1. Lilah #2
“Rye parked in the designated staff spot,” I said, peering at Mason. Before our first night in the pool house, I’d stopped myself from even staring at him for too long. Might as well have stared straight into the sun. And I couldn’t look now.
Mason’s familiar frosty smile widened, one I couldn’t have imagined existed during the summer. Lucky me, winter had come early.
Mason’s gaze swung to Rye. “Who let you onto our side of town?”
Rye’s exhale might as well have been steam.
I positioned myself in front of Rye. And forced my gaze to hold Mason’s.
His eyes clashed with mine. Unpolished sapphires, rough and striking, like my presence betrayed the pristine perfection of his life.
“Rye will be gone in a couple of hours.” I kept my voice firm and steady. Show no fear. If I did, Rye would definitely throw punches first and ask questions later.
Mason’s eyes stayed locked on Rye. “What if I told you to be gone now?”
I looked up at Rye, eyes pleading. “We can park down the block.”
A muscle in Rye’s jaw ticked, and his gaze darted down to mine. “Fuck no. We’re not going anywhere,” he said through gritted teeth.
Mason folded his fist-clenched arms across his chest and called out, “Giving up so easily?”
Panic churned my stomach. One bucket of bile coming up.
“Not even putting up a fight,” he taunted.
“I don’t want to fight with you, Mason.” I put a hand on Rye’s chest. “Please. Can we go?”
Rye’s heart thumped wildly under my palm.
“Run away. Run away, Little Byrd.” Mason’s arctic-cold laugh tiptoed down my spine.
“You don’t have permission to tell her a fucking thing.”
I flinched at the bite in Rye’s tone.
“Seeing as this is my house, I’d have to disagree with you.” Mason lounged against the hood of the Bentley, looking every bit a magazine ad for something lethal.
I held on to Rye’s arm with both hands. “Should I go see if Alena has an issue with Rye parking here? I can check with her or your dad.”
Mason’s jaw ticked, and he turned toward the rest of the guys. “Let’s go.”
Rye stepped in Mason’s direction, dragging me with him. “Stop pretending you’re some badass when a call to Stepmommy and Daddy turns you into a little bitch.”
Mason’s muscles bunched like a lion catching a scent before feeding time at the zoo.
His gaze skated from me to Rye, acidic smile back in place.
“We don’t have to wait for the game. Lilah can help you pick up every single one of your fucking teeth right now.
” His voice was a low, menacing growl, and rage burned in his eyes.
I shrank away from his anger, and a tremble shot through me at how teeth-baringly wrathful he was.
“Keep it on the ice.”
“Not worth it.”
“Don’t be stupid.”
The merry trio all piped up in an overlapping cascade of intervention, and they moved to put themselves between us. Galen pressed a hand into Mason’s chest.
Calder glanced over his shoulder at us, almost bored, like he wasn’t in the way of a charging bull. “Bye, Lilah.”
Mason’s eyes narrowed, and his jaw worked. “Yeah, see you at school, Little Byrd.”
I sucked in a breath.
Rye’s muscles contracted, coiling snake-strike tight. He tossed down the bin of uniforms.
I leapt onto him, wrapping my arms and legs around him, and squeezed as tightly as I could.
“Don’t do this,” I whisper-shouted, through gritted teeth.
His nostrils flared, and he looked down at me, as if he was only now noticing I was clinging to him like a koala.
“He’s trying to provoke you and get in your head. Your coach will bench you for the season. Please, Rye.”
I was a barnacle on a cruise ship of a person as Rye slowly backed away, taking me with him, as if me squeezing him so tightly my muscles ached was an everyday thing.
He locked his arms around my back and walked the path wrapping around the side of the house. His face was fully flushed, and his gaze kept darting to whatever was going on behind me, but right now I only had one goal: get him out of here.
When we hit the stone path leading to my front door, he looked down at me. “You can let go now,” he said through clenched teeth.
“Not until we’re in the house.”
“Lilah.” The warning tone in his voice was less tight.
“Rye,” I shot back in the same tone. “Hurry up, if I’m getting too heavy.”
He rolled his eyes and released a tight huff.
I sagged, muscles no longer on five-alarm-fire alert, but didn’t let go. There was no way I’d be fast enough to get between them if Rye dropped me and went after Mason.
The gardener’s cottage behind the giant colonial was fairy-tale perfect, even more beautiful than what I’d dreamed of living in when I was little. All that was missing was a thatched roof.
But now the house felt like a goldfish bowl with a lip-licking cat looming overhead, occasionally dipping a razor-sharp claw inside just for fun.
