Unethical (10 page)

“How about, ‘Oh, hi, Jules, you’re awesome and everything, but back away from my ex or I’ll kill you in your sleep.’ That’d work.”

Wow. I was so going to win best friend of the year. “I’m sorry.”

Shaking her head, she stammered, “I wouldn’t have said all those things if I knew it was you.” She looked down at our hands and after a long pause said, “I wouldn’t have gone out with him if I knew you’d dated him.”

“I know. I just…” I wiggled my hands out of her grasp and pushed a loose curl behind my ear. “I don’t know what to think when I see him. It brings up so many memories—ones I’m not ready to deal with yet.” Or ever. “Are we okay?”

She pulled me into a hug and ruffled my hair. “Yeah.”

Jules lay sprawled across the couch in our living room as I shuffled along the carpet in my robe and slippers to start the coffee maker, her anthropology textbook draped over her face like a sleep mask. A really big, uncomfortable sleep mask. The book moved as she let out a groan. “If I have to read any more about European colonial expansion, I’m going to throw this book through the window.”

“Go for it. But you’re paying the security deposit.”

Two bright red spots appeared on her cheeks as she peeled the book off her face and tossed it onto the coffee table. “Ha. Ha.”

“Jeez. How long have you been up?”

“It’s morning?” Her diamond-studded belly-button ring peeked out from under her shirt as she stretched her arms above her head.

“Dude, you need some sleep.”

Even though she came off as carefree, she studied as much, if not more, than I did. Come to think of it, besides weekends, I hadn’t seen her make it to her bedroom to sleep. Either I lived with a vampire or a hardcore insomniac.

“Yeah, yeah. Make me some coffee, woman.” She waved her hand, dismissing me to the kitchen.

I planted my hands on my hips, holding back a smile. “Be nice to the caffeine supplier.”

My response remained a moot point, because Jules softly snored on the couch, drool pooling on the cushion.

I settled next to her and pulled up the medical ethics class forum. I needed to respond to three students in order to get full credit.

Scanning the topics, I found a few that sounded interesting enough to respond to, but then my gaze landed on a post from B Hiller. Curiosity got the best of me, and I opened the response.

B Hiller 11:58 p.m.

Many might argue that assisted suicide is not an optimal choice, but here are the reasons a person might choose this medical route:

Dying with dignity. Who really wants their loved ones to see them perish and suffer? Which would be more traumatizing for children: their parent leaving this world just as they remember, or as a lifeless skeleton?

The right to die is a fundamental freedom. Every person has the right to end their life for whatever reason they choose. If they can’t deal with the pain anymore, and it’s not treatable, they should be able to leave this world pain free.

Closure for family. People might argue that loved ones don’t get closure from assisted suicide, but I disagree. If someone died in a fatal car crash, no one gets to say good-bye to them, but with assisted suicide, you know when they are going to pass. You can say your final good-byes and therefore have more of a sense of closure.

I stared at his list. He went into cons, but not in as much depth. I had to admit that his argument made sense. I wouldn’t ever tell him that, but I could see why people would agree with his logic. He was still wrong, though. I didn’t get closure. Instead, a cold rush of bad memories left me empty and lifeless, just like my mom’s body in Spring Hill Cemetery.

Mom. What would she want me to do about Dad’s predicament? She’d stick by him ’til the end—she did until he helped her die. Would I have kept in contact with her if the situation had been reversed? Or would I have ignored her the same as I did Dad? The stack of unopened letters from my closet called to me.
Open me.

Would it give me closure like Blake argued? Doubtful. Yeah, I missed him, but I couldn’t go back to being a daddy’s girl. Couldn’t go back to the days when we watched cartoons on Sunday mornings and went on evening runs after dinner. Or daddy-daughter dates to catch a movie and share rocky road ice cream at the Tasty Freeze afterward.

Dad ruined everything.

I blew out a shaky sigh while my cursor made it to the reply button. Blake needed to see how wrong he was.

P Daniels 10:30 a.m.

