Chapter 18
Chapter eighteen
Hi!
Becky
Carrson’s eyes stay locked on me as he moves for the stairs.
The room parts without a word, bodies shifting out of his path before he reaches them. No one wants to be in his way.
I don’t either.
For the second time tonight, I measure the distance to his room. How long it would take to get there and block the door.
But I stay where I am. It’s fine. I’ll explain to him. Calm. Reasonable.
Carrson reaches the landing and comes straight toward me without slowing down.
It’s not like he’s going to—
He grabs me, his hand snapping around my arm, his fingers pressing deep into my skin.
“Ouch!”
“Come on.”
There’s no room to argue. He turns, pulling me with him.
“Hey—” I stumble, trying to keep up as he drags me down the hall. “What the hell are you doing? Let go of me.”
His hand clamps down harder.
“Carrson—”
“Not now.”
The words are low, cut off like he’s forcing them out through clenched teeth. His tone makes me want to cower, but I push against it, twisting my arm, trying to wrench free.
“You don’t get to drag me around like this,” I snap, digging my heels in for half a second before he hauls me forward again.
He acts like he can’t hear me.
We hit the stairs, and he takes them fast, pulling me down with him, my hand catching the banister to keep from falling.
Word of the fight has spread. There are more men in the living room now, gathered in clusters, talking in low murmurs that go silent once Carrson hits the bottom step.
Jackson’s gone. Whether he walked or was dragged out, I don’t know.
They all turn to watch as we pass, and I can feel their eyes on me. My hair, the T-shirt, the way Carrson’s hand clamps around my arm.
Heat crawls up my neck.
I hate this, the way I look, the way they’re all seeing it.
Carrson doesn’t break stride.
He keeps moving, dragging me straight through the center of them like they’re not even there.
By the time we reach the front door, I’m breathless, half from the pace, half from the anger building hot in my chest. He shoves the door open and drags me out, the humid air hitting my skin like a slap.
“Are you serious right now?” I jerk against him, hard, trying to pull free. “You don’t get to—”
“Quiet.”
It’s not loud, but it’s heavy enough that I stumble.
His grip slides from my arm to my wrist. He pulls me closer.
We cross the distance to Rosewood Hall fast, blades of grass cutting into my bare feet.
The lights are on inside, even though it’s noon, and before I can process where we are, he pushes the door open and drags me in after him.
Women are everywhere. Coming down the twin staircases, sitting on couches, walking through doorways in pairs.
Conversation dies. Every eye is on us.
“Hey,” calls out one of the women, “you can’t—”
Carrson turns his head toward her, and that’s all it takes. The words die in her throat.
“Get Lou,” he tells her.
“I’m here,” a voice sounds behind us.
Carrson faces her without releasing me.
A pretty brunette stands there, hands on her hips, eyes blazing.
“What’s this about?” she demands.
She talks to Carrson like she knows him and she’s not intimidated.
Which means he lets her.
Is this his girlfriend? His ex?
Why does that bother me?
Carrson releases my wrist and shoves me in the woman’s direction. “Take her,” he says. “She’s yours.”
My heart sinks at those words.
The woman, Lou I guess, catches me. She steadies me, her hand firm on my arm.
“We talked about this,” she tells Carrson. “I said no.”
I frown.
They talked about me?
“Plans changed,” Carrson cuts in. Still ignoring me. “Jackson’s marked her.”
Lou’s reaction is immediate. Her shoulders square, her expression hardening.
“Jackson,” she says, like the name leaves a bad taste. She steps closer to me. Protective.
“Don’t leave,” Carrson says, his attention finally returning to me. “Not with anyone. Not for anything.”
I glare at him. “You don’t get to decide that,” I snap. “You don’t get to put your hands on me like that and—”
“Enough.”
My mouth snaps shut. Not because I want it to. Because his expression makes it hard to keep going.
Up close, I can see it now. The anger is there, but there’s more.
Fear.
I frown, thrown by it, but the moment passes too quickly for me to grab onto it.
“You’re staying here,” he says, quieter but no less firm.
My hands ball into fists on my hips. “I’m not one of your brothers,” I bite out. “You don’t get to order me around.”
“Becky.”
He says my name differently now. Less angry. Strained in a way I haven’t heard before. His gaze holds mine. “I don’t have time to explain,” he says in a low voice meant only for me, and for the first time I hesitate.
He steps back, like he’s forcing himself to put distance between us.
“Watch her,” he tells Lou.
Then he turns and walks out.
No looking back.
Silence falls as the door shuts behind him, way too quiet for how many people are in the room.
I turn back to Lou and the other sorority sisters, suddenly remembering that I’m wearing Carrson’s T-shirt and nothing else.
“Hi.” I raise my hand and give a small, awkward wave. “I’m Becky.”