43. Saint
Chapter forty-three
Saint
M y palms are sweaty, and I can't decide if it's the stifling heat in the computer lab or the jitters crawling up my spine. Princess strides in, her blond hair a stark contrast against the drab walls, and for a second, I forget to breathe. She's a vision of resilience that doesn't match the turmoil I know whirls beneath her calm surface.
How could I have gotten it so wrong?
"Hey," I manage to call out, my voice steadier than I feel.
She gives me a tight-lipped nod, her green eyes scanning the room until they fall on the food I laid out for her. She thanks me as she scoops it up and takes her seat.
"Addy, can we talk about this please?" Chess asks, his voice tight. There's a tension there, a silent conversation that seems to hang between them, thick as fog. I can't quite put my finger on it, but something's off.
"Nothing to talk about," she shrugs.
I watch the fight drain out of him. "Okay."
How...unusual. What the hell happened on the walk over from her class? Chess wasn't like Dre and me, but he wasn't a pushover. Watching him just give up meant he had somehow fucked up.
I wasn't sure I liked that.
"Everything okay?" I ask, without really expecting an answer.
"Fine," she replies, her tone clipped, guarded. It’s a wall I’ve come to expect from her. One that had earned her the nickname Ice Princess, but one I now realize is built out of necessity and self-preservation.
Chess catches my gaze then, his hazel eyes dull when they usually dance with mischief. The guy's haircut is as chaotic as his thoughts must be right now, each strand rebelling in a different direction. Whatever's going on, he's not sharing, and the slump of his shoulders as he settles at a computer speaks louder than words.
"Chess?" I probe, trying to decipher his mood.
"Nothing to worry about, Saint." He shrugs, fingers already flying across the keyboard, searching for answers in the digital world he commands.
I'm not convinced, but pressing him now will get me nowhere. I focus back on Princess, knowing our conversation can't wait, even though part of me wishes it could.
I take a deep breath, steeling myself for what needs to be said. Princess is sitting beside Dre, her back straight as a rod despite her attempts to appear relaxed, defiance etched into every line of her body. She's a fortress in human form, and I'm about to lay siege.
"Princess," I start, making sure my voice carries enough authority to bridge the distance between us. "We've talked this over, and it's unanimous. We don't want you going back to the Winthrop house."
Her head snaps around, those piercing green eyes now fixed on me with laser-like precision. For a moment, there's silence, and then she scoffs—a sharp, bitter sound that slices through the humming of computers.
"Oh, you decided?" Her voice is livid, each word dripping with venom. The room feels suddenly too small, the air charged with her anger.
I wasn't expecting this—her immediate backlash. It's so against her usual demeanor. Maybe we've broken her. But I don't back down. It’s not just because I can’t stand the thought of her being unsafe; it’s because somewhere along the line, her battles became mine too.
"Princess, we—" I try to continue, but she cuts me off with a wave of her hand, her blonde hair swaying with the movement.
"Save it, Saint." Her words are ice-cold, yet I see the fire burning behind her stoic facade.
I clench my fists, feeling the weight of the moment settle on my shoulders. "Mason can talk to them," I insist, trying to bulldoze past the walls she's erected. "He's good with words—could make them see reason. It's not like they'll say no to him when they're still trying to milk whatever they want out of him. Or we could... we could say it's about Gen, spin some story that they'd buy."
Her gaze doesn't waver, and the green in her eyes seems to darken with resolve. "Mason doesn't have that kind of sway over my parents," she replies, her tone implacable. "And lies? They only stack up until you're buried under them. No, Saint. It's not your decision to make."
The frustration knots in my chest, tight and hot. "It's not safe."
"And how the fuck would you know?" she demands. "Are you suddenly an expert on all things Adelaide Winthrop?"
"It's not safe for you there, Princess." I press, refusing to let this go.
"It's not really a choice, is it?" she spits. "I'm seventeen. For a few more months, I'm stuck."
"It's just a few months—"
"Exactly," she snaps, the word like a whip crack in the sterile air of the computer lab. "A few more months. I've survived years with them. I think I can handle a little longer."
"Survived." The word hangs between us, heavy and loaded. "No one should just have to survive."
"Welcome to my world," she says with a bitter laugh, and I can tell by the hard set of her jaw that she's done discussing it.
"Princess—" I try again, but she's already turning away, dismissing the conversation, dismissing my concern.
"Drop it, Saint," she interrupts, and though her voice is steady, something in the way she holds herself tells me this is costing her more than she'll let on. "This is my fight. Not yours."
"Bullshit," Dre snaps. "We talked about this, Snowflake," Dre's voice is softer now, his ice-blue eyes searching her face. He buries a hand in her hair and brings their foreheads together. It's so soft, so tender. I didn't know he had anything but hard edges.
"We can't help if we don't know what's really going down at the Winthrop house."
She doesn't meet any of our gazes, her fingers curled tightly around the strap of her backpack. "It's a big house," she says flatly, deflecting. "Lots of rooms. Lots of... silence."
"Silence can be loud as hell when it's screaming in your ears," I mutter, my own memories echoing too loudly in the confines of my skull.
I shake them out. I'm with Mason now. I'm safe. But it only serves to make me angrier. If anyone should have seen the signs, it should have been me.
Chess leans forward, elbows on his knees, his hazel eyes earnest. "Is that why you work so hard to keep everyone else out?" He's treading dangerous waters, but Chess has always been one to push boundaries.
