Chapter Eighteen #2
I have barely caught my breath when a deafening crash fills my skull.
I scream against it, grabbing the sides of my head but there’s nothing I can do.
The sound is coming from the mini microphone that I’m hooked up to.
I blink up, strain forcing me to squint, just in time to see the bookcase opposite slamming into the one I was just pressed against. A waterfall of books rains down, a stampede of hardcovers and paperbacks tumbling with bone-rattling force.
And Clay is buried beneath it. My heart judders as I take in the scene and realize what happened.
He threw me out of range, out of harm’s way.
I cannot move, my eyes locked on the shifting pile where he disappeared.
My cries are raw, scraping their way out of me, and even through the ringing in my ears I can hear the muffled grunts from the microphone still clipped to his shirt.
Each short, uneven breath he makes filters directly into my head and freezes the blood in my veins.
Feet pound past me, scattering fallen books as others rush to pull him free.
A girl I do not know kneels beside me, her hands checking for injuries, her mouth moving in questions I cannot process.
My eyes are fixed on the moment Clay emerges, hunched and bruised, blood pouring from his nose.
His lips, the same ones that had just been on mine, are split and red, and yet his gaze finds me first. The tension in his face softens and he exhales as though relieved simply to see me standing.
“Holy shit, are you okay? What happened?” My voice is sharper than I mean for it to be, my hands hovering inches from his chest, desperate to check him over but afraid to cause more pain. I can already imagine the bruises spreading beneath his shirt.
“I am fine. I’ve had worse,” Clay responds, dejection in his voice.
The hollowness resonates in my own chest. We couldn’t simply have one moment.
I take his hand before I can stop myself, our fingers fitting together as if they have been doing so for years.
I pull him through the wreckage, heading towards the main part of the library.
The girl who helped me is still at my side and several others shadow Clay like guards.
Ironically, this is the most support I’ve seen come to Clay’s aid, and it only took him being battered by books to earn it.
Stepping into the central space, my eyes land on Rhys instantly. Dots connect in my mind, the actions of a jealous bully flaring to life. Motherfucker.
Rhys is seated in the chair Clay had been using, his ankles crossed lazily on the table as a flock of girls drape themselves over him.
Clay’s books are in a careless heap at his feet.
His blue eyes meet mine, full of a challenge and my shoulders draw tight.
I step forward, ignoring the way Clay’s hand tugs against mine in a silent warning.
There’s not a chance in hell I’m letting this go.
Holding Rhys’ gaze, I let every ounce of determination show in my expression, and I drop Clayton’s hand.
“Harper, don’t,” Clay tries to say as I turn and pluck the microphone from his shirt. He catches my face, giving a slight shake of his head but the burn in my chest will not let me walk away. Not this time. I walk directly into the center of the library, taking everyone’s attention with me.
Klara is perched beside Rhys, idly swinging on the back legs of her chair like a child who has never been told no, her manicured nails twirling a strand of hair.
My boot finds the side of her chair and sends it tipping, the motion controlled yet forceful enough to spill her onto the floor in an ungraceful heap.
Her skirt flies up, revealing a hot pink thong that would have made me laugh in another lifetime, but now I am focused entirely on the man who has been pestering me from the shadows for far too long.
My hand fists the collar of Rhys’s cashmere sweater, the soft luxury of the fabric at odds with the sharp flex of my fingers.
I shove the microphone into place against his chest and push him back into the chair with a satisfying thud.
His chuckle is low and shameless, his gaze skating over me in a way that feels like both a taunt and a claim.
“I didn’t realize public foreplay was your thing, Babygirl,” he murmurs, and the sound of it seems to scrape against something raw inside me.
My free hand tangles in his hair, tugging hard enough to tilt his head back so he has no choice but to meet the fury in my expression.
He only looks more intrigued, his smirk deepening as if he has discovered a game he fully intends to win.
“It was you, wasn’t it?” I hiss, ignoring Klara scrambling to her feet. Despite Rhys’ lack of fucks in helping her, she stands tall and crosses her arms behind him. Rhys either doesn’t realize or doesn’t care.
“Sure. Whatever you are referring to, it was me.” He says it without flinching, appearing thoroughly entertained. Curling his fingers around my wrist and peeling it free from his hair, Rhys drags my knuckles over his cheek and lips. A chaste kiss is placed there, vibrating with his low laughter.
