Chapter 17
Josephine
It takes a significant amount of effort to not move through the house like I live here.
Which is crazy, considering I’ve been a resident of the Crusade Mansion for less than forty-eight hours, and I’ve spent the majority of that time in my room.
If only I could change my clothes or take a few minutes to freshen up, but Hunter has been glued to my side since we stepped foot on the marble floors tonight.
It’s not that I don’t trust her. Or that I don’t want to tell her what’s going on.
But I don’t know how to explain my predicament without revealing the root cause of why I’m being kept here against my will.
“You don’t want a real drink?” Hunter hollers, clinking the rim of her red cup with the top of the bottle of sparkling seltzer in my hand.
We’ve been dancing for the better part of an hour—both sweaty and flushed from the sticky night air.
Even without the body heat of a hundred plus people crammed into one room, the humidity would be off the charts.
“Too hot,” I reply, practically yelling to be heard over the crowd. “I’m halfway dehydrated as it is. Thought I was going to melt at the game this afternoon.”
“Fair point,” she counters, the two words instantly reminding me of Kylian.
What’s he doing up in the Nest right now? And what the hell is the Nest anyway?
“Want to get some air?” she asks, gathering her hair in one hand and piling it on her head to get it off her neck.
With an enthusiastic nod, I grab for Hunter’s hand and weave through the crowd of gyrating, sweaty bodies, tugging her along behind me.
I have to maneuver around a couple practically dry-humping on the dance floor. I do a double take when I realize the guy in the pairing is none other than Kendrick. Damn. He’s got moves. He doesn’t see me, thank god. The last thing I need is for Kendrick Taylor to catch me ogling him.
We make a pit stop in the kitchen, each grabbing a chilled water bottle from the tub on the counter.
Kylian and I were the last to leave for the stadium and the first back to the house, along with the first wave of guests, so there must be staff who come in to get things ready while the guys are at the game.
Just another thing to add to my list for Kylian. He offered to help—he can start by giving me more insight into the way things work around here.
Hunter heads back toward the living room, most likely to go out through the floor-to-ceiling sliding glass doors that lead out to the main deck. I assume it’s crowded out there, so I redirect her toward a door off the kitchen.
A blast of humidity hits me as I slide the door open and step out onto the deck.
“Oh, I’ve never been out here,” Hunter murmurs, shuffling to the ledge to look out over the lake. It’s where I ate dinner with the guys last night. I didn’t think a thing about it maybe being off limits until now. Shit.
“How’d you know this was out here?”
Before I have a chance to come up with a reply, a throat clears.
I startle and hold back a gasp, whipping my head around and peering through the dark.
“Josephine.”
Of-fucking-course.
Decker is lounging on an L-shaped couch, legs spread wide, with his arms resting on the back of the cushions. He’s surrounded by not one, not two, but three women—two of which are still wearing their Lake Chapel U cheerleading uniforms.
Go Crusaders.
“Cap,” I reply curtly with a mock-salute. “Want to go down to the beach?” I ask Hunter, desperate to put some distance between myself and my captor.
Another voice slices through the thick night air with that sweet, familiar gravel.
“Joey. Can we talk?”
Locke is leaning against the far end of the deck.
He has one forearm resting against the banister, and the thumb on his other hand traces his lip.
He played well today. I won’t deny that he looked good in that uniform either.
And after his peace offering this morning, maybe I do owe him a conversation.
I don’t have time to consider it for more than a second, though.
“Don’t you think you’ve done enough, Lockewood? Rumor has it you had absolutely nothing to say on Thursday night.” Hunter plants her hands on her hips as she comes to my defense. At least that’s what she thinks she’s doing.
Panic zings through my extremities when Decker sits up straighter in my periphery.
“Girl, it’s fine.” I place one hand on her arm, gently trying to talk her down. With more urgency, I give Locke a pointed look, then quickly turn to Decker.
Even through the darkness, the intensity of his glare is like zaps of electricity coursing between us.
I shake my head twice in a subtle movement, desperate to get through to him before he can make a scene or drag her into my mess.
Hunter’s just being a good friend. I ranted to her about the strange reaction from Locke and Kendrick on my drive home on Thursday night. She has no idea what has transpired since then.
Tense seconds tick by as my heart rate skyrockets.
