Chapter 19 Shane
SHANE
I absentmindedly strum my guitar, but not even the familiar notes of the song I’m playing can distract me from the crush of thoughts that have been plaguing me since the fire.
I’ve been feeling off since the night I let Jace fuck me in the bathroom at King House, and it has nothing to do with fucking him and everything to do with what went down in my room after.
I don’t regret hooking up with him, not either time, but I definitely regret spilling my deepest and darkest secrets to him while I was high off my ass.
I’ve never told anyone, not even the many therapists my parents have sent me to, about how I don’t even know who I am anymore, and how it feels like I’ll never have the chance to live my own life.
Then there’s all the stuff that Jace told me.
Finding out that both he and his brother are technically psychopaths isn’t nearly as shocking as it should be, and it explains a lot, like a lot, but I still can’t wrap my head around why he told me.
It wasn’t because of the weed, because he said it before the mission; he just confirmed it after we got high.
If there’s one thing I’ve learned about Jace, it’s that he’s an insufferable asshole when he wants to be, but he isn’t a liar.
Everything he’s told me has turned out to be true, but why would he tell me all these super-personal things and say he trusts me when it’s obvious he doesn’t trust anyone other than the people he considers family?
At least he isn’t acting weird about things and went back to his usual teasing and annoying ways after that night, but it would almost be better if he hadn’t, because then I’d at least know if that was a one-off because of the circumstances, or if he’d be open to hooking up again.
And if that wasn’t enough to deal with, I’ve spent the last week waiting for some sort of fallout from the mission, and for someone to realize what we did. And the more I think about it, the crazier it is.
We literally broke into a rival frat to steal sensitive documents using insane spy methods and a plan that never should have worked, and so far, we’ve gotten away with it.
But how long is that going to last? How long will it be before someone realizes what happened? And what will they do to us when they do eventually figure out we were the ones behind it?
All of that was bad enough, but then the fire happened, and I’ve spent the past day and a half on the edge of a full breakdown.
It feels like my body can’t tell the difference between having to go to class and running from a pack of hungry wolves, and I’m just always waiting for disaster to strike again.
I don’t even remember the first few minutes after the fire started, and that has nothing to do with the bump on my head and everything to do with the paralyzing fear that gripped me the moment I smelled that familiar mix of burning wood and melting plastic that will forever be seared into my memories.
I remember someone shouting that we needed to get out of there, then more shouting and the scrape of chairs as everyone jumped up from the table we were playing poker at.
I jumped up too, but unlike everyone else who started running for the door, I stayed frozen in place as my mind was transported back to that night seven years ago, and it’s like I’ve been trapped there ever since.
Squeezing my eyes closed, I pull in a deep breath and try to calm my racing heart before I send myself into another panic attack.
I don’t know how long I stayed like that, frozen and terrified at the table, but when I finally snapped out of the daze, or nightmare, I’d fallen into, the room was filling with smoke, the door was closed, and I was alone.
I remember stumbling away from the table, but my eyes were burning, and it was hard to see anything with the lights off and the haze of smoke in the air.
I must have tripped over something, because one second I was trying to get my ass to the door, and the next I was pitching forward as the ground rushed up to meet me.
My temple twinges with a phantom pain at the memory of knocking my head against something as I fell, but the next few minutes are a blur as I was overwhelmed with both pain and helplessness as more of the memories from that night took hold of me and wouldn’t let go.
I don’t remember getting up, but I do remember stumbling to the door. And I definitely remember the panic and terror I felt when I realized it was locked.
My fingers get tangled in the strings, and I pause playing.
There are only a few card keys that can lock communal doors, and as far as I know, Jace is the only person who has access to one outside of the leaders and Carter.
But there’s no way Jace locked the door. Why would he bother to bust through it like a damn superhero and save my ass if he was the one who locked it in the first place?
Did someone get their hands on his card? I can’t see him giving it to anyone outside his family, even if he didn’t know what they were planning on doing with it.
But who else could it have been? It wasn’t the leaders or Carter. Someone would have noticed if one of them had been wandering around the halls of the dorm.
