Chapter Text
Janet Murray’s least favorite thing about Life Skills was the teacher. Mr. Patterson always sported big pit stains on his Walmart button-downs, and he was the sort of adult who lectured kids about having their phones out while shoveling assignments at them day after day through the online portal, like his screen time didn’t count because it came with a grade attached.
Her second least favorite thing about Life Skills was that it was a gen ed class, which meant she was stuck in there with the plebs. Every sophomore had to take it, including the burnouts and the fuck-ups and the incurable losers like Phoebe Burnstogen and Ruston Vance.
Sure, Tucker and Cole were in this class too (though Cole had tried unsuccessfully to get switched out at the start of the semester; something about wanting driver’s ed in the morning), but even that wasn’t enough to dispel the miasma of Midwestern mediocrity.
“Today we’re starting our new unit,” Patterson said as he lumbered up and down the rows. He held a stack of photocopies, dropping a packet on each desk he passed. “The next three weeks are all about personal finance. You’ll be working in pairs to construct a household budget…”
He kept talking, but Janet was already turning in her seat to make eye contact with Cole to her left. She raised her eyebrows. He nodded. They were tight like that, her and Cole. Everybody called Tucker his best friend, but Janet knew better. She got Cole, saw past the bluster and the bullshit to the real guy underneath.
Which meant, of course, that Patterson had to ruin it.
“You won’t be choosing your own partners for this project, so you can all stop wriggling around,” he said, arriving back at his desk to trade the rest of his packets for a clipboard and pen. “You can’t choose who you work with in the real world, so I’ve assigned you partners.”
The “real world.” Janet hated it when teachers said that, brandishing their futures like a weapon. Like a threat. As if Mr. Donald Patterson, Kettle Springs High School Class of ’96, who’d done two years of community college and then scurried right back into the dingy fluorescent safety of his alma mater, knew anything about the real world.
Janet raised her hand. Patterson heaved a sigh.
“Yes, Janet?”
“That may be true for jobs, but like, arguably, when it comes to household finances, we should be picking our partners in the real world, right?”
A general murmur of agreement sounded from the collective, but Patterson’s expression (predictably) didn’t change.
“Be that as it may—“ Teacher code for I don’t actually have an answer for that, and I don’t intend to try to find one— “I’ve assigned your partners, and that’s final.”
Next to her, Cole’s hand went up, and Janet suppressed a smile. Say what you want about Cole Hill, but he was loyal. She knew he’d have her back.
Patterson knew it too. He sighed again. “Yes, Cole?”
“Coach says Tucker and I have to work together on group projects so we can use the study hall practices to stay on top of our grades.”
Janet shot Cole a glare, and he shrugged at her, face twisted into a rueful, whoops? smile. That traitor.
Patterson looked down at his clipboard and sighed a third time, long and loud like a gassy cow. “And I guess it was too much trouble for your coach to tell me that ahead of time.”
“He said he sent an email.”
“Of course he did.” Patterson made some changes on the roster before looking around. “Then with that in mind, I’ll read out the partners. Once you know who you’re working with, sit together and start reading through the packet. It has all the parameters for the project, including deadlines.”
“What the hell, Cole?” Janet hissed at him once Patterson started reading off the names.
“He was never going to let us work together. I had to think fast. Couldn’t risk it.”
“Risk what?” she asked, and Cole looked momentarily blank, like her question had caught him off-guard.
He recovered quickly, however, and hit her with one of his trademark smirks. “Risk getting paired up with one of these losers,” he said, holding out a hand for Tucker to slap as the other boy dragged a desk over.
Like he had a cue, Patterson said, “Janet Murray.”
Please be someone normal. Please be someone normal. “Yes?”
“You’ll be working with Ruston Vance.”
Fuck. Rust Vance was not normal, and he wasn’t in any of Janet’s other classes, which meant he’d be dead weight academically. Could he even read? Or was it all just picture books and FOX News at the ol’ Vance homestead?