Pulling in a breath through my nose and letting it out through my mouth, I try to steady my breathing, focusing all my energy on silently pleading with the guys to let it go.
Decker eventually peers over at Locke, then looks back at me and tips his chin.
He sinks into the sectional again and pulls a cheerleader onto his lap, essentially dismissing me.
But before we can make our escape, he speaks again. “Your brother won his game.”
I frown in confusion. Before I can question him, Hunter replies.
“He’s my stepbrother,” she corrects sharply. “And yeah. They won. 35-14.”
Decker chuckles, a deep, melodious laugh that makes my belly clench.
“Tell him congrats. I’m looking forward to beating a worthy opponent this year.” And with that, he adds, “You can go now.”
I’d be pissed about being so blatantly disregarded if I wasn’t grateful for the excuse to flee.
“Joey…” Locke tries again.
“Come on,” I urge, pulling Hunter toward the stairs that lead to the lower deck and eventually the beach.
Peering over my shoulder, I find Locke’s gaze still on me, so I mouth “later” as we retreat.
I swear there’s the tiniest glint in his eye—a flicker of hope that reminds me of just how into him I was only a few days ago.
Our eye contact is abruptly cut off when a cheerleader cuts in front of him and runs her nails along the front of his T-shirt, pawing at his chest.
I resist rolling my eyes as I pick up the pace, Hunter hot on my heels.
The beach is much more crowded than I thought it would be. Not only that, but it seems like everyone’s heading toward the dock. Almost as if the party is winding down already.
“What time is it?” I ask since Hunter already has her phone in hand.
“Few minutes ’til ten, but a big storm’s about to hit.” She turns her phone toward me so I can see the screen.
I shudder despite the humidity and survey the radar she has pulled up. The entire screen is green, punctuated with dots of yellow, orange, and red to indicate the storms.
“What time is it supposed to start?”
“Now.”
As soon as she says the word, a raindrop hits the bridge of my nose and rolls down the slope. I brush it away in vain. A few seconds later, the rain picks up, and I’m peppered with sprinkles.
“A little rain and the party’s over?”
“This’ll be more than a little rain.” She holds up her phone again. “When the storm gets closer, the ferries have to stop running. It’s not exactly safe to be floating on a hunk of metal in an open body of water when lightning strikes.”
Shit. I hadn’t even considered that. Another chill runs through me.
I hate storms. And I hate how I react to storms even more. I have no intention of being anywhere near the water, let alone near a window, if and when lightning strikes.
“You ready?” Hunter asks, tucking her phone into her back pocket and linking her arm through mine. “You can come to my place if you want. Greedy is having people over, but it won’t be anything like this scene.” She twirls her hand through the air with a flourish.
“What position does your brother play?” I ask, recalling her exchange with Decker.
“Stepbrother,” she corrects for the second time tonight.
Noted.
“He’s quarterback for the South Chapel Sharks.”
She cocks a brow when I tilt my head and look at her blankly.
“As in South Chapel University? Our school’s biggest rival?”
I shrug apologetically, and Hunter laughs.
“Sometimes I forget just how new you are around here. The LCU and SCU football teams take their rivalry to the extreme. Shore Week is coming up, so you’ll get to see it for yourself then.”
I’m only half listening as Hunter goes on about a rivalry that, frankly, I don’t give a shit about. My focus is glued to the stream of partygoers making their mass exodus toward the dock.
All four guys are upstairs, occupied. I saw it for myself.
There’s hardly any time to think it through. But this feels like too big an opportunity to ignore. Is this my chance?
I assumed they wouldn’t let me out of their sight tonight. I’ve run into them each a few times around the house over the last couple of hours, so I guess, in a way, they haven’t.
But the huge number of people crowding the dock right now might give me the perfect opportunity to blend in and quietly disappear.
My phone is in my pocket, but the battery was hovering around 50 percent the last time I checked. I know I can’t very well go back to my uncle’s. That’s the first place they’ll look, assuming they’d come after me. But if the storm will prevent travel by boat tonight…
Fuck. I wish I’d had the idea sooner. I would have had time to make a legitimate plan.
I don’t have my purse. My ID. A phone charger. My meds.
It could spell disaster. But I may not get another opportunity like this…
A boat horn blasts through the night, and as if on cue, the rain intensifies.
