and messing around before we even reached the front stairs.
Hendrix threaded his fingers through mine and kissed the top of my head as we followed our friends into the school.
People stared and whispered, none of them daring to come up to us and actually ask about what happened, but by now the whole school knew everything that was public knowledge. The stares and whispers were just as much about the fact that I was walking into school hand in hand with the guy they’d all thought I despised just a week ago. I smiled to myself.
At the start of the hallway where all the seniors’ lockers were, we pulled up short so we wouldn’t collide with Mr. Monroe. He was barreling past—students parting in his wake, some even turning to walk in