"Chess!" Dre glares at him, but Chess holds up a hand, silencing the reprimand.
Her laugh is hollow, devoid of humor. "I don't," she lies, and we all hear the lie for what it is, but she’s like a fortress with the drawbridge pulled up.
"Come on, Princess," I persist. "We've all had our share of crap—"
"Which gives you exactly zero right to pry into mine," she cuts me off, her green eyes flaring with a mix of anger and something else—something pained.
"Snowflake—" Dre starts, but she's already shaking her head, her blonde hair catching the fluorescent light as she stands.
"I'm done here." Her voice is steady, but there's a tremor in her hands that betrays her calm demeanor. Without another word, she shoves the unfinished food onto the table in front of her and heads toward the door, leaving an oppressive silence in her wake.
"Damn it," I swear under my breath, raking a hand through my dark curls. My gaze finds Chess, and I can feel the coil of desperation tightening within me.
"Marry me!" I blurt.
She stops dead, her stance rigid. I know she heard me. I mean, I screamed the damn request. But, she doesn't respond. She doesn't move toward the door either, so it feels like a small victory.
"Marry me," I repeat, my tone softer. "Give me a year. We can sign a contract and everything. A year and you get your freedom. You'll be 18, they won't be able to control you anymore."
"Are you...insane?" She demands, turning her head just enough to take me in.
"I might be. But, I'm serious about this. You don't...you don't have to do anything you don't want to do. We don't even have to consummate it, Princess. That's not what this is. It's freedom."
"Really? Because it feels like another cage."
The implication of what she said sinks deep into my marrow. It only steels my resolve. I know Dre isn't pleased about this decision. He wants her. In a way he's never wanted anyone or anything else.
"You'll have the money you need for college no matter what happens between us. I'll follow your lead, Princess. Mason is already making arrangements with your father. You just have to agree."
She doesn't move. Doesn't respond. But, her eyes sweep over Chess and then Dre, lingering. I've seen how she blossoms with them. How her sharp, icy edges start to melt. I won't be another cage for her. After what I've put her through, I'd do just about anything to make her happy.
I stand and move until my chest is pressed to her back. This part isn't for them. It's for us.
"You don't have to choose. Marrying me doesn't mean giving them up," I whisper into her ear.
She stiffens. "So, you'll marry me and just pimp me out to your friends?"
"I'll follow your lead. I mean it. You don't even have to choose me, Princess. Just choose freedom."
For a moment, she melts back against me. I press a kiss just below her ear, unable to stop myself. Her hands find mine where they're wrapped around her hips. But, instead of giving in, she pries me off and leaves without another word.
She needs time. I get that. This isn't over. Far from it.
"Chess, you need to dig deeper. Whatever she's hiding—it could be the difference between her making it to eighteen or not."
He nods, understanding the gravity without needing it spelled out. "I'll get into everything—emails, socials, whatever she's got out there. And then I'll follow them back to the source. There's got to be something, somewhere."
"Everything," I stress. "No more secrets. We're doing this for her, whether she likes it or not. We need the truth."
"Got it, Saint." Chess's fingers are already flying over the keyboard, the mischievous glint replaced by steely determination. "I'll find out what's happening in the Winthrop house. No stone unturned."
"Good," I say, feeling the weight of responsibility settle onto my shoulders. "We're in this together, for Princess. No matter what."
"That's not enough," Dre's voice cuts through the silence.
"Yeah," I mutter, nodding. My mind races as I scan the room, landing on Chess who's still poised in front of his computer, radiating focus. I stride over to him, my resolve hardening with every step. "She can't keep using that phone. Her parents track everything."
"Then we get her a new one," Dre says, as if it’s the simplest solution in the world.
"Easy to say." I lean against a desk, crossing my arms. "But how? You know she won't just take it."
Chess swivels in his chair, a glint of conspiracy in his eyes. "We make it anonymous—a gift. No strings attached, no way to trace it back to us."
"Anonymously funded by some concerned citizen?" Dre raises an eyebrow but I can tell he's on board.
"Exactly." Chess nods. "I can set it up. Burner phone. Prepaid, untraceable. We'll leave it somewhere she'll find it."
"Like a secret admirer kind of thing?" Doubt tugs at me, but it's not like we have a lot of options.
"Without the creepy vibe," Chess clarifies, his fingers tapping a staccato rhythm on the tabletop. "Just... someone looking out for her."
"That won't work." I exhale, trying to quell the unease that clings to the edges of this plan. "She doesn't trust anyone, likely for good reason. We'll have to convince her to take it from us. Not a burner, a real phone."
"I'll have to encrypt it."
"Do it. But we need to be careful. If the Winthrops even suspect—"
"They won't," Dre interjects with a confidence I wish I felt. "We'll cover our tracks. And Snowflake's smart; she'll know how to handle it."
"Right." The word comes out more as a question than an affirmation. I picture Princess's face—the guarded green eyes, the barely perceptible flinch she can't quite hide. I need to believe we're doing the right thing. "We need to keep her safe until she's out of there. This might be our best shot."
"Consider it done," Chess says, already pulling up a new window on his screen. "I'll get on it tonight."
"Thanks, man." Gratitude wells up, but it's mixed with a heavy dose of worry. This has to work. For Princess.
"Hey." Dre claps a hand on my shoulder, grounding me. "We've got her back, Saint. We all do."
"Let's just hope she knows that," I murmur, watching the cursor blink on Chess's screen, a beacon of hope in the digital darkness.