52. Saint
Chapter fifty-two
Saint
I ’m reeling. Fucking reeling. I can’t even hear the words tumbling out of Gen’s mouth as she walks beside me. William was in Princess's room after dark, long after dark. And when Dre went back last night it was clear it wasn't some clandestine meeting of minds. The thought coils in my stomach, tight and cold.
"Saint, are you even listening?" Gen nudges me, her wide eyes searching my face.
"Sorry, just got a lot on my mind," I mutter, scanning the sea of students for that familiar flash of blonde hair and the piercing green eyes that seem to see right through me.
I’m fucking addicted to this girl. My protective instinct is in overdrive. But, I know if we ride in without a plan, we’ll only make things worse for her. She’s only seventeen and her parents still have rights–even if they don’t fucking deserve them.
My heart stops in my chest as I finally catch a glimpse of her. She’s standing by her locker with a textbook clutched to her chest like a shield. She's always braced for battle, this girl. I had always thought it was because she thought she was better than everyone else, but how fucking wrong I’d been.
The steel in her gaze could cut through armor, and it's enough to keep my questions locked up tight behind my teeth. I can't risk her walls going back up; not now when she's finally letting us see a glimpse of what lies beneath the ice.
"Hey, Princess," I say, forcing casualness into my tone as we stop beside her.
"Morning," she replies, her lips twitching up in the ghost of a smile. That smile does strange things to me, twists my insides in a way I'm still trying to figure out.
"Is everything okay?" I venture, hoping my concern doesn't come off as prying.
"Of course," she says, but there's a sharpness to her words, a reminder that she's more fortress than sanctuary. A clear warning that if I ask the questions I want she'll cut out my tongue without hesitation.
I nod, swallowing the interrogation that's itching to break free. Not here. Not now. She's a fortress under siege, and trust is the drawbridge I'm trying to lower.
Her glacial reception over the last week has thawed some. I don't want to push too far too fast.
I notice how she relaxes ever so slightly when Dre joins us, slinging an arm around her shoulders. There's warmth there, something that might look like ease if I didn't know better. But Chess gets nothing but a frosty nod, and I can't help but wonder what he's done to earn such a chilly reception from our Nordic beauty. I make a mental note to corner Chess later.
"Something up with you and Princess?" I murmur to him under the guise of checking my phone.
"I have absolutely no idea," Chess sounds defeated, his hazel eyes darting to Princess before fixing on me, a silent challenge in their depths.
"Well figure it out," I shoot back, feeling protective instincts flare up.
He gives a curt nod, understanding the unspoken agreement between us. With confirmation, I return my attention back to my girl—our girl. I hope.
I brush a stray lock of blonde hair from Princess's face, feeling the silken threads slide between my fingers. Her green eyes, usually as guarded as a vault, soften for a moment as I lean in. I cup her cheek, a gesture that feels more intimate than I'm likely allowed with her, and press my lips to hers. The taste of her, something like wild berries and rebellion, floods my senses, leaving me craving more.
"Morning, Princess," I murmur against her lips, pulling back just enough to see her reaction.
"Morning, Saint," she whispers back, her voice a melody over the cacophony of locker slams and idle chatter.
The others throw their greetings into the mix, but they sound distant, secondary to the static charge between us. Gen's laughter rings out, Dre's deep voice follows, but it's background noise. Princess's gaze holds mine, and I'm lost in the emerald depths.
"Breakfast?" I ask, offering up the brown bag I brought for her. It's a small gesture, but everything with her feels significant.
"Thanks." Her lips curve into a smile that could thaw glaciers—the same ones she still keeps around her heart. She leans in for another kiss, a thank you that ignites something in my chest. My hand finds the small of her back, pulling her closer, and I deepen the kiss, drawing the sweetness of her into me.
Around us, the whispers crescendo like we're the main act in a sideshow they can't get enough of. Let them watch. Let them whisper.
"Can't get enough of you," I confess, my voice low, for her ears only.
"Hm," she breathes out, her warmth seeping into the spaces between us.
"Come with us," I say, my hand still resting on the small of her back. "We have something for you." The urgency in my voice contradicts the calmness I try to project. We weave through the clusters of students, a sea parting for its king and queen, until we reach the quiet corridor where the computer lab hums with the promise of privacy.
"Is everything okay?" Concern flickers across Princess's features, her brow creasing delicately.
"Better than okay," Dre assures her, his smile easy and confident. Gen nods, her eyes alight with shared secrets. Gen doesn't know the whole truth. It didn't feel right to share Princess's secrets. A strange, new feeling I'm not sure I like.
I push open the door to the lab, and we step inside. The first bell is a distant thought, minutes from shattering this bubble of solidarity. My phone weighs heavy in my pocket—its twin about to change everything. I hope.
"Here," I say, slipping out the sleek device, its surface catching the fluorescent lights overhead. "This is for you."
Princess's eyes widen as she takes in the phone, turning it over in her hands. "A phone?"
"Encrypted," I clarify. "And, we set up extra security. Your family won't be able to access anything without the proper credentials. It's yours—to talk to us, or anyone else you want, any time. Without consequence."
"Saint," she starts, looking up at me, "this must have cost a fortune."
"Doesn't matter," I cut her off with a shake of my head. The price is irrelevant when it comes to her safety, her freedom.
She bites her lip, considering, then looks up with resolve hardening her gaze. "Thank you. I don't understand, but thank you."
"Nothing but the best for our girl," Dre chimes in, looping an arm around Princess's shoulder.
