Pride (26 page)

He found Beth out on the deck, her back to the party, staring aimlessly out at the dark desert expanse stretching beneath her.

“Beth?” he said quietly—no answer.

Tentatively, he touched her shoulder, and she whirled around. But her face relaxed as soon as she recognized him.

“Oh, it’s just you.” She sighed.

“Are you okay out here?” he asked, noticing that her eyes were red and glassy with unshed tears.

“I’m fine,” she assured him. “Just … thinking.”

“Yeah, I’ve been doing a lot of that lately,” he commiserated, leaning up against the rail that encircled the deck. “And there’s something I want to talk to you about.”

She ran a weary hand through her hair.

“Adam, I don’t really have the energy right now for—”

“Then just listen,” he begged her. “I need to say this. It’s New Year’s, you know.”

“Yes, I’d noticed,” she said dryly.

“I don’t want to start the new year like this,” he told her. With us—like this.”

She wrinkled her face in confusion. “Are you saying you want us to get back—”

“No, no, no,” he cut her off hastily. Was that relief in her eyes? Or disappointment? “No—I just hate it that we can’t even talk anymore.”
Except for that afternoon in the mountains,
he didn’t say, though he wanted to.
That day when it seemed like things could be … different. Better
.

“We’re talking now,” she pointed out.

Just be direct,
he coached himself. Beth had hurt him, badly—but he had to let it go. He couldn’t move on if he was still trying to punish her, he’d realized. And also …he just couldn’t stand to hurt her anymore. No matter what she’d done to him.

“I want to apologize,” he finally blurted out. “I’ve treated you like shit. I’ve been horrible to you, and I realize now I was wrong.”

“Well, that’s nice of you, but …”

“We all make mistakes, Beth,” he pressed on, “and I should never have expected you to be perfect. So I want you to know”—he took a deep breath, for this was an incredibly difficult sentiment for him to express—“I forgive you.”

“You forgive me?” she asked incredulously. “
You
forgive
me
?”

He’d expected tears of gratitude, an outpouring of shame, or even just a wordless hug—but he hadn’t been prepared for the wave of anger flooding her face.

“You forgive me for what?” she snapped.

She had to ask?

“You know for what—for
Kane,
” he hissed.

“How many times do I have to tell you that nothing
happened
!” she cried.

Adam felt his muscles clench and he tried to stay calm. He couldn’t believe it. He’d worked so hard to do the mature thing, swallow his pride, offer his forgiveness—and she still couldn’t even admit what she’d done to him?

“You can tell me as many times as you want,” he retorted, his voice rising, “but it won’t help. I know what you did. Why can’t you just admit it?”

“There’s nothing to admit!” she exclaimed.

“I can’t—” He started to turn away, then stopped. He couldn’t keep doing this to himself. He couldn’t start the year off like this. It wasn’t fair—to anyone. “Look, I didn’t come out here to start a fight with you,” he said softly, turning back around.

“I don’t want to fight anymore either,” she admitted, the tension visibly leaching out of her body.

“Can we call a truce?” he asked hopefully. “Agree to disagree?”

She nodded. “I’d like that.”

They stood facing each other in silence for a moment, and then Adam broke the wall of distance with a hug, sweeping her into his arms. Her hair still smelled like lilacs, fresh and sweet. It felt so right to hold her, to remember the way her body had fit snugly against his. And she clung to him, her arms wrapped tightly around his neck, her face buried in his shoulder, and he could feel her crying—but when she finally looked up at him, her eyes were dry.

“Remember last New Year’s?” she asked, her arms still wrapped loosely around him, his arms lightly encircling her waist. When Adam was with Harper, pushing Beth out of his mind seemed so easy. But now, facing her, holding her, the past seemed more real than the present.

He nodded ruefully. “This isn’t the way I thought things would end up.”

She sighed. “I know. I guess I thought we would …”

“So did I,” he said softly, brushing a tear from her cheek. Her skin was like silk. It would be so easy to lean forward just a bit, to close his eyes and forget where he was and what had happened between them, just to feel the tender touch of her lips again. He caught his breath for a moment, and all he could see were her lips, glossy and slightly parted, and all he could feel was his desperate need—

“We should really get back inside,” she said awkwardly, breaking away from him.

He dropped his hands to his sides abruptly. What the hell had he been thinking?

“I should—go find Harper,” he stammered.

“And Kane.” She sighed. “I guess I should …” She shook her head. “Let s just go back inside.” They threaded their way back toward the sliding-glass door to the living room, but before they stepped through, Adam stopped her.

“I’m glad we talked,” he told her, leaning close. “I really want things to be better between us.”

“They will,” she promised, and took his hand.

They stood at the threshold, and Adam knew he had to step inside, rejoin the party, find Harper. But Beth’s hand was still tightly wrapped around his, comforting and warm.

And he really didn’t want to let go.

“I can’t believe you let him out of your sight,” Kane taunted her. “You really think that’s safe?”

“Would you just shut up?” Harper snapped irritably. She was so sick of Kane’s overblown ego, his superiority complex—as if he were really so much better than the rest of them. “Adam loves me,” she maintained. “
I’ve
got nothing to worry about. You, on the other hand …”

She turned away to join Kaia, who was lying low and flipping through CDs in the back corner, obviously trying to stay out of the line of fire, but too curious to slip out of the room.