It’s possible someone closed the door to keep the fire contained without realizing I was in there, but that wouldn’t explain why it was locked.
We had a briefing about the fire last night.
The only thing Jordan said was that the incident was under review, and the back game room would be off-limits for the foreseeable future while they did their investigation and had a team come in to fix the damage.
No mention of whether it was an electrical fire or if it was arson, and with how things work around here, I’m not hopeful that I’ll be getting any real answers any time soon.
Once the briefing was over, I escaped to my room and spent the next few hours trying not to think about anything, but of course my stupid brain wouldn’t shut the fuck up.
I finally fell into a sedative-induced sleep after taking a double dose of sleeping pills and washing them down with a vodka chaser around two in the morning, only to wake up at six with my head just as busy as it was before I took the pills.
I managed to get through my classes and put in some face time with the guys in the house to reassure everyone that I’m fine, but it was a struggle. And the only thing that’s kept me sane so far is the fact that it’s Friday night, and I’ve got plans to get as fucked up as possible later.
I just need to get through the next few hours without driving myself crazy first.
The silence in my room feels stifling, so I start playing a different song from memory, and it takes a few seconds to realize what I’m playing.
It’s the first and only song I ever wrote, and the only people who’ve ever heard it are my siblings.
My chest squeezes as a wave of grief hits like a wrecking ball, and I put my guitar on the bed next to me so I can pull in ragged, sucking breaths as I try to stave off the panic attack that’s been threatening to overtake me since I woke up.
It’s been seven years since they died, and I don’t remember their voices anymore. I can still picture them, and I still have memories of them, but the actual sounds of their voices are gone unless I watch a video and hear them again.
How can I forget the voices of the people who meant more to me than anyone else in the world in just seven years? How many more years will it be before I can’t remember their faces? Before my memories of them fade, and all I’ll have left of them are pictures and videos?
How long before no one remembers them, and it’ll be like they never existed?
Knock. Knock. Knock.
I jump a mile as the sharp rapping at my door startles me out of my daze.
“Who is it?” I call, my voice cracking slightly on the words.
“It’s me,” Paxton says through the door.
“It’s unlocked,” I shout back.
The door swings open, and Paxton steps inside.
“How’re you feeling?” he asks, giving me a quick once-over.
I smile, or at least try to, but it probably looks more like a grimace. Or maybe a bit like I’m constipated. “Doing okay. You?”
“I’m good.” He shoots me a dubious look. “How’s your head?”
“Fine,” I say dismissively, and I’m not lying.
The bruise is dark and angry-looking, and it hurt like a son of a bitch yesterday, but it’s only a little tender today. I spent almost five years playing hockey, so bumps and bruises are nothing new to me.
“Still going to The Crypt tonight?” he asks, still looking at me like he expects me to keel over at any second.
“Hell yeah.”
The Crypt is an old, abandoned house on the outskirts of campus that’s surrounded by an open field on two sides and the woods on the others. It’s a popular place for parties, but since it doesn’t belong to any of the frats or houses, anyone can use it as long as no one else is.
He shoots me a sly grin. “Brianna and the rest of the Belmont council have promised us a good night.”
Brianna and Paxton have had a casual thing for the past three years where they hook up, go exclusive for a few weeks or months, then go back to casual.
They don’t fight, don’t really break up or anything, they just decide that they want to see other people for a bit, and when they change their minds, they go back to being exclusive.
I don’t understand their dynamic, but it works for them.
And it’s honestly healthier than most of the relationships around here, even if it is unconventional.
The Belmont council literally just means the student heads of Belmont House, which is basically Brianna and her clique of besties, and they’re known for throwing killer parties. Hopefully tonight is no exception.
“We’re pregaming in my room in an hour,” he adds.
“I’ll be there.”
“See ya then.” He gives me a little wave and closes the door as he leaves my room.
I reach for my guitar but pause when my hand is hovering over it. I should probably start getting ready now so I don’t lose track of time and get lost in my thoughts again.