"Always," I affirm, my chest tight with the weight of my words. We've crossed into uncharted territory—a place where every move counts.
"Always," Princess echoes, and the word is a vow that wraps around us, binding us tighter than any encryption ever could.
Hesitation clings to Princess's movements as she taps the screen of her new phone, a shadow of doubt casting over her Nordic features. Chess, ever the mischievous strategist, leans in with a conspiratorial glint in his hazel eyes. "Hey," he says, his voice a low hum that beckons her attention. "We've got more than just encryption on our side."
I watch her closely, trying to gauge her reaction. The walls she’s built are high, but not impenetrable. Though she seems to have built them even higher where Chess is concerned. She'd been closest with him before whatever drew her away from us. Now? She leans away from him as he leans in.
There's a story there and Chess better get to the bottom of it before I do.
"Most of the school is carrying a piece of us in their pockets," Chess continues, sweeping a hand through his hair, the unique cut catching the light. "Our app. They've given us permission to dance through their digital lives. Even if they aren't aware of it," he winks.
"Meaning?" Her voice is cautious, green eyes narrowing slightly.
"Any photo, any video of you that you don't want floating around? We can make it disappear before it reaches the Winthrops," Chess explains, tapping his temple with a finger. "Tech magic at your service."
Her lips part for a moment before sealing again, a quiet acknowledgment of the fortress they're offering to erect around her. I step closer, invading her space—our space. My fingers itch to brush against her skin, to feel that electric charge again, but I hold back.
"Chess is right," I say, and my own voice sounds foreign, laced with something dark and protective. "We want you to have the freedom to breathe, Princess. To make mistakes without fear of them being used against you."
She looks up at me, and I'm caught by the intensity of her gaze. Those glaciers that once seemed impenetrable are thawing, drop by precious drop.
"Why? What if—"
"Trust us," I interrupt softly. "It's not about control. It's about giving you a life where one wrong move doesn't spell disaster. It's what you deserve."
"Freedom," she whispers, the word hanging between us like a promise.
"Exactly," I affirm, and it feels like a vow—one I intend to keep.
Chess takes her through all the extras he added for her, his eyes lighting up with his excitement. She’s still chilly toward him, but she doesn’t interrupt or ignore. Then, he shows her the most important app. The emergency beacon. We may have to bide our time until we have everything in place to get her out of there, but if she needs us. We’ll know.
The breath Princess lets out is heavy, a weight lifting visibly from her shoulders as she nods her thanks. Her green eyes meet mine, that indefinable strength that always seems to surround her softening just enough to let me see the gratitude within. "I've thought about it," she says, and there's a tremor of something like vulnerability in her voice. "And I'd like to accept your proposal."
For a moment, the world blurs around me, the hum of computer fans and the distant echo of locker doors slamming fading into insignificance. I hadn't expected this—not so soon, not when Dre and Chess seem closer to her heart than I could hope to be. But excitement surges through me, an electric current that drowns out my surprise.
"Princess..." My name for her comes out half-breath, half-disbelief. "You won't regret it." The promise falls from my lips before I can think better of it, raw and unguarded.
Her gaze holds mine, a silent question lingering in the depths of her eyes. I step forward, closing the distance between us until I can almost feel the heat of her skin. Even though this isn't real, even though there's a web of lies we're weaving around ourselves, I want her—more than I've been willing to admit.
"Saint?" She tilts her head slightly, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear, an unconscious gesture that draws my focus to the delicate curve of her neck.
"Whatever this means for us," I say, my voice low, intimate even in the empty room, "I'm here for you. We all are." I know she's much closer with Dre and Chess, their bonds forged through shared darkness and understanding, but this—this is something different. And I'm determined to make it count.
"Thank you," she murmurs, stepping into the space I've held open for her. There's a trust there, hard-earned and fragile, that fills me with a fierce protectiveness.
Whatever comes next, I'll stand by her. I'll fight for her. And I'll make damn sure she never regrets saying yes.
The silence between us stretches, electric and thick with unspoken promises. Princess's eyes are steady on mine, the green of them like new leaves against the stormy grey of uncertainty. She bites her lip, a tell that she's wrestling with words.
"Saint, if we're doing this... I have stipulations." Her voice is firm, brokering no argument, and I respect her all the more for it.
"Okay." I nod because it's Princess, and whatever she needs, I'm in. "Talk to me."
She hesitates, then straightens her shoulders. "I want everything clear. Written down. A contract—"
"Of course." The agreement tumbles from me without a second thought. Not about control; it's about understanding, mutual respect. "We'll draft it together. Whatever terms you need."
"Freedom," she says, "that's what this should be about. Not being bound by someone else's expectations or rules."
"Exactly." I reach for her hand, threading my fingers through hers, a tangible sign of solidarity. "This isn't about claiming you or putting you in a box, Princess. It's about giving you space... space to breathe, to be yourself, to feel safe, to build a life and a future."
Her grip tightens, and something shifts in her expression—a wall coming down, a step toward trusting me. "And comfortable?" There's an edge of hope there, a flicker of desire for something better than what she's known.
"Especially comfortable." I squeeze her hand back. "You set your lines, and I swear, they'll be honored. No one's going to force you into anything. This is your show, Princess. We're just living in it."
"Thank you, Saint," she whispers, a wisp of a smile gracing her lips. "For understanding, for... this."
"Always." And I mean it, every word. Whatever Princess wants, whatever makes her feel secure in this messed-up world we're navigating—I'll make it happen. Because even though I didn't see it coming, she's become the unexpected center of everything, and I'll guard that fiercely.