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” Kane asked, flinging himself onto a small leather couch pressed against the wall. “Beth and I are just fine.”

Harper just snorted.

“Got something you want to share with the rest of the class, Grace?”

“You and Beth are a walking disaster,” she informed him. “A ticking time bomb, a train wreck, a—oh, pick whatever tired cliché you want. The whole relationship is a joke.”

“I’m not laughing,” he said in a dangerous voice.

“But everyone else is,” Harper countered. “It’s so obvious she’d never be with you if Adam hadn’t broken up with her. She never would have even looked at you.”

“What about you?” Kane asked, rising from the sofa and striding toward her. “Like Adam would ever have dropped Beth for the town
slut?
”

“You can insult me all you want,” Harper said, feeling the bile rise in her throat. Sticks and stones may break your bones—but names seeped inside and killed you slowly from within. Not that she’d ever admit it. “But I know the truth,” she insisted. “Adam
wants
to be with me.”

“Only because he thinks Beth cheated on him,” Kane pointed out.

“So?”

“So? So she
didn’t
—or have you forgotten that little detail? In this delusional world you’ve created for yourself, have you forgotten that we just made him
think
she cheated on him?” He grabbed Harper by the shoulders and gave her a rough shake. “Snap out of it. He’s not with you because he wants to be. He’s with you because you tricked him. You lied to him.”

“
We
lied,” Harper corrected him. “And it doesn’t matter.” She pulled herself away and turned her back on him, hugging herself in an effort to hold it together. “He would have come to me eventually. We just sped things up a little.”

“No,
Beth
would have come to
me
eventually,” Kane countered. “They always do. You, on the other hand, would still be alone.”

“Why are you doing this to me?” Harper asked in a tight and muffled voice.

“Why are
you
trying to pretend you’re so much better than me, that your relationship with Adam is oh-so-perfect, while Beth and I are—” He turned Harper around to face him, and she met his gaze fiercely. “We’re the same, you and I.”

“We are
not,
” she insisted.

She glared at Kane, at his smug, superior face. He didn’t care about anyone, about whom he lied to, whom he hurt. That wasn’t her, she assured herself. She only did what she did because she had to. It wasn’t her fault. That person, cold and calculating, heartless—she could act the part, but it wasn’t real. It wasn’t
her
.

“We are, Harper,” he pressed on. “Looking at you, it’s like looking in a mirror. Why don’t you just admit it? For once in your life, why don’t you just tell the truth?”

“She doesn’t know how.”

Kane glanced up at the sound of the cold, thin voice—but Harper didn’t need to. She’d recognized it. She’d know his voice anywhere. But finally she couldn’t stand it anymore. She had to turn around, had to see his face—and Adam was frozen in the doorway, Beth by his side.

The world went dark for a moment, and Harper thought she would pass out—longed for unconsciousness. But then everything swam back into focus, and it was real. He was there. And from the look on his face, she could tell.

He’d heard everything.

At first, their angry voices hadn’t really registered. Adam hadn’t processed what they were saying, what it meant. It was only when Beth, standing beside him just outside the doorway of the small study, issued a quiet moan, that he had understood.

He had blundered in here looking for Harper, and he’d found her, he realized. The
real
Harper.

The four of them stood frozen in silence for a moment, just staring at one another in disbelief. Beth broke first.

“How could you?” she cried, her eyes whipping back and forth from Harper to Kane. “Did you really think you’d get away with this?”

Kane shrugged his shoulders and flopped down on the couch. “Sure, I did,” he admitted, his hands propped casually behind his head. “Don’t tell me you’re surprised.”

“I-I-” Beth stopped stuttering and burst into tears, fleeing the room. Adam wanted to chase after her, but it was as if his feet were stuck to the floor. He couldn’t move—couldn’t take his eyes off Harper.

“Adam—” She rushed up to him, put her hands on his shoulders, “Adam, please, you have to understand.”

Gently but firmly, he took her hands off his body and returned them to her sides.

“Don’t touch me,” he warned her in a low monotone. He felt a dull, hard anger spreading over his body. Not the burning rage that had swept over him when he’d found out about Beth. This was something different, something new. He felt calm and cold, as if his veins had turned to ice, as if something inside of him had died.

“You were my oldest friend, my best friend,” he told her slowly. “I trusted you.” Past tense. “I thought I
loved
you.”

“Adam, please,” Harper begged, tears streaming down her face. In all the years he’d known her, he had never seen her cry. He wondered idly whether he should be feeling surprise, or pity. He felt—nothing. Hollow. Spent.

“I love you, Adam!” Harper cried, throwing herself against his chest, clinging to him. “You mean everything to me.”

“And you mean nothing to me,” he spit out, pulling himself away.
“You’re nothing.”

She flinched at his words, but he had moved beyond caring. He wasn’t even trying to hurt her. He was just stating a truth. Everything he’d believed in, everything he’d trusted in, it had disappeared. There was nothing left but emptiness. The Harper he had known—the Harper he may have loved—just didn’t exist. Smoke and mirrors, a pretty illusion. That was all.

“I have to go now,” he said mechanically. “I have to find Beth.”

“Then go,” Harper said, slumping down to her knees as if she’d lost the strength to stand. “Just go. But you know you won’t be happy with her, Adam. You know it won’t be like what we had. What we had was real.”