Tucker guffawed, and Cole snickered, with an I-told-you-so glint in his eye. Janet had a sudden, vivid mental image of slapping Cole right in his stupid beautiful face.
She knew what her mom would say. If you were his girlfriend, you’d have leverage right now. Vivian Murray was perhaps the only person more disappointed than Janet by the fact that Cole still hadn’t asked her out. She was always pointing out what a “catch” Cole was. How Janet needed to stop wasting time and snap him up. Once he goes to college, he’ll have a lot more options. The competition will be much fiercer. You’ll never have a better shot at him than right now.
Janet didn’t know how to explain to Vivian that she didn’t like Cole for his money, or his house, or for the faraway prospect of being Mrs. Hill. (Like people actually married their high school sweethearts anymore. Yikes.) She just liked him. Liked his smile and his sense of humor and the way he could talk to people for ten minutes and uncover something fascinating about them. She liked him so much it hurt sometimes, if she let herself dwell on it for too long.
She even liked him when—like now—he was being a smug douche.
“You owe me,” she muttered to Cole, then turned and found Rust in his usual corner seat, next to the window where he could, presumably, daydream about field dressing possums or whatever. He looked as happy about this arrangement as Janet did, which was insane, because it’s not like he had any better options. “Well?” she called over to him. “What are you waiting for?”
“Oh that’s gonna go great,” Cole said, almost like he was talking to himself. “Come on, Tuck. Let’s give the happy couple some privacy.”
Tucker guffawed again, because of course he did, and they both stood just as Rust trudged over. Rust had his eyes fixed on his packet, and Janet was sure he’d trip over the jumble of desk legs, but he navigated around Cole and Tucker’s chaos and slid into a nearby chair without incident.
Irritation still burned under her ribs at Rust’s attitude. Where did he get off looking so put-out over this partnership? Janet was group work gold and everybody knew it. He should be overjoyed. He should be falling all over himself with gratitude. The chasm between what she was owed and what Rust gave her spurred an extra bite of meanness, and she reached out to grab Tucker’s hand before he could go too far.
“Tucker,” she said, all honey. “Are you sure you won’t trade partners with me?”
To his credit, Tucker did look a little regretful. “Sorry Janet. No can do. Coach’s orders.” He clapped Cole on the shoulder. “Plus, what do I want to work with Vance for? I got the G.O.A.T. right here.”
Cole let out an obnoxious bleat, like an actual barnyard animal, and then they did their stupid football chest bump before abandoning Janet to her fate, because the patriarchy was alive and well in Kettle Springs High School.
Which left her alone with Redneck Rust, still studying his packet intently. I guess sounding out all those letters takes time. She resisted the urge to kick him and instead turned to her own copy of the instructions.
“Give me a minute to look this over, and I’ll divide up the tasks,” she said. “You can send me your half a week before the deadline. I’ll make sure it’s all formatted and ready to submit.”
“That won’t work,” Rust said, the first words out of his mouth. He spoke in that flat, countrified way of his, all the sounds shoved up into the front of his mouth behind his teeth.
“I’m not doing the whole thing myself. If you think you can foist this all off on me—”
“I’ll pull my weight, but we can’t just split it in half. Look at the instructions.”
Janet did and was horrified to discover that Rust was right. Everything was interconnected—they couldn’t just split out the different expenditures, because everything depended on everything else. She saw the next few weeks yawning out ahead of her, trapped at the library with this social albatross hanging around her neck, and she wanted to scream, especially when she compared it to what could have been.
If Patterson had let her partner with Cole, this project would have been heaven: building an imaginary life together, choosing a house and cars and having cute little squabbles about which streaming packages to pay for. A showcase for everything Janet brought to the table. Cole pretended he didn’t care about his family’s legacy or the pressure his dad put on him as the Baypen Heir, but Janet knew that was a lie. Cole did care. He cared a lot, and this project would have been the perfect opportunity for Janet to prove that she could live in that world, be his partner. His ally.
Instead she had Rust Vance.
“Fine,” she said, trying to keep the disappointment out of her voice. “Let’s figure out income now, and then we can split up bills.”