Two bedrooms, well-maintained and cozy, but still a never-ending struggle to keep clean, no matter how much sweeping and mopping I did.
It didn’t help that there were four people living here when it was only meant for two.
Walking in should have felt like a warm embrace, but most of the time, it felt like I’d been invited to a party where I didn’t know anyone and couldn’t find a place to sit.
Once we made it to the wide stone steps leading to the front door, Rye dropped his arms and shook me until I fell to the hard surface.
I yelped, my butt and tailbone throbbing. “Ow, jerk! That hurt…”
His face went stony, eyes locked onto mine. “Next time, don’t get between me and Mason.”
“Someone had to get between you two jackholes. And there’d better not be a next time. What if you get hurt?”
He ran his thumb over the knuckles of his clenched fist. “Who says I’d be the one getting hurt?”
“Fine, what happens if you get benched for fighting? Or you break his leg and his dad sues you?”
His lips thinned and jaw ticked. He knew I was right. “Jackholes?” He held out his hand to me and shook his head. “You know you’re old enough to curse.”
I glared but took his hand.
Rye yanked me off the ground.
“He’s the reason you’ve been having such a hard time this year.” It wasn’t a question. An anvil-sized statement.
“No, what? Who said I’ve been having a hard time?” I opened the front door and stepped inside. The door was unlocked—behind the Willowcrest walls, we were safe enough. At least from anyone outside of them.
Rye followed me with the uniforms he’d brought back here before Mason showed up.
Bits of soil and roots had been tracked through the house. Plants covered almost every flat surface that could hold one. I dropped my head back and let my bag fall to the floor. More cleaning.
Rye leaned against the wall to yank his shoes off and set them on the tray I’d put beside the door. “Still can’t get him to take his shoes off when he comes inside?”
“How could you tell?” I grabbed the vacuum and cleaned up the trail, knowing I’d need to mop later or the bottoms of my socks would be pitch-black by bedtime.
The brown trunk covered in international locale stickers I’d never gotten to visit was my dresser, storage, and coffee table.
I added a few more dents with my unfocused vacuuming.
“Don’t use cleaning to distract from what I said. Mason’s been giving you shit at school.”
I let the white noise of the vacuum buy me a little more time. A few hand waves and smiles. “Everything’s fine.” Totally convincing, Lilah.
He tugged the plug from the wall and folded his arms across his chest.
I snatched the cord from him. “My schedule is crazy. College essays are eating my brain. I’m still waiting on my invite to apply for the Windsor Award.
Mason Shaw isn’t in my top five list of things I’m worrying about.
” I took a breath, smothering my anger and annoyance.
Why couldn’t Rye let it go? I bumped my shoulder into his, trying to calm him.
“Petty high school stuff isn’t worth it.
All I want to do is finish the year and start the next part of The Plan. ”
His shoulders lowered, and he released a noisy exhale. “The Plan, huh?”
“Exactly. Mason Shaw isn’t in The Plan, so I’m not worrying about him.” I tried to keep my voice light, unaffected.
A new orchid sat on top of my notebook set on the chestnut side table that served as my makeshift desk, right behind my makeshift bed, aka the blue-and-white plaid sleeper sofa. I rubbed the bright, healthy leaves.
Dad. He wasn’t ever around, but at least he’d been thinking of me—or he’d been distracted and not realized my notebook had been there.
I preferred to think it was the first one.
It couldn’t have been easy to be stuck with a twelve-year-old he’d met a handful of times, still mourning her mom.
He’d done his best over the past few years.
I lifted the plant and winced at the dirty ring of water that had soaked into my notebook cover. The flower went on the windowsill with its little plant buddies.
Rye wrapped the vacuum cord around his arm. “Graduation isn’t for nine more months.”
“Not too long.” Please let it fly by. Let this year speed by in a blink, and then I can forget all about Mason.
Rye stared at me, but I kept moving, got two waters, and offered him one. With a little twitch of his eye and his jaw clenched, he took the bottle from me. “Come on, let’s see how much chem is going to fuck with my eligibility.”
Relief washed over me, and I chugged down half my water but knew he wouldn’t let this drop for good.
In the kitchen, cabinets and drawers were open, crumbs lay scattered across the counters, and plates sat in the sink.
And the fridge was still empty. My grocery list sat untouched on the two-seater kitchen table.
He picked up a sponge, wiping at the mess with disgust. “I see the wicked stepsisters are living up to their names?”
“Half sisters. And they’re not wicked.” I grabbed the plates and cups and loaded them into the dishwasher. “They’ve had a lot of big changes. They’re not used to cleaning up after themselves.”