Chapter Thirty Eight #2
Two bodies ram into me, smashing me back into the lockers several doors down from mine.
Metal bites into my shoulder blades, the clang reverberating up my spine.
I thrash wildly, almost managing to shake one off until another pair of hands clamps down on my wrists, dragging my arms wide.
Strained voices shout over me, but all I can hear is my own pulse pounding in my skull.
I buck against their hold until it finally hits me.
This fight is wasted. I need to save the hatred for the bastard who deserves every last shred of it.
The second I stop struggling, I expect them to let me go, but they don’t. Instead, the two in front of me press closer, lowering their heads onto my shoulders, wrapping their arms around my middle like a pair of idiots.
“What the fuck are you doing?” I snarl, trying to shove them off, but their hold only tightens, tangled arms locking me in place like some fucked-up version of family therapy.
“This is the Shadowed Soul way. We hug it out, then fuck shit up,” Huxley grunts.
“That’s the gayest shit I’ve ever heard,” I snap back, pressing my head back against the lockers like I can somehow put distance between myself and whatever the hell this is.
“Barely. I’m not even hard yet.” Garrett lifts his head, earning a sharp slap to the back of his head from his friend, though the bastard chuckles low like he finds himself hilarious.
Eventually I realise this isn’t ending until I let it, so I stand there, seething, waiting it out with whatever shred of dignity I can salvage.
Coach peeks around the back door, eyes wide, only to duck back again when I bare my teeth in his direction like a cornered dog.
Finally, the pair release me, stepping back with smug grins plastered across their faces like they’ve solved the world’s problems. I roll my neck, flex my fists, and spot the jacket on the floor.
Jeremy’s name is there as it always should have been, but now it’s tainted.
Marked with the very thing I’ve been running from.
I can’t bring myself to let it go, so I scoop it up, clutching it like I’ve won back a piece of him, even if it’s been desecrated.
“Now you’re calmer, let’s think rationally about this,” Garrett says as he and Huxley drag the bench back into place and drop onto it, staring at me like they’re some jury panel. “Who would—”
“Wavershit, obviously,” I cut in, my voice dripping with venom. The long exhale through my nose is more animal than human.
“Are you sure it’s him?” Huxley asks, and I scoff.
“Of course I’m sure. He’s had it out for me since day one, and he threatened me just yesterday.
He…he tried to make a deal with me and I said no.
” My eyes burn with unshed tears of frustration.
I fucking said no, thinking I had a brighter future here than elsewhere.
Yet Harper stabbed me in the back and left me to bleed out.
They exchange glances like they’ve been watching a different game than the one I’ve been living, like from their perch at the back of the bleachers they’ve mistaken my survival for a performance.
“Okay then,” Garrett shrugs, his tone maddeningly casual. “Rule one of revenge, know your target. What does he want, how does he move, where are his weaknesses? You calculate it, then you hit him where it hurts most. So, what can we use against him?”
“We? This is my beef. Stay out of it.” I take two strides, but Huxley appears in front of me. He refuses to let me sidestep around him, carefully easing a hand onto my shoulder.
“I met Jeremy,” he says, the words I never expected to hear. I shake my head, tired of the trickery, sick of people trying to fuck with my mind.
“There’s no way—”
“We did our trial days together. We would have been in the same year.” The floor seems to tilt under me, my balance knocked sideways.
I search Huxley’s eyes for the lie, for the smug flicker of satisfaction that would tell me he’s full of shit, but I don’t find it.
His face is open and carrying something close to reverence.
“He talked about you all the time, Clay. Said his little brother was coming up right behind him and how proud he was. You were all he mentioned, every fucking break, every conversation. He kept saying he couldn’t wait for you to walk the same halls, for everyone to see the kid he knew would make it big.
Said we’d have to look out for you when you got here. ”
My chest caves with the force of it, like his words are a hammer striking bone. I grip the jacket tighter in my hands, Jeremy’s name burning through my palm. Huxley doesn’t stop, doesn’t give me a chance to run.
“He was so excited. He said you’d been through too much already, that this place had to be different for you.
He made us promise to have your back, no matter what.
We promised to keep you safe.” His jaw works as his gaze searches my face, his hand still anchored to my shoulder like he’s afraid if he lets go I’ll disappear.
“I have a feeling he knew he wouldn’t make it out of the slums. There were always demons chasing him, shadows in his black eyes.
So you might not want it, but I’m not letting you crash and burn while I’m around. Now tell us what you need.”
I want to shove him off, to tell him he doesn’t know a damn thing about me, that I don’t need anyone to babysit me.
But the words don’t come. They stick in my throat like barbed wire, because even in my fury, I can see Jeremy in the way Huxley holds himself, in the way his voice steadies like he’s forcing it not to break.
Jeremy always did that too. Shouldered the weight so I didn’t have to, made jokes when I wanted to rage, supported me even when he was breaking.
And now, with my fists still trembling and blood still roaring through my head, I realise Huxley means it.
He’s not mocking me. He’s not trying to take my fight away.
He’s trying to give me what Jeremy would have wanted.
“It’s Harper. She’s his weakness,” I breathe, regret lacing my tone.
Not because I’m about to break everything we had, but because she threw it away before it stood a chance to flourish.
Stolen moments in the library, the silent disco, on the cliffside, in my bed.
All wasted. She ripped me open and stole my secrets to sell to the devil, and now, no one is getting out of this unscathed.