“We’ll still need to compare payments.”
“We can do that later,” she snapped. “What kind of career do you plan on having?”
Rust shrugged, and Janet grit her teeth. “I dunno,” he added a moment later, unnecessarily. “I’ll probably just end up working at the refinery like everybody else.”
“The refinery hasn’t needed anyone new in years.” Janet knew this from listening to her step-dad, who always harped on the idea that Baypen ought to expand into new markets. He liked to pretend he was some kind of business expert because he thought it impressed Janet’s mom. Loser.
“Construction, then.”
“Aren’t you in JROTC?”
That got a reaction. Rust scoffed. “You ever seen me in a uniform?”
“You think I ever pay attention to what you’re wearing?”
“I’m not going into the military.”
“Wasn’t your dad, like, in the army or something?” And didn’t it make him crazy? her mind supplied a moment later, which maybe answered the question for her.
Rust didn’t reply. At the mention of his dad, his face closed off entirely, and now he sat there in stone-cold silence, radiating hostility. Perfect. They were off to a super productive start.
The bell rang, rescuing her from further catastrophe. Janet collected her things and Rust did the same. “Give me your phone,” she said.
“Why?”
“I’m sending myself a text so I have your number. We’ll need to coordinate outside of class to get this done.” Ugh. She hated the idea of giving Rust her number, but she knew she’d hate the ding to her GPA more if she bailed on this project. “Figure out a job for yourself and look up the yearly salary, benefits, and transportation requirements. I’ll do the same, and we’ll go from there.”
Rust handed over his phone reluctantly. It wasn’t even on, Jesus wept, she was going to be so late for English. Thank god Mrs. Miller liked her. She waited for the ancient thing to boot up, got him to unlock it, and then swiped over to the text messages.
It was the saddest, smallest list of contacts she’d ever seen. The most recent text was from his mom. Below that was his dad. A handful of school alert messages he hadn’t bothered clearing. Someone named Trapper from last month. Cole.
Her thumb hovered near that one for a second, curiosity spiking. Everybody knew Rust and Cole used to be friends. She had no idea they still texted, though this last message was dated months ago, after Cole’s mom died. The message preview was no help. It just said “k”.
“You done yet?” Rust asked, making Janet jump. “I got class.”
“Oh, I’m sure they’re really missing you in remedial math.”
“We’re doing colors and shapes today,” he replied, with icy sarcasm. “I can’t afford to be late.”
“Done.” She dashed off a text to herself and slapped the phone back into his hand. “Don’t go handing it out to people.”
Rust shouldered his ugly backpack and left without another word. Janet gave him a nice long head start, then exited into the hallway, only to find Cole leaning up against a locker, waiting for her.
“I hate you,” she said to him, not slowing down.
“Aw, come on.” He pushed himself off the wall and followed. “Rust isn’t so bad.”
She flipped him off with both hands and kept walking.
Surprisingly, Rust came to class the next day prepared. Unsurprisingly, Patterson only gave them ten minutes to talk to their partners before he threw another wrench into the works.
“As a reminder for all boy-girl partnerships, this is meant to be a comprehensive household budget, so you should also factor in the cost of children.”
“I’m sorry, what?” Janet said, much louder than she’d intended. Several people in the classroom tittered. Several other people echoed her dismay. “How is that fair?”
“Children are very expensive, Miss Murray,” Patterson said, insufferably smug. “I know you think designer clothes and gas money just magically appear, but your parents have made sacrifices to support you.”
Her teeth ground together. If she needed orthodontia after this, she was making the district pay for it. “I know that, Mr. Patterson. That’s why I’m saying it isn’t fair. Why should some of the groups have to do more work than others?”
“Because that’s how the real world works. Families face unique challenges in our modern society, especially considering the way some groups want to attack traditional values.”
