Chapter Seventeen

Antoine

By the time I’m home, so many thoughts are churning so fast that I can barely process them all. My place is a two-bedroom condo not too far from the office and perfect for a single guy. It screams comfortable bachelor—smooth, dark wood flooring, an over-sized black leather couch in the living room, a couple of big TVs, a Bluetooth-ready surround sound system, a kitchen stocked with the essentials for making drinks, toast, eggs, bacon and popcorn. The off-white walls have leaves stenciled in four different shades of green. That’s not my doing, it’s Kristen’s. A housewarming gift, she said. She also brought me a bottle of excellent Merlot that I know she filched from Dominic’s wine rack.

I pour myself a finger of whiskey and down it fast, my eyes on the leaves. I’ve never seen Kristen that upset or hurt before. And it’s completely my fault.

It took all my willpower not to run after her. I’ve never seen her take off like that. She isn’t really a confrontational person, but she isn’t a runner either. She most likely needs time to herself before she’ll be ready to listen.

Still, I can’t relax. I shower again…then have another drink in bed. Sleep continues to elude me, slipping away like sand.

Damn it.

Kristen’s going to be fine. Tolyan’s with her, and she’s too well-adjusted to do anything rash. She isn’t like Tessa, who seemed so normal…until the day she wasn’t.

“God, Antoine, you drive me crazy!” Tessa yelled. “You made me so miserable, I want to just…” She couldn’t continue, her chest heaving. Tears fell from her red-rimmed eyes, and she wiped them away impatiently before I could process the scene unfolding in front of me.

I didn’t get it. I only told her my parents were taking me to Paris for the summer. I didn’t particularly want to go, but Papy was spending July in Paris, so Maman decided we should, too.

“Why are you doing this to me? Why? Why?” Tessa put a hand over her face, shoulders shaking. “You know I want to go, you know I want to get to know you better, but you won’t let me.”

I bit my lower lip. If it was just me going to France, I would’ve asked if she wanted to come along. But not with my overbearing parents and relatives. If Papy was in Paris, that meant Tante Nicole and Oncle Clément and Nicolas would be there, too. Having Maman and Tante together in the same place was always hellish, with snide looks and words designed to cut. They never cared about who else got hurt in their petty battles. And I didn’t want to drag Tessa into it because Tante Nicole would find a way to humiliate her to upset Maman…and instead of defending Tessa, Maman would find a way to humiliate Nicolas to even the score. And Papa and Oncle Clément wouldn’t lift a finger to stop their wives. Sometimes they even egged them on, like cheerleaders rooting for their team to score.

“Now I see what’s going on. You’re pissed because I could be pregnant,” she says.

“That isn’t it. Believe me.” I thought all the blood in my veins had frozen when she told me her period was late. But I was pretty confident she wasn’t. Condoms fail, I know, but Tessa was never super regular anyway.

“You’re going to dump me.”

“I’m not. If you want, we can go to Paris together later,” I offered. “Just the two of us.”

“No! Forget it! You don’t understand anything. You don’t know what babies do to girls!”

“Come on, Tessa. Clam down.”

“It’s all your fault! I hate you! I hate you!” Tessa cried. “Get out!”

And since she didn’t even want me to get near her, I said, “I’ll be back later.” Even if she forgot, we had a dinner date. If she didn’t want to go out, that was fine, but I wanted to check on her, just to make sure. Something about her screams felt off, and recently, she’d been moody and erratic.

And when I came back that evening, I found Tessa in a pool of her own blood, her wrists slit. I called 911, then her parents, who were out of town on business. And the first thing she said—in that horrible, raspy voice I’ll never forget—when she opened her eyes in the hospital was, “It’s all your fault. You made my life hell, Antoine.”

Eddie was there, and he was furious. He blamed me for what happened, said I wasn’t kind enough to his sister. “She’s a delicate girl, Antoine! You fucked up!” And that was just the beginning of a ten-minute rant.

It wasn’t just me. The problems with Tessa were already there; I managed to magnify them until she couldn’t handle them anymore. She was too fragile, and I was your typical obtuse, indelicate teenage boy. But I did fuck up. I should’ve listened to my gut. I should’ve been more aware.

Tessa watched the scene unfold in front of her in that awful hospital room, her eyes unblinking and intense as Eddie raged on. The fine hair at the back of my neck stood up. I’ll never forget that gaze…or the way she seemed to soak up the scene…

It still makes my skin crawl.

My fingers tremble as I pour myself a glass of whiskey and down it in rapid gulps, letting the liquor burn my mouth and belly. I’ve seen death before. And plenty of gore. But somehow, recalling Tessa lying there on that bloody floor still leaves me cold and shaky inside.

It’s been over an hour. Maybe Kristen’s calmer now. At least calm enough not to start screaming or call me a bastard…or worse, hurt herself. I start to phone her, then change my mind and text Tolyan. He’s a Class-A dick, but he’s an honest Class-A dick.

What the hell were you guys doing at the café?

She insisted on going over to your place to speak to you…against my advice. Then she got nervous and decided to get something to drink on the way. Buy some time to compose herself.

Fuck. You should’ve stopped her.

Don’t blame me for what she overheard. Not my fault your tongue is loose.

God, he’s aggravating. Can you check up on her?

Yes.

I wait.

Nothing.

Bastard, I think, shaking my head. And? I text.

She’s fine.

Damn it. Did you even look at her?

Yes.

What’s she doing? I ask, despite my better judgment.

Watching TV and downloading dating apps. Nice work, Romeo.

He never misses a chance to twist the knife. Asshole. Can you keep an eye on her?

Whatever for?

To make sure she’s okay.

I doubt the dating sites will bring much danger.

I’ll be there tomorrow morning to pick her up and smooth things over.

As my brain finally registers the rest of Tolyan’s text, I stop…then reread it just in case. Kristen’s downloading dating apps?

An ugly growl starts in the back of my throat, but I swallow it. I told her—repeatedly—that I wasn’t going to date her. Of course she’s going to finally accept that and look for someone else.

But that doesn’t make the sudden burning in my stomach easier to bear.