Dear B Hiller,

You make some valid points, but I feel that your logic is flawed. How can you speak about something you have not personally gone through? I agree that no one needs to die as an emaciated skeleton, but there are many treatments that could be tried before resorting to assisted suicide.

The right to die is a freedom, but what about from a religious standpoint? If you were from a religious family, this would be considered committing suicide, which is against most beliefs. I’d think you would want your loved one to end up in heaven on judgment day.

And as for your opinion on closure for family, I completely disagree. Yes, you had the option to say good-bye, but is it really better when you know exactly when your loved one is going to pass? In some ways this can be more painful and leave loved ones wondering if there was something more they could have done.

I didn’t mention Mom and Dad’s decision to keep me out of the loop, like I wasn’t important enough to be a part of the discussion—that hurt the most. It fueled every stabby opinion on everything assisted suicide related. Life was an unfair bitch.

I hit send before I could chicken out.
Good. Much less personal than talking about it face to face.
Even though he’d see my post, dialogue through a computer gave a sense of anonymity. Maybe he’d realize his logic was skewed. He wouldn’t have wanted his mom to commit suicide. She was a devout Catholic; he’d want her to go to heaven. And, even if my mom wasn’t religious, I prayed she went to a better place.

Chapter Twelve

Blake

“Your arms are shaking worse than a fat girl’s ass on the treadmill. Now c’mon, bro, give me one more.” Andrew’s words of encouragement took shit talking to a whole new level.

I clenched every muscle in my body as I struggled to push up the bar. With one last burst of energy, I straightened my arms. The metal clanged against the rack, and I loosened my grip. A zigzag pattern imprinted on my palms as I peeled my hands off the bar. My body melted into the bench. Nothing beat the liquefied feeling my muscles got after being pushed to the max.

Andrew put his fist in front of me, and I bumped it with my knuckles. “Nice, bro.”

Shifting out of the bench press, I grabbed my towel and wiped off the black vinyl dotted with my sweat. “Thanks. How was mini golfing?”

Andrew slid onto the bench press and gripped the bar. “Fucking disaster.” He did three chest presses, grunting like a roided-out gym rat. “Her roommate called, something about being sick. She had to go home and take care of her.”

Hmm. Jules seemed fine in class earlier that morning and had texted me that night wanting to hang out, clearly not getting I wasn’t interested. Somehow her text and Andrew’s comment didn’t add up.

“That sucks.”

He pushed the bar up again, and, with the way his right arm shook, I’d put money on him only making it a couple more reps. “Isn’t that your job? Being her boyfriend and all.”

“We’re just friends.” Single as ever. I had a feeling it would stay that way until I figured out my shit.

His arms shook as the bar stalled halfway on his rep. Through ragged breath, he squeezed out, “Friends with bennies. Good for you.” The vein in his forehead throbbed against his red face. If he didn’t breathe soon, he’d burst a vessel.

“I guess. Stop holding your breath; you’re gonna pass out.” I was not in the mood to deadlift the bar after three sets of incline and decline bench.

“Even though our date got cut short, I made progress. It’s just a matter of time.”

He struggled with the bar and, without warning, his muscles went limp and the bar slammed down onto his collarbone. He let out a loud
oof
and fought to push off the bar. A good spotter would help him out a little. I wasn’t feeling like a good spotter today. Especially when he was so insistent on getting into Payton’s pants. Instead, I let him wrestle around with the bar a few more seconds before helping him lift the weight off his chest. “Sorry,
bro
.”

He sucked in a deep breath and lay on the bench like a cadaver on an exam table. If he didn’t move soon, guys waiting for an open bench were going to be pretty pissed. Nothing worse than some asswipe chillin’ on equipment.

Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted blinding pink shorts, a white tank top, and smoking hot legs running on the indoor track one floor up. Even though she ran in the opposite direction, her auburn curls gave her away. Andrew still lay on the bench, panting like he’d run a marathon rather than lifting 225 pounds.

“I’ll be right back.”

He waved me off, his eyes still closed.

