Chapter 41
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
CADENCE
Drake takes back the keys on Thursday, announcing my driving is too appallingly slow. “We need to take you to a racetrack and get rid of that fear.”
“That fear stems from the price of the cars you’re giving me to drive. Hand me the keys to a beaten old Honda Civic and I’ll show you my reckless side.”
“We could always skip class and drive into the mountains. Find a secluded park and I’ll eat you out for breakfast.”
My cheeks flame bright crimson, and I resist the urge to fan myself as I stare out the passenger window. He’s teasing. Probably.
But even if the picture he paints is pure temptation, I don’t want to incur Arnold’s wrath. Not when he’s been buzzing around home with a smile permanently painted on his face since Mum accepted his proposal.
An itch of resentment builds. Everything would be perfect if Arnold just knew how to hold his temper.
I’ve already spent years being a hostage to Mum’s passive-aggressive mood swings.
Having to walk a tightrope of caution for another full-grown adult in my life is miserable. A penance for crimes I haven’t committed.
“Earth to Cadence.”
“Sorry.” I give myself a mental shake. “Much as that sounds like the perfect way to start the day, you’ve only got another two days of school. Better make them count.”
His grin spreads from ear to ear and I replay what I just said, searching for the trigger.
But we’re already drawing up outside the gates, Drake’s eyes scanning for the best parking spot.
“It’ll be okay,” he says out of the blue, leaning across to take my hands in his. “You know I’ll do whatever it takes to protect you and your mum.”
I squeeze hard, needing the reassurance. “But I don’t want you to be hurt, either. You’ve already taken far too much abuse on my behalf.”
He gives me the most gorgeous smile. “No, I haven’t.” I try to say something more and he presses a finger to my lips. “Think of it as penance.”
Then he draws back, releasing me as he gets out of the car, his movements bouncing with energy when last week he couldn’t walk a step without grimacing.
I get out, moving to his side where he promptly takes my hand again.
“Instead of skipping school,” I say, “tell me your fantasy about skipping the engagement party tonight.”
“And Arnold thinks I’m the troublemaker.”
“You are a confirmed arsonist, firebug.”
He kisses the back of my hand, drawing envious glares from nearby students. An emotion that feels like flattery since I’m in such a good mood.
“The party will go without a hitch, you’ll see.”
“Hm.”
“And you’ve already helped plan most of it.”
It’s not true, although I lent a hand.
With our friendship slightly thawed thanks to Monday’s confrontation, I’d asked Rox for the number of the caterer she hired for Gretchen’s party, passing it to Mum so she wouldn’t have to worry about the food. Felicity had helped connect us with servers and cleaners, now booked for before and after.
But as each item is sorted, she’s become more paranoid rather than less.
I wish the whole thing would just be called off, but that’s unlikely. Especially since Arnold has invited half his client list.
Another weight on Mum’s shoulders.
I huff out a breath and Drake glances at me, laughing. The sound is so foreign to him, all the nearby pupils turn to stare.
“Just dump those books in your locker so we can get to homeroom.”
I do, taking out my second period History textbook in exchange. A book Drake instantly snatches off me. “Don’t you have a free first period?”
“Yes. Then I have—”
He shoves the heavy volume back into the cubby, swinging the door closed. “Travel light. I’ll catch up with you after home room, yeah? Take your mind off the party, tonight.”
The mischievous glint in his eye sets my body humming with anticipation. “Yes, sir.”
He pauses, the glint darkening into a salacious gleam. “That’s more like it.”
Home room passes in a blur. When I walk along the corridor afterward, rough hands suddenly seize me, dragging me into a stationery cupboard and closing the door.
My heart rate skyrockets as Drake leans against the only exit, danger lurking in his smile.
“Thought you might appreciate a tour of the lesser-known features of Ashford Crest.” He pulls an old-fashioned key from his pocket, turning to lock the door, then hooks out his waistband, dropping them inside his briefs. “The moment you’re ready to face the world again…”
“Hm. This trick seems familiar.”
He stalks towards me like a predator and my pulse beats faster, teeth nibbling on my lower lip. The heat in his eyes melts away my inhibition. When his lips claim mine, my body turns to putty, ready to be moulded into whatever shape he needs.
“Miss Rivers,” he says in a stern voice when he pulls back, leaving my lips swollen. “This room is off-limits. Unless you can show me your hall pass…”
I daintily pick the edge of my hem and lift it the tiniest fraction.
“You’ll have to do better.”
I raise it an inch, shivering when he licks his lips, easing closer as the overhead speaker crackles.
