19. willow
CHAPTER 19
WILLOW
JUMP WHEN I WHISTLE
What’s worse than a cult?
Obligatory community-building cult activities. Like chucking paint at each other in The Middle of Nowhere, Texas, with a hundred adrenaline-junky college football players, their girlfriends, who wouldn’t stop calling me Ms. Lawson, and the guy who took a vow of silence after we were naked in a storage closet together.
Awesome! Couldn’t be better.
The best plan I had was to leave with the bus, stay on the bus, refuse to get off the bus, and try not to die from heatstroke.
"Tell me you don’t hate me," my mom whispered, bumping her shoulder with mine.
The two of us posed for another picture because that was the new thing we had to account for. The photographers. I smiled as much as I could and stole a glance at my mom.
My mom wanted this desperately to work. I knew how worried she was about me.
"Could never hate you," I promised, nudging her too.
"I love you."
"Love you, too."
She squeezed me around the waist. "I’ll call Marcus tomorrow. Thank you, Willow."
I would’ve gone if my mom just asked me to but there was a perk. My beautiful Keyland Aurora. With how much the insurance skyrocketed after I was rear-ended, my parents gave me the bill. But if I went to the paintball tournament—my Keyland Aurora could come home.
Walking backwards, I waved at her again until I slammed into someone behind me.
"I’m so sorry," I apologized. "I should’ve been paying attention?—"
King.
Apology rescinded.
He gazed down at me, silent.
In the early morning, Houston was sweltering, and the sun warmed his face, practically highlighting his cheekbones. It should’ve warmed his features too, but he was still…intimidating. It was weird to think that this was Tattoos. They were like two entirely different people.
I missed Tattoos.
But King could eat a dick.
"Ms. Pruitt," he said quietly.
"Oh, you’re talking to me?" I replied before I could bite back the comment. Stupid . I tried to pass him.
"You’re on the last bus." He motioned towards it, adding five of the only words he spoke to me since he decided to plant himself in my classes and refused to withdraw.
"Lawson isn’t coming today?"
"You’re on the last bus because you’re sitting with me."
"Uh…no, thank you."
Plenty of football players elbowed each other and plenty more gawked at me. This day was getting better and better.
When I tried to step on the first bus, King’s arm was there, stopping me. I glared at him while he effectively locked me out as football players snickered.
"Why not? " I snapped.
"Sophomore players." He dropped his voice. "They’re more likely to ignore Coach's rules."
"Maybe that’s what I want. Someone who doesn’t roll over for their cult leader."
Suddenly his gaze wasn’t just intimidating, it was piercing. "Your mom and Lawson don’t know about the shows, do they?"
Oh…fuck .
I stiffened. What if I lied and said they knew everything? Would he bring it up in a conversation?
I’m fucked.
"Are you going to tell them?" I managed.
There was a poignant pause before King’s words were so soft, they rubbed against each other. "That depends."
"On what?"
"What do you think?"
Pushing back from the bus, I refused to look at him. " Fine. "
He followed after me but grunted. Unsatisfied.
" What? "
"You need someone there, Willow. It’s not safe. You could get hurt."
"My dad knows."
"Your dad’s in Boston."
"I can take care of myself," I insisted.
He didn’t say anything, but I could feel his response in the silence. The thing was, I’d been doing open mics since I was sixteen. There’d been a number of crazy experiences, but I need the opportunity to improve my craft. I wanted to be a performer. An artist. That comes from hard work and sometimes shitty bus rides.
"You need someone there in case something happens," he repeated.
Well, if something happened, I knew one person who would jump at the chance to do anything for his coach.
"Did you block my number?"
"No," King admitted reluctantly.
"If I called, would you come?"
"Yes."
"Then there’s no reason for you to tell them. I already have a dog who can jump when I whistle."
He muttered something under his breath I didn’t catch.
Who was he to threaten me? King needed to know I had leverage too.
"If you tell them, I’ll drop how we know each other," I whispered as we walked to the last bus. "I’ve worked too hard. This means everything to me." I clenched my phone in my hand. "I won’t tell anybody about the messages. You don’t tell anybody about the mics."
"Fine."
" Fine. "
I stalked down the aisle but stopped when I saw who was waving at us.
"No, no, no," I mumbled. "Why are they waving like that?"
"We’re sitting with them."
"Your friends? "
It wasn’t just that they were an integral part of the cult. The biggest problem was their friend—King. Getting close to them meant way more King than I wanted to experience. I whimpered, trying to think of a way out of this, before I realized an all too coincidental fact.
"Lawson put you up to this."
He grunted in confirmation.
"Goddammit. Why? "
"He's worried you're not adjusting."
If he thought that, my mom definitely did too. I couldn't do that to her. I bit my lip, thinking it over. If I sat anywhere else, if I didn’t engage, the cultists would talk to Lawson. Who would worry my mom.
King’s voice was velvet in my ear. "He asked me to keep an eye on you."
That’s why he’s been staring at me.
I hesitated for a few more seconds. If I put myself out there for King’s friends, that’d land a good report back to my mom and convince her— everything’s fine!
And then? Back to ignoring King.