“But this is a school assignment, and that’s bullshit. Sexist, heteronormative bullshit. Nuclear families don’t have a monopoly on hardship. What about people who support themselves alone? Intergenerational households with dependent parents? Families where somebody gets really sick and—“
Rust kicked her in the shin under the desk. She snapped a glare at him, but he didn’t balk. Quickly, so fast that she nearly missed it, his eyes darted over to Cole and then back again. Right. Shit. She’d gotten so carried away, she hadn’t been thinking. Speaking of ‘not thinking’…
“Yeah,” Tucker chimed in. “Why can’t Cole and I be married? That way I get half of that corn syrup money and don’t have to get a job.”
“Fuck off, freeloader,” Cole said, rolling his eyes.
“Ow, dude.” Tucker’s hand clapped over his chest. “You’re breaking my heart.”
“Cry me a river.”
“You guys are all my witnesses. You see how Cole treats me, and after he claimed he loved me—“
“Okay, bro. We get it.” Cole shot Tucker an irritated look that cowed him immediately. Tucker never did know when to drop a bit, but Janet felt a pang of sympathy for him anyway. He idolized Cole, and he always took it hard when Cole’s moodiness reared up in his direction.
Cole wasn’t done, however. He blazed forward, saying, “Janet doesn’t actually care about the principle, Mr. Patterson. Just tell her she doesn’t have to pretend to have a litter of Vance’s hick babies so she’ll drop the crusade and we can all get on with our lives.”
Janet didn’t dignify this with a reaction, but she couldn’t stop her face from getting hot. Hopefully her makeup was up to the task of camouflaging it.
This time, when the bell rang, it was Janet’s turn to chase Cole down the hallway. She caught him by the stairs and hooked her hand into the loop at the top of his backpack, hauling him up short.
“Hey,” she said. “You owe me an apology.”
“Jesus, Janet. Trying to kill me?”
“Maybe.” She spun him around to face her. “What the hell was that?”
“Sorry.” He didn’t sound like he meant it. He sounded annoyed still, and stressed-out besides. There were dark smudges of sleeplessness under his eyes. “Happy?”
“Obviously not. What’s wrong with you today?”
“Other than my dead mom?” Cole lobbed back at her, but his heart wasn’t in it. He looked sheepish even before the whole sentence was out.
Janet threaded her arm through his and told the butterflies in her stomach to settle down when he leaned into her. “Yeah, other than that.”
He deflated even further against her. “Just the usual shit. There’s only so many times I can listen to Tucker make the same joke, and it’s bad enough that my dad’s on my case all the time about planning for my future. Now I gotta deal with it in school too.”
“Your dad’s making you build a household budget?”
“No, he’s on a ‘here’s the kind of woman you should marry’ kick, and I know it’s because he misses mom, so it’s not even like I can really be mad at him, but….” Cole’s voice trailed off into a heavy sigh. “It’s fine. You’re right. I was a jerk.”
He looked at her then with his big, dark, lovely eyes, and Janet’s butterflies were back with a vengeance. “Apology accepted.”
“Let me make it up to you. Buy you dinner on Friday? See what’s playing at the Eureka?”
Dinner and a movie. A little more old-fashioned than she’d come to expect from Cole, but maybe that was on purpose. A classic date, so there could be no mistake about what it was. This is it. It’s finally happening. Cole Hill had his arm through hers, close enough to smell her melon-scented lip gloss, and he was asking her out.
“Sure,” she replied, and the smile he gave her was like hitting the gas on an empty stretch of road—exhilarating, an acceleration into the future.
“So tell me,” Ronnie wheedled later that day, sprawled out on Janet’s bed with her head hanging over the edge. “Why’d I hear from Jackson that you and Cole were making out in the stairwell?”
“Probably because Jackson’s a freak and a liar.” Janet was in her closet, combing through outfits. “We were just talking.” Talking with their arms linked and their heads close together, sure. Smiling at each other like there was nobody else in the world, and okay, maybe Janet had noticed a couple of people gawking at them as they passed, faces alight with curiosity and the tantalizing promise of fresh gossip. But why should that bother her? Let them speculate; she was in no rush.
