Crushing On The Billionaire (Part 2) (7 page)

“You haven’t been the same person,” I said, tentative as Shawn continued to gape at me, trying to feel my way through the opening I thought I had to make a point. “Not since that day we all yelled at one another in this very room. I don’t understand it. You’re not going to class. We’re not working on our senior project. It’s as if you’ve thrown everything away just because I don’t love you romantically.”

“You broke my heart, Loren.”

There it was, the bare, ugly truth. Like it or not, I was at fault in this situation for spurning Shawn’s advances. All of the drinking and drugs and high-risk behavior were because of me. I hated the fact that his love for me was threatening to scuttle the bright future he had at school, the plans he had for his art after graduation.

He was my friend, and I really did love with him like a brother, but this was too much.

Patrick lashed out. “People are going to break your heart, Shawn. You can’t hold Loren accountable for everything you’ve done—and neglected to do—while you’ve been moping over a rejection. You’re young. It’s a big world. You’ll find someone else you have feelings for. I promise you. But drugs and drinking and turning your back on the things that you enjoy doing, that you have to do, that’s not the right way to cope with this. You’re risking your life, and you’re risking other people’s lives. It’s not right.”

Shawn cut his eyes at me. The cat was out of the bag that I’d told his father about his run-in with the police.

“That’s not what friends are for, Loren,” he admonished, wagging a finger at me. “You’re supposed to be able to trust your friends with your secrets.”

“I am worried about you, Shawn,” I said, emphasizing each syllable. “Everybody makes mistakes. But when you keep on making them, that’s when you need help that I can’t provide.”

“Are drugs a problem?” Patrick asked as casually as if he were simply inquiring about the weather. I had to admire his composure. That couldn’t have been an easy question for a father to ask of his son. “Do you have trouble stopping drinking once you’ve started? Do you think it’s time that we start looking into rehab?”

“Rehab?” Shawn barked a laugh. “Would making me disappear for twenty-eight days make it easier for you to continue your affair? I could come up with a more permanent solution, if you’d like.”

What was that supposed to mean? Patrick’s face twitched, and I knew he’d taken note of his son’s odd declaration.

“There’s no shame in rehab,” Patrick continued. “And there’s no shame in admitting that you need help. My own father—your grandfather—was an alcoholic. If you think you might have a problem, the genetics are there. Everything is going to be fine once we get you the help that you need.”

“I don’t need any help,” Shawn said, shaking his head. “All I need is for Loren to love me back. That’s all.”

I couldn’t handle this. “I can’t just do that, Shawn,” I told him. “You have to understand that you can’t just ask someone to love you and expect it just to happen. Being in a relationship with me—which isn’t going to happen—isn’t going to suddenly solve all of your problems. You need to take responsibility for yourself.”

“And you need to go to class again,” Patrick added. “I’ve never known you to neglect your studies—or your art for that matter.”

“I’ve had it with both of you,” Shawn announced.

“What do you mean, had it?” Patrick demanded. “You can’t just walk away from this, Shawn. I want to discuss your plans with you so we can determine how to move forward.”

“I’m not planning on moving anywhere,” Shawn said, then almost casually, he removed a gun from the pocket of his sweatshirt. It was small—so small that neither of us had seen it—but I knew just how deadly it was. I recoiled away from it as if it were a tiny poisonous snake.

“And just what the fuck are you going to do with that?” Patrick asked, his calm voice taking on an edge for the first time this afternoon.

“I’ve got the solution to all of your problems,” Shawn said almost dreamily. What had he taken? How much of it was in his system right now? Did he even know what he was doing?

As if he were encased in gelatin, Shawn slowly brought the gun up to his own temple, his finger on the trigger. Then he looked at me with bottomless eyes.

“Don’t!” I shrieked at the same time that Patrick burst forward, yanking the arm that held the gun toward him.

A loud crack sounded, and both of them fell to the floor.

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