Chapter Twenty Eight
Considering how far behind Addy’s team was the other day, I’m genuinely shocked they managed to pull this off.
Beams of light slice through the night sky above the gymnasium, and a red carpet winds up the hill like something straight out of a movie premiere.
A line of students stretches ahead of us, one that Rhys tried to skip to the front of until I held him back. Barely.
His arm is linked with mine, that telltale smirk finally back in place after too long.
I’d insisted we dress up a little tonight, which led to dark jeans, an unbuttoned shirt halfway down his tattooed chest, and slicked-back hair for him.
The result is a dangerous combination that should probably come with a warning label.
I went for an off-the-shoulder navy sweater that falls to my thighs, cinched with a belt at the waist, and knee-high boots.
Clay looms just over my right shoulder, all quiet storm and watchful eyes.
He wasn’t exactly thrilled that me and Rhys snuck off to make love – because that’s exactly what it was - during his counseling session, but true to his word, he hasn’t made an issue of it either.
In a red flannel and tan cargos, he’s giving serious hot-lumberjack-in-a-beanie energy.
The line inches forward at a snail’s pace, and every irritated shuffle Rhys makes has me giggling.
I left my receivers back at the dorm, figuring tonight would be too loud for my implants to handle.
Both guys are wearing microphone clips, so I’ll still catch background noise, but their voices will cut through.
By the time we make it inside, the bleachers are already packed. I’d bet half the student body is here. Kenneth sits around halfway back and waves like a maniac when he spots Clay and me, until Rhys scowls in his direction and Kenneth promptly drops out of sight behind the crowd.
The gym is unrecognizable. Fabric drapes in soft folds across the ceiling, the wooden stage covering the court lines, and a section near the locker room has been roped off. Contestants are clustered on the bleachers behind the stage, too focused on their last-minute prep to watch the show.
Volunteers with yellow lanyards guide people to their seats.
A mousy-haired boy with a young face turns as we approach, and I instantly recognize him as the guy that gave me the drugged coffee.
I never asked Rhys what he did to him outright, but the way his eyes go wide at the sight of the man on my arm, I can make an educated guess.
“M-M-Master Waversea,” he stammers formally. “We’ve reserved a space on the front row for you and your… friends.” His gaze flicks nervously between us before darting toward three empty seats front and center.
Rhys strides ahead, barking at people to move their legs while I awkwardly shimmy past knees and handbags to follow.
I slump into my seat, ignoring the waves of judgment burning into my back.
I may have made a few friends within the science students, but none of those are present now.
Thankfully, the lights dim almost instantly, and a spotlight cuts across the stage.
Addy steps into the glow looking absolutely stunning in a pink and cream jumpsuit, sky-high heels, and lipstick as bold as her hair.
“Welcome, students of Waversea and members of the faculty!” she shouts into the mic.
Cheers and whoops erupt behind us, and both guys beside me quickly cover their mic clips so the noise doesn’t blast through.
Leaning forward, I spot the staff section down the aisle.
Peterson and Hargreaves are a few rows back, whispering to each other in a way that looks a little too cozy.
Addy launches into the pre-rehearsed speech I’ve had to sit through every evening this week in our dorm, thanking everyone who helped, including the cheer squad for fundraising by washing cars half-naked.
A particular section in the crowd roars with whoops, a group of jocks punching their fists into the air.
No doubt they are the ones who have sparkling clean cars out in the parking lot.
I keep my attention on Addy, marveling at how she can be such a natural up there, her usual bright and magnetic self.
“Well, let’s get on with it, shall we?” she grins. “First up tonight, Katrina Keys and her amazing contortionist act!”
The applause swells as a petite blonde steps onto the stage in a gem-studded leotard, her hair twisted into a tight bun.
Classical music swells through the speakers, and Katrina bends backward into a bridge before crawling through her own legs.
Then she props her chin in her hands and casually folds her feet over her head like it’s the most normal thing in the world.
As impressive as it is, the act starts off slow after several impossible handstands and twists, a mumble passing through the audience.
That’s before two muscled male assistants appear, just as sparkly and scarcely dressed, each one holding a flaming ring.