She’d already decided that she’d keep the date to herself. Janet wanted to savor the anticipation over the next couple of days, let it simmer between them as something that was just theirs. Then she could soft-launch her and Cole over the weekend with a couple of meaningful photos: their fingers entwined, their shadows melted together on the blacktop, maybe a tell-tale close-up of Cole’s perfect delicate features. She’d curate a couple of posts for his socials too, and then they’d hard launch in a couple of weeks on their channel. Valentine’s Day was over, but that was a tacky holiday anyway. Spring was better. More romantic.
And by the time they hit junior year, they’d be fully established as Kettle Springs’ It Couple. Admired. Envied. Unstoppable.
Ronnie would be livid. Janet hid her grin in her clothes.
“Tucker said Cole’s been a real bitch lately,” Ronnie said. She was scrolling with the volume up while she talked, a deeply annoying habit. Janet could hear the rapid-fire sound clips as she flipped past videos.
“No he didn’t.”
“Okay, he didn’t say those exact words, but he did say that Cole’s been really touchy.”
“His mom died.”
“Yeah, like, months ago.”
“What’s your point?”
“I’m just saying, I worry about you.” Ronnie looked at her over the top of her phone. Or…under the top? Since she was upside down. “Everybody knows how hung up on him you are. I’d hate to see you get hurt.”
Fuck you. “I’m good, thanks.”
“If you say so.” Her attention shifted back to her phone.
God, Janet couldn’t wait to see the look on her face after Friday. She was tempted to say something about it right now, but she couldn’t come up with a retort that had enough bite.
Besides, Janet didn’t want to use her date with Cole like that, no matter how much Ronnie deserved it. It wasn’t a weapon or a trophy or anything like that. It was theirs—hers and Cole’s—and Janet wanted to keep it that way, safe and warm and tucked against her heart.
Ugh. None of these clothes were going to work. She needed something new for Friday. “I’m going to the mall. You want to come?”
“Can’t. I have a thing.”
Janet rolled her eyes. Ronnie’s ‘thing’ was probably homework, or chores, or something equally stupid, but she always declined invitations like that, as if she had some secret social life. It was embarrassing for her.
“Fine. I’ll see if Ginger can go.”
“Yikes.” Ronnie rolled over onto her stomach and let her arms hang down, phone on the floor. “Have fun.”
“Jesus, who popped your underwire? What’s wrong with Ginger?”
“I don’t know. I’m just over her whole alt-girl skateboard thing.” She waved her hand around. “It’s kind of dykey.”
“What the fuck are you talking about? Where did that come from?”
Ronnie sighed and flopped back over. “Don’t freak out. You know what I mean.”
“It’s very white trash, Ronnie. Very minions on Facebook. Very—”
“Okay, Janet. I don’t need a lecture.”
“You need to spend less time with Matt. He’s giving you brain damage.” Janet scoffed as Ronnie flipped her off. She was trying to play it light, but she meant it. Ronnie had been giving voice to more and more weird stuff like this recently: bizarro MAGA talking points, offensive jokes, annoying pick-me sexist trash that put Janet in the awkward position of having to ignore it or look like the one ruining everybody’s fun.
She resented it, and it worried her a little bit. Actually worried her, not like Ronnie’s fake concern over Cole. They’d been friends for a long time, and as sick as Janet got of Ronnie’s try-hard bullshit, she also struggled to let go of the girl she remembered—the girl she could still sometimes see underneath.
I used to call you my best friend and mean it, Janet thought. What the hell happened?
“And anyway,” Janet went on, because if she kept going down this train of thought, it would only depress her. “You’re the one who keeps offering to make out with us at parties, so you don’t have any room to talk.”
“That’s different. Guys love watching girls make out. Everybody knows that.” Ronnie waggled her eyebrows at Janet. “Cole definitely seemed to enjoy it.”
That’s not how Janet remembered it. The six of them had been drinking at the fire pit a couple of weeks ago. Someone—probably Ronnie—had suggested Truth or Dare, and after several rounds of predictable shenanigans, Matt had dared Ronnie to kiss one of the girls.