A weight settles on my shoulder, but I barely register it. I’m too busy trying to decide that, should I rear back and punch Rhys in the mouth, if he’d get off or get angry. Most likely the former.
“That is not an answer,” I tell him, yanking my hand free. Rhys tuts, apparently disappointed but nevertheless entertained.
“Everyone blames me for everything that happens around here. Since most of the time it's true, I just agree.” He leans back, all arrogance and infuriating calm. Rage flares through me, the image of Clay being pummeled too fresh in my mind. More than that, his nonchalance afterwards as if this is a common occurrence has sent me over the edge. Perhaps it’s my turn to protect him for a change.
But hurting Rhys will only pleasure him, so I need to change tactics. I need to dismantle the pedestal he’s placed himself upon. A slow smile curls across my face, and I watch the subtle slip in his smirk with the kind of satisfaction that tastes sweeter than revenge.
“What is so funny?” Rhys finally cracks his stoic surface of amusement, and he rises to his feet, trying to loom over me with height alone.
I yank the microphone back and press my palm flat to his chest, shoving him with enough force to catch him off guard and send him falling back into the seat.
Leaning in so close that his breath skims my mouth, I let the venom in my voice coil between us.
“It just occurred to me that the second you step off this campus, you’re no one. Just another overconfident dick without any real power or worth. One day you will find yourself bitterly alone, and I will savor every second of watching it happen.”
Rhys’s pupils blow out, my words finally striking a chord. His hand moves so fast that both Clay and I think he’s going to hit me. Clay’s arm comes around my middle as Rhys tucks my hair behind my ear, searching for my implant. Failing to find it, he speaks slow and clearly for me to read.
“I’d better enjoy Friday night then, before my bitter loneliness sets in.
” Rhys gives a sultry wink as Clay tugs me away, the strength of his body pulling me from the tension-charged air and steering me into the cold night.
His pace is steady and sure as he keeps me tucked close, as if he believes distance is the only thing that will keep me from going back for more.
The quiet between us hums with the residue of everything unsaid, and I let him guide me all the way back to my dorm without resisting.
At the base of the staircase, I take the lead until we stop before my door. I have no doubt Addy will be inside, peering through the spyhole to watch our interaction. I stall, allowing Clay to turn me gently to face him, his blood-darkened lips moving slowly as he speaks.
“Promise me you will not continue to provoke Rhys. If he keeps fixating on you, I will have to deal with him, but for as long as I can, I need to keep a low profile. I have to finish my degree. It is… important to me.”
A twinge of vulnerability lingers in the air, heavy with something that feels almost like pleading, though Clay is not the kind of man who pleads for anything. His gaze holds mine steadily, consuming any argument I may have had.
I nod, lifting my hand to cradle his cheek, my thumb brushing along the coarse line of stubble.
His skin is warm under my touch, the heat radiating into my palm in a way that makes me want to hold on longer than I should.
There is a sorrow in his eyes, a quiet ache in his features.
Seeing him like this, bared and bloodied, stirs something deep inside me that I’m not prepared to face right now.
I watch as his lips shape words too soft for me to hear, as if they were not meant to be spoken aloud. Before I can ask him to repeat them, he steps back, securing his beanie back in place on his blond hair, then he turns and walks away without looking back.
I stand there a moment longer, the echo of his warmth still on my skin, my breath clouding slightly in the hallway’s chill.
He’s right. I am getting too entangled in my need to give Rhys the comeuppance no one else seems willing or able to deliver.
As if it’s my duty. As if I’m the only person that can.
Although, if I keep being drawn into his games, Clay’s focus will begin to fracture.
I know this, yet I can’t seem to help myself.
I yearn for the adrenaline rush that comes from going toe to toe with Rhys.
Another rational thought reminds me that I should push Clay from my thoughts too, to bury the way his presence feels like a shield I did not know I wanted.
I won’t be doing that either. This evening gave me startling clarity.
Clayton feels something for me. He probably doesn’t want to acknowledge it, but I won’t let him retreat back into himself.
We’re finally getting somewhere and I want to see where it leads.
Stepping into my dorm and closing the door behind me, I’m suddenly assaulted by the speedy hands of Addy signing a million questions I don’t have answers for. Instead, as my phone vibrates in my pocket, the screen lighting up with a message, my mouth curves into a smile I can’t contain.
Beanie26: Thank you for defending me, Beautiful.