Chapter Twenty Two
Sinking deeper into the sofa cushions, Addy’s sneakers are abandoned on the antique rug.
Despite the sofa being long enough to seat six, I’ve opted to sit right beside her, my legs folded beneath me.
The lounge is stupidly luxurious. Floor-to-ceiling windows spill pale afternoon light across the marble fireplace, the faint background noise filtering from the mounted TV.
“I still can’t believe you’re here,” I say around a mouthful of cookie-dough ice cream that she insisted we have before noon. Something about a slumber party in progress. Addy’s brows lift towards her fuchsia hair, her own spoon freezing halfway to her lips as she narrows her eyes at me.
“Why? Because you failed to call and tell me you were alive.” She points her spoon at me like an accusation, and I bat it away with mine, giving her my most unimpressed expression.
“I was recovering from an ordeal. I don’t even want to touch my phone,” I argue, folding myself further into the cushions until they practically swallow me. Addy snorts and shifts sideways, her dungaree buckle catching the light as she twists.
“Mmmm, I bet you’ve been recovering excessively on every counter in every room of this house.” Her eyes sparkle with wicked delight, and of course, she catches the way heat floods my cheeks. I shove another spoonful of ice cream into my mouth as a distraction.
“Not every room,” I mutter into the tub, avoiding her smirk. “Most of them are locked.” Addy’s grin becomes feral, the glint in her eye infectious. God, I’ve missed her.
“Such a slut. I love it.” She kicks my ankle affectionately.
Turning back to the teen drama she’s switched on, the smile slips from her face.
“And you’re not wrong for ignoring your phone.
The academy is going crazy with rumors.” My stomach dips, and I wince at this.
The taste of my ice cream turns sour in my mouth but luckily, it’s the last scoop, so I brave it like a soldier and set the empty tub aside.
“Do I want to know?” I ask. Addy’s face softens, her head flopping back against the cushions.
“Probably not, but it’s far too entertaining to keep to myself.” Leaning forward, I also remove the tub from her hands and place it on a low coffee table. Straightening to roll my shoulders, I inhale deeply.
“Come on then. Let’s hear it,” I say, braced from impact. Addy’s small laugh does nothing to ease my nerves.
“Well, there’s the theory that you didn’t actually leave school. That you’re holed up in a classroom somewhere with a stack of books and a coffee machine.” She lazily uses her hands to sign out books and coffee. The breath I was holding saws out of me.
“Glad I’m so predictable,” I bob my brows. Although the theory isn’t half as bad as I expected, so I’ll take it as a win.
“But then some guy…Elliot? Elijah? Something with an E. He said that being with Rhys gave you a taste of the rich life, so you’ve run off with a sugar daddy twice your age.
There’s a poster circulating of your face surrounded by wedding bells and wads of cash.
” Addy’s eyes sparkle, and I know instantly she’s done nothing to squash that rumor.
“Brilliant. So I’m a shallow bimbo who is sucking a wrinkly old dick.”
“You’d better not be talking about me,” Rhys’ voice sounds from the hallway, just catching my receivers.
My brows knit together as I look over the back of the sofa, finding an empty doorway.
A moment later, he passes by, pacing one way and then back again just after. Addy and I share a wide-eyed glance.
“Are you…coming in?” I ask probably louder than necessary. On his next rotation, Rhys stills, but he keeps his eyes glued to the marble floor.
“Clayton said I’m not allowed to invade your space.” Then he continues walking. I bite back a laugh, sinking my teeth into my bottom lip. Catching my attention, Addy uses her hands to sign.
‘Since when did CumStain start taking orders?’ I push her hands aside, rolling my eyes.
The last thing we need is for Addy to antagonize Rhys after he’s seemingly calmed down.
She gives a smug little grin, but my mind shifts.
It’s true I’ve been avoiding my phone, content to stay in this little bubble built for me, but Addy’s arrival brings with it a dose of reality.
Chewing the inside of my cheek, I lift my hands to sign and then think better of it. Rhys is part of my life, and he clearly wants to be present for the conversations that need to be had. Signing them feels too much like keeping secrets, so I speak out loud and steadily.
“Do you know what’s happening with Kenneth?” In my peripheral vision, I see Rhys’ figure stall just before the cracking of knuckles trickles into the room. Addy’s expression isn’t any better, a grave look passing over her face.