Ronnie had made a whole show of it, standing up and weaving between Janet and Ginger like she was trying to decide. Janet was pretty sure Ronnie was going to pick her, but she hadn’t expected her to climb into her lap, straddling her thighs and pushing her fingers into Janet’s hair, ghosting their lips together before swooping in for the kill.
Janet had kept her hands at her sides, kept her mouth carefully neutral even when Ronnie gave the kiss a little finishing flourish with her tongue. She hadn’t hated it, was the thing, and whether that was the hard seltzers she’d had, or the thrill of everyone’s attention on them, or maybe just Ronnie herself, the plush curves of her body against Janet’s, warming her against the chill…whatever it was, Janet hadn’t hated it, but she knew Ronnie well enough to know that Janet should keep that to herself. Letting Ronnie know would shift the balance of power that much further in her direction, and Janet couldn’t let that happen. Ronnie needed to be kept in her place.
Tucker and Matt had whooped and hollered, of course, and Ginger had clapped when Ronnie managed a clumsy bow after her dismount. Cole, however, had been conspicuously quiet. Janet had caught his eye across the fire, and he had a look on his face she couldn’t read: remote, sad almost, like he was somewhere far away from the rest of them. But then his mouth quirked up in that little conspiratorial smile that was just for her, the one that invited her to join him on that ledge, up above everybody else, the only ones in on the joke.
When Cole looked at her like that, everything else receded. Kissing Ronnie didn’t matter. It hadn’t made her feel like this. Nothing in the world made her feel like Cole did, and Janet had held onto that as she drank another seltzer to clear the taste of Ronnie’s lipstick off her mouth.
She held onto it now, again, as she made plans to go to the mall with Ginger, and as she floated through the rest of her week, humming with anticipation for Friday.
The days dragged, but finally she made it to the end of the week. Janet wanted to race home from school and spend the next few hours getting ready, but she had one last hurtle to clear first: a work session with Rust at the library to finish the first chunk of their project together. Normally, the prospect of wasting her Friday afternoon in a loser tar pit would have torpedoed her mood, but there was nothing normal about today. Today was going to be one of those days she remembered for the rest of her life.
She got there first and staked out the best table, around the corner from the vending machine, next to a massive window that looked out on the grassy garden area out back. When the sun shone, it soaked the whole alcove in cheery light, but there was no sun today. Instead, there were thick clouds and a steady, atmospheric drizzle, but even that didn’t faze her. It was somehow cozy and cinematic all at the same time.
She took some aesthetic photos while she waited. Fall in love with the life you’re living. Rose emoji. Raincloud emoji. She was just posting them when a shadow fell over the table.
“You’re late,” she said without looking up.
“Had to help my folks with some stuff.”
“Well I still have to leave by five. I have a date.” A little shiver of excitement ran through her when she said that. I have a date. Was this really the first time she was saying it aloud? Was Rust Vance really the first person she was telling?
Oh well. He didn’t count. He barely seemed to notice she’d spoken as he sat down and unpacked his bag. His things looked so shabby next to hers: a cracked school-issued Chromebook, a spiral notebook with half the pages torn out, an actual honest-to-god calculator.
Even so (and Janet would never, ever admit it) Rust was not the worst partner she’d ever had. He wasn’t fun, but he didn’t goof off or stick her with all the work either, and there was something almost soothing about sitting side-by-side with him in the little study alcove.
He didn’t impose his presence on her, was the thing. He stayed out of her personal space, barely spoke, deferred to all of her changes on their shared Google docs. He didn’t ask her questions or try to make awkward conversation, and when he did have to lean closer to grab something or get a look at her notes, he didn’t smell as bad as she’d feared. He didn’t really smell like anything at all, just generic laundry soap, not dead animals and B.O.
They had all of the first part finished and were making headway on the second when Janet’s phone rang, the buzz jarringly loud on the table. She scooped it up when she realized it was Cole FaceTiming her.