I made my way through the cardio machines, entered the stairwell, and took the stairs two at a time. Payton rounded a curve, heading straight for me as I entered the track area.

Her curls bobbed with the pace of her stride. The muscles in her legs flexed with each push off the track. Not an ounce of fat on those legs. She was cut in high school between cross country and track, but this was a whole different level. Like P90X meets marathon runner. My hands itched to run over her thighs and feel her hard muscles.

I leaned against the railing and traced the outline of my tattoo. She slowed her pace from a sprint to a light jog and took out her ear buds.

She didn’t stop, so I pushed off the railing and jogged beside her. Good thing I didn’t do legs today, or I wouldn’t have been able to keep up. Her slow jog was most people’s running speed. “Heard about your epic fail of a date.”

She grimaced for a millisecond and recomposed herself, her arms still pumping at her sides. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Payton was about as good at lying as she was at commitment, which was to say she sucked a big one. She hadn’t always sucked; she used to be a great girlfriend, but she dropped the ball when she went AWOL. “Should’ve listened to our chemistry teacher when she said you were a horrible liar.”

She was one of the goody-goody types in high school. One night, she snuck out of her house to be with me—okay, I should amend the first statement to clarify her goody-goody status only pertained to grades. Needless to say, she was a little preoccupied and forgot to do her homework. She tried to lie to her teacher, saying she left her assignment at home. What a fucking train wreck. She stuttered, turned red, and kept babbling on about a dog. She didn’t own a dog. The chemistry teacher called her out, told her she was a horrible liar, and said she could turn it in the next day as long as she never tried to lie again.

Her cheeks turned a brighter shade of red. “Whatever.” She wiped some hair that had fallen into her face with the back of her hand. “Jules was sick.”

I ran—sprinted—in front of her, turned, and jogged backward. “You stick with that. How’d you enjoy mini golfing?”

Her shoes skidded against the track, then she walked up to me, close enough that her Big Red breath filled the void between us. She pointed her finger at me and poked my chest. “That was your suggestion, wasn’t it?”

I gnawed on the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Throwing this in her face was satisfying, but the Marvin the Martian glare aimed at me? Icing on top of this delicious cake called payback.

Her blotched cheeks and neck turned a deeper shade of red, the flush traveling down her chest and disappearing underneath her running top. I’d give anything to see where that flush ended. “You’re…you’re impossible!” She really needed to work on her comebacks, but she was so damn cute when she was flustered. I just couldn’t resist.

“I might have suggested it to Andrew, but you wouldn’t have liked the alternative.”

“Excuse me?” She poked my pec harder. Her finger dug into my tired muscles, and I had to fight back the urge to flinch. “How would you know? Do you know what I like now?”

She had a point. I’d like to know. Did she still watch
The Lord of the Rings
trilogy when she had a bad day? Or drink strawberry-banana smoothies after a long run? I wanted to know her favorite class. I wanted to know everything I had missed out on freshman and sophomore year.

“I’m sorry.”

“From now on, just butt out. You have your own life. Why do you need to keep trying to make mine miserable?”

Was she referring to just my date suggestion or the post I had submitted on the forum? She hadn’t brought it up, but I had a feeling I’d upset her by my opinions. Whatever she was mad about, it hit hard.

I had been so focused on her ruining my life over the past couple years when she left me that I really didn’t think about her feelings. A rift had come between us ever since my senior trip, and she never let me explain myself. She needed to know what really happened, and I knew this was my only shot.

I grabbed her hand and led her to the stairwell. She tried to wriggle out of my grip, but I pulled her into the secluded area, determined to set it all straight.

I let go, and she immediately brought both hands to her hips, staring me down. “What are you doing?”

“I want to explain what really happened in Mexico.”

My aunt had bought me a trip to Mexico for a graduation present. I went with Ryan, my best friend since elementary school. It wasn’t planned—at least, I wasn’t part of the planning process. In fact, Payton and I had arranged a chill little getaway. When I bailed on her last minute, her implementation of the silent treatment and her patented death glare said it all—I made the wrong choice.