“Would Blaine Arlington please report to the principal’s office?”
We both freeze, guilt written on our faces, then Drake shrugs, coming a step nearer. “They’re not going to find us in here,” he asserts. “So, unless you have a way out…”
“What do they want?”
He shakes his head, fingertips brushing my hair back. “I genuinely don’t know and definitely don’t care. I’m leaving school to become a stripper, remember?”
But I’m too nervous to keep playing. I drop my skirt and step back. “We’d better go. I don’t want to give Arnold any further ammunition.”
Drake sighs, pulling me close for a light kiss. “But you’ll still have to find that key.”
A job that soon has me in hysterics as his defence is to tickle me whenever I come close, changing his posture to trap my wrist against his tense abdomen, the growing bulge making it difficult to locate the key, especially when his eyes turn lidded, and he groans while I brush against him.
I drag it free, on the precipice of changing my mind and ignoring the command when the speaker crackles again. “Blaine Arlington to the principal’s office now.”
He steals the key back to do the honours, emerging into an empty corridor. “Wait in the common room and I’ll come find you once when this bullshit’s finished.”
“No, you won’t. I’m coming along to have a front-row seat to this bullshit.” And I leave the obvious unspoken.
Especially if it concerns firebombed cars or naked videos.
His fingers thread through mine as we walk and despite the drama besetting us for the past few weeks, I can’t remember ever feeling happier.
As a distraction from what might be waiting, I think of the tongue-tied girl who, for years, had been too shy to approach Drake and ask for what she wanted. A date to see if we were as compatible as our nervous sideways glances made me think.
She would be ecstatic for me. The rest of it is—as Drake so eloquently put it—bullshit.
And I shouldn’t pay attention to bullshit for more than it takes to wipe its odorous residue off my shoes.
We cross the quad to the admin building, its fa?ade the grandest of the lot and the most intimidating.
But my eyes are fixed on the car parked right outside.
Not because it’s stolen the school secretary’s spot—though it has—but because of its bright yellow and blue paint job.
The police are here.
They’ve probably turned up for someone else.
A long shot but possible. Except the possibility shrinks to nothing as we push through the heavy kauri doors to find the headmaster deep in conversation with two uniformed officers and a larger man in a dark grey suit.
My stomach plunges. He’s a detective.
This isn’t some playground level reprimand. This is serious.
“Blaine,” the principal says, face thunderous. “Come into my office.”
“No,” the detective says, stepping forward with a pair of straight cuffs at the ready. “We can do it here. Blaine Drake Arlington?” At Drake’s nod he clamps the first cuff over his wrist.
Sweat beads on my upper lip and I lick it away. “This isn’t right. Drake had nothing to do with the car fire.”
My head swirls with panic. I can smell something burning even though I know it’s not real.
“Please. You have to listen.”
“You’re under arrest for arson and for the murder of Kelvin Edwin Harris.”
Drake’s face drains of colour. “Who?” He tries to snatch his hand back, but it’s too late, the cuffs hold tight as the detective grips his shoulder, turning him to face the car.
For a moment, I don’t think anyone will answer, then the detective looks him full in the face. “He’s the pharmacist who was in the back room when you set fire to his premises. He died because of your arson. That’s murder.”
I freeze. The information keeps going in while my brain refuses to comprehend.
Murder.
Then everything snaps into place.
The pharmacist.
Mum’s pharmacist.
My mind is dizzy with the information. I step back, shivering with a bout of cold, hugging myself as the day drops ten degrees in ten seconds. My chaotic thoughts swirl, trying to find a way out from the horror.
This can’t be happening. This can’t be real.
Except it is. A man is dead. His shop burned. And the firebug who once terrorised me stands a foot away.
The police don’t arrest people without evidence.
I gasp, jerking my gaze up and Drake is staring at me with such intensity I can feel it drilling into my eyes.
His voice is firm. “I didn’t do this.”
They’re just words.
People use them all the time to evade responsibility for something they’ve done.
Am I really going to trust his word when I’ve seen how easily he can lie? When the police are there, saying he’s a murderer? When I know from experience, the first weapon Drake reaches for is a lighter.
And the answer is yes.
Yes, I trust his word.
I would trust it even if he hadn’t explicitly said he wouldn’t lie to me just because the truth is unsavoury.
The certainty floods me, driving away the panic, bringing me strength.
“I’ll phone your dad,” I call as the police lead him away. “We’ll get you out of there.”
Then, I sprint after him, ignoring the officers to steal one last kiss. Before the police can jerk him away to stash him in their car, I whisper into his ear.
“I love you.”