“Hey,” she said, letting her voice warm as she stepped over towards the window. “What’s up?”
“Movie question. The Eureka’s got something scary and something superhero. Tucker and Matt are voting superhero; Ronnie and Ginger want something scary. I said you’re the guest of honor, so you get to choose.”
Something roared in Janet’s ears. She stared at the window, watching raindrops chase each other down the glass. She didn’t make eye contact with Cole through the screen.
“You asked everybody else?”
“Yeah, so of course nobody agrees.”
“No, I mean—“ Stop. Shut up. Nothing you say is going to fix this. You’ll just embarrass yourself. “You should have asked me first. Screw letting them pick.”
“Yeah, rookie move. My bad. So what’s your pref?”
“I don’t know. Send me the names and I’ll text you.”
“Okay.” There was a pause, long enough that Janet thought the conversation might be over, but then Cole said, “you good? You sound weird.”
“I’m fine.” Shut up. Shut up. Shut. Up. “I didn’t realize everybody else was invited.”
Another humiliatingly long pause. “Shit. Shit, Janet. I’m such an asshole.”
“No, it’s fine.”
“Janet—“
“It’s fine, Cole. Send me the movie options, and I’ll tell you what tickets to buy.” Her eyes itched with hot tears. She needed to get off the phone with him right now. “I have to go. I’m at the library working on this stupid life skills project, and Rust looks like he’s going to turn me into some kind of wall-mounted taxidermy project.”
She had no idea what Rust looked like. She hadn’t turned away from the window yet, couldn’t tear her eyes from the soothing patterns of the rain.
“Oh. I didn’t know he was there.” Cole sounded awkward on the line. A small, pathetic part of her thought Is he jealous? Does he care that I’m here hanging out with another guy? But of course he didn’t. Cole wouldn’t care if she was giving Rust Vance a lap dance, because Cole didn’t care about her. He didn’t care about anybody but himself.
“We’re not all corn syrup heirs,” she said, hearing the nastiness in her voice but unable to stop. “Some of us actually have to work for our future.”
She hung up before Cole had a chance to respond. Stupid. Embarrassing. Cruel, and so obviously hurt that she’d be fending off Cole’s patronizing attempts to make amends all night. What had she been thinking? How could she let herself be so stupid?
“I have to use the bathroom,” she said, tucking her phone in her pocket and forcing herself away from the window. “I’ll be back.”
Janet made it into the stall before she let herself cry. Five minutes to feel sorry for herself, and not a second longer. She set an alarm and then buried her face in her hands, muffling her tears as best she could.
When she returned to the alcove, Rust was still there, working. Janet slid into the chair next to him, looked over his shoulder at the table he was making for their mortgage rates, then opened up their slide deck to reformat the information he’d added.
After a couple minutes, Rust broke the silence. “You shouldn’t let him off the hook so easy.”
Janet froze, embarrassment and anger frothing cold along her spine. “What?”
“Cole’s not stupid. He knows what he’s doing, and he knows how lousy he’s treatin’ you by doing it.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Rust made a noise under his breath, somewhere between a snort and a huff. “Okay.”
“Seriously. Go fuck yourself.”
Rust shook his head. “Right. Forget I mentioned it.”
“Not a chance. Maybe I’ll tell Cole what you said while I’m at it.”
“Go for it.” Rust’s voice was even flatter than usual, bone dry and utterly devoid of inflection.
“If this is some kind of pathetic attempt to ask me out yourself—“
Rust laughed. He actually laughed, and not kindly. It was an ugly sound, the kind of thing Janet hadn’t been on the receiving end of in a long time. Her face and neck burned, humiliation bubbling around in her stomach and splashing up into her throat.
She snatched at her things, shoving them into her bag. “We’re done here.”
“Fine by me.” Rust started closing tabs in his browser, infuriatingly slow, as if to make a point of how unhurried he was. “Enjoy your date.”
Janet bit down on her tongue hard enough to taste blood. It lingered salt-bitter on her tongue the whole way home.