She leveled me with her glare. “I got the gist. I saw the Facebook pics.”

“It was just body shots, Payton. I’m sorry, that was a douche thing to do. But that’s not what I meant.”

“You did more?”

I clenched my fist, fighting to find some patience. How could she seriously think I’d cheat on her? I loved her. “No. Will you please just sit down and listen for a minute?”

She looked at her imaginary watch on her freckled forearm. “I’ll give you fifty-eight more seconds.”

We sat down on the stairs, my leg brushing against hers, a flush still painted over her porcelain skin. I took a deep breath and started before she could interrupt any more.

“Your dad promised me that your mom was fine; that’s the only reason I went.” Her brows scrunched when I mentioned her father, but she didn’t interrupt. “I didn’t know anything about the trip before graduation, and if I would have known it’d cause so much trouble between us, I would have never gone.

“The first night we were there, Ryan pushed me into the pool and my phone was in my pocket. Ryan refused to let me use his phone—said it was a dudes-only trip.” She picked at her fingernail, glaring down at the floor. Even if she didn’t want to talk to me after this, at least I tried. She needed to hear the truth.

“I had no clue what happened while we were in Mexico, and when I got back, my aunt told me, but it was too late. You were gone. I tried calling you, but, well, you know the rest.” I rested my hand on her knee, her skin warm against my shaking palm.

“Payton, I would never do anything to hurt you. If I’d had the money, I would have flown to Florida and found you myself. You have to believe me.”

She stared straight ahead, her eyes, for once, not giving anything away.

Fuck.
How else was I supposed to convince her? Do cheeseball nineties karaoke to profess my love? Because, at this point, I’d do anything.

The few beats of awkward silence went by.
Oh-kay.
She liked that one *NSYNC song, maybe that would work. I cleared my throat. I could own the pre-pubescent, boy-band high notes.

She shook her head, still not looking at me. The song lyrics stalled in my throat. Sound the buzzers, ladies and gentlemen. Game over.

I shifted to stand when she grabbed my hand. “I believe you.”

I leaned back against the steps and mentally saluted the big man upstairs. For once, something was going right when it came to Payton.

This was it. I needed to tell her I still had feelings for her, that I still loved her. “Payton.” I grabbed her chin and looked into her eyes. “I lo—”

Steps echoed in the stairwell, and Payton pulled away from my touch. Andrew rounded the corner, eyeing me and Payton still sitting on the stairs.

“Hey, babe.” Andrew ran his hand down Payton’s shoulder and kissed the top of her head. Fucker. When he looked away to answer a text on his phone, she wiped her arm where Andrew had touched her.

Babe?
What a dickwad. That was
my
name for her. It just sounded douchey coming from his mouth. And what was the kiss all about? I thought their date had bombed.

She said, “Hi,” and continued to stare at the ground.

He pocketed his phone and turned to her. “I was thinking we could go out for dinner tonight, if you want?”

Say no. Don’t go out with him again.

She scuffed her shoe on the track and didn’t look at him. “Can’t. I have a study sesh with Jules at the library.”

Go ahead, mention you have to take care of your dog, too.

“Cool. Blake and I can join you guys. We need to study for chemistry.”

“Uh.” She picked at something on the bottom of her shirt.

This bordered on painful. All signs pointed to not interested.
Take your head out of your ass and get a clue she isn’t going to put out
.

She said, “Yeah, sure, I guess.”

What the hell? Was she into him? And I almost told her I still loved her. Just fucking great.

I glared at Andrew. “No. I’m gonna study in the room.”

“Come on, Blakey Wakey, don’t get your panties in a wad.”

“I’m good.” Hell would turn into a winter wonderland before I subjected myself to a night of Andrew hitting on Payton. I’d rather wash my eyes with acid. And before Andrew had a chance to give me more shit, I said, “I’ll meet you back at the house. Gotta go run and do something.”

Nothing had changed
.
How had I deluded myself into thinking she still had feelings for me? Of course she wasn’t into me anymore. Fine. She could have him. Time to move on.