“Ah shit,” Hunter mutters, her nose wrinkling as she tilts her chin and gazes up at the sky. “Hopefully, we can snag one of the covered seats.”
Her concern is the rain. Getting wet. Ruining her hair.
What I wouldn’t give to be plagued by worries so insignificant.
“Listen up!” a guy wearing a LCU hoodie hollers from the end of the dock. “The storm’s eight miles away, so these are the last boats out until it passes. All ashore who’s going ashore. Crusade’s orders.”
The noise picks up again as people board the two waiting vessels, calling out to each other and making plans for when they get back to the marina.
I chance a peek back at the mansion, noting the bodies scattered around the decks and the silhouettes of people still dancing in the living room. The scene is still pretty chaotic. I can only hope the guys are distracted enough to assume I’m somewhere in that crowd.
My phone dings in my back pocket as I keep pace with the people around me, shuffling slowly toward salvation.
Emo Boy: Where are you?
Shit on a crumbly cracker.
Is he checking up on me because he suspects I might make a break for it? Or is he just checking in with the hope of forcing the conversation I promised him?
The soles of my sneakers scuff against the wooden planks of the dock. We’re close. So fucking close.
Ahead of us, people split between the docked vessels manned by guys wearing LCU apparel.
Decker didn’t lay out rules for this party.
But surely, he has some sort of failsafe in place to keep me here.
I can’t imagine he didn’t think this through.
Did he tell the boat boys who I am? Did he instruct them to not let me board or leave the isle?
Kylian warned that security would be watching.
Are there other security measures I don’t even know about?
Then there’s the scariest question of all: What will the consequences be if I try to escape and fail?
Panic makes my chest go tight as the crowd in front of us thins. There are a dozen or so people between me and the boats, but they’re quickly climbing onto one or the other and taking their seats. Glancing behind me, I estimate there are maybe twenty people still waiting to get on.
There’s more than enough room between the two ferries. Anyone who wants to leave the isle before the storm should be able to. Anyone, that is, except me.
My feet falter, causing Hunter to sort of rebound in place since we’re still linked at the arm.
“You okay?” she asks, her eyes widening as she takes in what I assume is a mix of fear and indecision painted on my face.
I don’t want to stay. But my gut instinct is screaming at me that I’d be stupid to try and leave.
“Joey. Let’s go,” Hunter urges.
Sticky air and cooling raindrops kiss the bare skin of my forearms while my head swims with indecision.
Intoxicated excitement and drunken chaos surround me as the people aboard each boat continue their celebration.
The guy behind us grumbles, then eventually steps around us, bypassing the middle of the dock where I’m frozen in place.
“Joey. Are you okay?”
Hunter’s words are fuzzy around the edges as anxiety churns in my gut.
I slow blink, focusing on her gorgeous, worry-filled green eyes, willing the brain fog to clear and begging my feet to move.
Over her shoulder, lightning strikes.
I jolt, and Hunter’s brow furrows deeper. Several seconds pass before the guaranteed boom of thunder grows into a steady rumble.
A boat horn blasts. Another streak of lightning splinters against the ominous night sky.
When Hunter pulls on my arm, no doubt prepared to drag me onto a ferry, I feel the tension in the crook of my elbow.
My body is resisting.
I can’t make myself move.
In anguish, I close my eyes, shaking my head at my own mental blocks and ridiculous fears.
This could be my only chance—my best shot at escape.
Thunder booms again, far enough away that most of the partygoers don’t even notice. But the disturbance seeps into the marrow of my bones. Water laps at the sides of the boats, adding to the kinetic unrest. Each drop of rain that lands on me is weighted, anchoring me in place.
“I—I think I’m going to stay.”
Hunter tugs on my arm again, her face twisted in disbelief. “Stop joking around. We’ve gotta go.” She drops my arm and steps forward.
I stay firmly planted in place with my jaw clenched to keep my teeth from chattering.
“Joey!” she yelps when she sees I’m not following.
“I’ll text you,” I promise, spinning on my heel and pushing past the last few stragglers on the dock.
Somehow, I find all the forward momentum I couldn’t muster just moments ago and hurry back toward the house, taking big strides that send an ache resonating up my shins each time I push off the wet planks.
Another boom of thunder sounds off in the distance as my feet hit the sand, and I break into a full sprint.