Every female in the bleachers suddenly sits upright, myself included.
I hear Rhys’ grumbling response but I smack his thigh, engrossed as Katrina curves into a C-shape and holds still while the men carefully pass the fire around her body.
Gasps ripple through the crowd, equally as entranced.
It’s like that game where you can’t touch the wire or get buzzed, only this time, if she slips, she’ll get burned.
Flipping into a handstand, her legs split open in a perfect line.
The assistants hold out metal rods, and she grips them with her toes before they balance the lit rings onto the bars.
The crowd leaps to their feet, cheers echoing through the gym as the music crescendos and her act ends in a blaze of applause.
“Wow,” I breathe, grinning at Clay as I settle back into my seat. “That was awesome!” The corner of his mouth twitches in a reluctant smile, not seeming half as impressed as the rest of us. I lace my fingers through his and arch a brow. “What? You think you could do better?”
“She was never in any real danger. It’s all part of the theatrics,” Clay rolls his eyes.
“Ahh, so you’re a cynic. That tracks,” I give him a sly smile.
“Maybe you can try fire play with me sometime.” A vendor carrying a tray passes with refreshments as the acts change over, and I reach for a plastic cup of soda.
Rhys slaps my hand away and takes a bottle of water instead, planting it in my grasp while Clay mumbles directly into his mic for my hearing only.
“If that’s a kink of yours, I’m game.”
I fumble with the water, spilling it onto my knees.
Whilst Rhys huffs and pats me down with some tissues, clearly jealous of not receiving any attention, I throw my head back and laugh.
I enjoy seeing the playful side to Clayton far more than any act that will grace the stage.
Resting back in my seat, I settle in for the next act with Rhys’ hand settling on my thigh.
I wish I could say the talent show just got better and better, but unfortunately, I think Katrina set the bar too high.
There are more than a few pitchy singers, a couple of dancers who can’t seem to find the beat, and one poor magician whose dove escaped right out of his jacket pocket.
When Rhys offers me a swig from the hip flask he smuggled in, I take it without hesitation.
The whiskey burns down my throat, but it’s a welcome distraction from the ass-numbing plastic seat beneath me.
“Next up is Sheila Newton, ready to impress you with some stand-up comedy.” Addy’s eyes dart around nervously, her laughter fake and high-pitched before she hops off the stage. Oh god, she’s panicking. I take my cue to be the support my best friend, preparing to stand.
“I’ll be right back,” I whisper to the guys, but both of them clamp their hands on my thighs to keep me rooted in place.
I fight the urge to roll my eyes, understanding they’re protective but also that we’re in the most public of places.
I’ve refused to live in fear up to now, so this would be a terrible time to start.
“Stop it both of you. Addy needs a friend, and I need to pee. I’ll be back in ten minutes. ”
I aim my plea at Rhys since he’s the one most likely to argue. When I flutter my lashes and pout, he finally sighs.
“Ten minutes,” he grits through his teeth, eyes sharpened like daggers.
“Then I’m coming to find you.” I grin, needing to take care of the background noise first. There’s nothing worse than peeing while listening to private conversations, especially when they’re threatening to kill one another in my honor.
Switching off Rhys’ mic and kissing his cheek, I slip out of my seat.
Bending to turn off Clay’s too, I attempt to give him a chaste kiss also, but Rhys’s hand lands on my ass with a sharp sting.
I glare at him as he mouths, “Get moving. I’m counting. ”
These men will be the death of me, of that there’s no doubt.
I’m not even mad about it. There are far worse ways to go.
Snorting to myself, I shuffle along the row and edge around the side of the court.
There’s a black tent concealing the locker room entrance, and I slip inside, thankful for the momentary escape from the crowded sports arena.
Addy’s easy to spot. She’s pacing in small circles, wringing her fingers together as commotion swirls around her.
Students drag props, others shout instructions, a dog is barking for their owner’s attention, and Addy is oblivious to it all.
When she sees me, she barrels into my arms so hard I stumble back a step.
Her breath fans across my neck, but I can’t make out her words, so I step back and sign that my receivers are at home.