“I only know what the press has released. He’s been moved to a psychiatric ward for the time being.
” I nod along, a knot in my chest that I didn’t realise was there starting to unravel.
Good, that’s good. Kenneth needs professional help.
Hopefully a silver lining of this whole ordeal will be him getting it.
“So I suppose that’s where he’ll be until a date for the trial has been set. ”
“Wait,” my head snaps up. “Trial? What trial? I told the police none of this was his fault, that he was blackmailed. That I want him cared for.”
“Fucking cared for,” Rhys mutters, his back leaning against the doorframe now. His aura oozes through the air like thick, black smoke settling over my head. I sigh, not wanting to argue with him. This morning’s trip down his memory lane has put him in a foul mood. “He kidnapped you.”
“At the command of someone else,” I add, looking across the room with a pleading look.
“He needs help, not jail.” Rhys grunts, twisting his head away from me.
I glance over his folded arms, the ink seeming darker somehow against the rigidity of his posture.
I wish we could reverse the clock to yesterday, to when he was snuggling into my side, clinging to me like I’m all that matters to him. Sighing, I return my focus to Addy.
“What is Kenneth being charged with?” I ask bluntly. My sassy friend swallows hard, seemingly unsure whether she should answer.
“Kidnapping, false imprisonment, possession of a firearm, stalking, se–” Addy stops herself, giving Rhys a quick glance over the sofa. I raise a brow, waiting for her to continue. “Sexual assault and exploitation.”
“Excuse me?” I ask far too calmly, despite my stomach dropping like a lead weight. “Kenneth never touched me. There’s nothing…he didn’t,” I shake my head. Addy reaches out to stroke my arm with one hand.
“You don’t need to be physically touched for sexual assault. Photographs and videos taken without permission count. I don’t know the details. The news says there’s a witness willing to testify.” My brows knit together at this as a wash of ice-cold filters through my veins.
Brushing off Addy’s hand and pushing to my feet, I turn to the man staring me down from the doorway. My expression must be murderous, because he finally takes a step inside, his clenched fists unfurling.
“Tell me it’s not you. That you’re not the witness.” I demand. Although Rhys’ expression doesn’t change, his shoulders soften. Approaching, he stops on the other side of the sofa, using the furniture as a barrier between us.
“Kenneth hacked Clayton’s webcam, filmed you without your consent, and played it for the entire academy to see,” Rhys speaks slowly, venom lacing his words. I hold my chin high and meet his wrath head-on.
“You don’t know that was him. It could have been whoever is orchestrating this. Whoever blackmailed Peterson into starting the fire.” A tic beats in Rhys’ jaw.
“Kenneth drugged both of us, stripped us down and took pictures.”
“Excuse me?” Addy stands, her eyes wider than I’ve ever seen. I wave off her concern.
“Firstly, you weren’t supposed to be a part of that.
And secondly, he didn’t have access to his medication at the time.
He’s not well…” I trail off. The glimmer in Rhys’ blue eyes illuminates, his patience on the edge of breaking.
I don’t back down, I face the fuse and dare him to light it.
We can both go down with this ship if he wants.
“Don’t. Defend. Him.”
“How can I not?” I throw my hands out, stomping around the sofa to shove Rhys’ chest. “We made him this way. We could have prevented all of this. He was hurting and grieving and not fully himself. All he wanted was a friend. All he wanted was for you to stop calling him Dickerson,” I shove Rhys again, and he catches my wrists.
Addy shifts, unsure what to do, but Rhys stuns us both by dragging me into his body and wrapping his arms around me.
“Stop. I don’t want to fight you, not on this.” His chest rumbles beneath my cheek. Tears spring to my eyes, an overload of emotion slamming against my ribs.
“Rhys,” I plead desperately, pulling against his hold, but he doesn’t let me create an inch between us.
“Kidnapping alone carries a sentence of at least twenty years. I know what he did was wrong, but he was scared. I just…I don’t believe he deserves to spend the rest of his life in prison over this. He can be rehabilitated.”
Rhys doesn’t answer right away, not verbally, anyway.
His whole body goes rigid, like my words hit a switch he’s been desperately trying not to flip.
His arms stay locked around me, muscles bunched beneath my hands.
I feel his heartbeat through his T-shirt, thundering an uneven rhythm against my ear.
He’s trying to be calm for me, but he’s coming apart at the seams.