61. Sydney
sixty-one
sydney
It takes me an unfortunate amount of time to put myself back together. I pull my hair up into a long ponytail, ignoring the fact that it still looks wet around my face and past my ears. I took my shirt off and dried it as best I could under the hand dryer.
My jacket is back with the guys. So I just need to get it to a point where I can comfortably get back to them without drawing unwanted attention.
It’s a good thing I didn’t put makeup on today.
I shake my head at myself. I cleaned up the mess that L. left on my skin, and now I just feel caught between empty and fulfilled.
I proved him right. That shouldn’t mean anything, though. I knew he was right from the beginning, as soon as he said I didn’t want to know who he is. Knowing complicates things. I’m already struggling with three guys, how the hell could I add a fourth to the mix?
So, no.
Maybe this will convince L. to leave me alone altogether.
Not that I want that. But how long can I keep it up with him?
How much can we interact when it’s all digital and secrets?
How close can I get to him when he tells me nothing?
My heart hammering, I head out. The period must’ve just ended, because people are flooding out of the tunnels through to the seating. I wait against the wall for an opening, then slip back through and down the steps to our seats.
I drop into my chair between them and blow out a breath.
They both look at me.
“What?” Defensive . I try not to wince or go back on it.
Oliver squints, but he shakes his head. “Nothing… You okay?”
“Perfectly fine,” I grumble.
Penn chuckles. “You sure, princess? You seem…”
“I don’t really want to talk about how I look,” I say. “I just want to watch the rest of the game.”
Which is only a slight problem, seeing as how we’ve got about twenty minutes until the next period starts. I sink lower in my seat and shrug on my jacket, zipping it up to my throat.
Oliver puts his hand on my thigh.
I look over at him, my eyes widening.
He glances at me with a small smirk. Especially when his hand inches higher.
I slap my hand over his, stopping his upward trek.
“This feels like a game of chicken,” Penn comments. His palm touches my knee. “Ready, princess?”
He moves higher. Inch by inch. Until his pinky grazes where my upper thighs meet?—
I stop him with a hand on his wrist.
His sweatshirt is damp.
I go still and stare at his arm. The black SJU sweatshirt Carter gave him… I grab at his sleeve, pulling it away from his skin.
No.
No, no, no.
When I meet Penn’s gaze, there’s an expectancy in his expression I was not ready for.
Penn is L.?
Penn has been L. this whole time?
I shoot to my feet, but he snags my hand and pulls me right back down.
“What did I miss?” Oliver asks.
I twist around. “Like you don’t know?”
His brows furrow.
Okay, maybe he’s innocent in this.
But Penn ?
“How could you?” I face him again. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”
He doesn’t seem perturbed by my reaction. If anything, he seems… amused?
I rip my hand out of his grasp and practically crawl over Oliver to get away from him. I shake out my limbs. Now he’s got me rethinking every single conversation—both with Penn and L. They were the same. Are the same. But…
With shaking hands, I text Carter that I’m not staying. I don’t know where to go that Penn won’t follow, until Carter’s reply comes in.
Carter
Go to my apartment.
Please?
Okay.
I have no idea if I’ll be able to get in or not—it doesn’t really matter, I guess. Before I’m even out of the arena, I fall into a quicker pace. I run the whole way to Carter’s apartment, thankful at least that the arena isn’t too far from SJU territory.
I glance over my shoulder a few times, more worried about being followed by Penn than anyone else. He would follow me, I know that for sure. But I really don’t know what else he would go to—the lines he would cross to get closer to me.
Why?
My throat closes. I make it onto Carter’s street. It’s all familiar in an aching way. Not like just a few hours ago, when we came here with him. Walking up to his apartment alone reminds me of before my world imploded.
When things were nice and easy.
Fuck that.
I get up to Carter’s floor, to his apartment, and try the door.
Locked.
Sighing, I flip the welcome mat up. There’s no spare key hidden there either.
Whatever.
Mentally done, I lean against the wall across from his door and slide down it. I curl my arms around my legs and tip my head back. Part of me wants to keep puzzling over it, but another part wants absolutely nothing to do with any of it.
Rightly so. My phone keeps buzzing with incoming notifications. As soon as I catch Penn’s name on my screen, I turn it off. I drop my phone next to me and settle in to wait for Carter.
I don’t know how much time passes when movement catches my eye.
A smile comes to my lips, and I turn to face Carter.
Except it’s not Carter—it’s Penn. Same black SJU sweatshirt with the hood pulled up. But it isn’t just shadows hiding his face. He’s wearing that stupid fucking clown mask.
I shove myself to my feet, scowling at him. “Seriously? Get the fuck out of here.”
He doesn’t say anything.
I point in his direction. “You don’t just get to follow me around, Penn. It’s fucking creepy. We haven’t moved into the phase where the mask is funny.”
Nothing. He walks toward me, slowly, and I narrow my eyes.
“Wait. Is this you pretending to be L.? Still hiding your face and identity like a coward?” I grimace. “Nice. So fucking nice.”
He passes Carter’s neighbor’s door, and a chill sweeps down my spine. After a major fucking delayed reaction, something deep in me screams, That’s not Penn .
“Oliver?” I try. I take a step back.
A low, rumbling laugh seeps out from under the mask.
On instinct, I spin around. There’s another exit if I go the other way?—
“ Oof .” I smack into another body.
Another mask. This one not an exact replica, but a bloody clown mask all the same. And this body is bigger. Bigger and familiar in a way no one should be familiar with a body.
Ice grows along my limbs, freezing me in place. I stare into the eyeholes, at the dark-brown eyes that bore back at me. I can’t move.
Can’t fight.
He puts a bag over my head. There’s a drawstring on the bottom of it, and they pull it so tight, it constricts around my throat. I can breathe, but just the sensation of it touching me sets my nerves on edge. I can’t see through the fabric. I can’t see anything, and it should panic me into movement. It only serves to bind my body tighter.
The other one secures my wrists behind me.
And then I’m picked up and tossed over a shoulder. I let out a wheezing breath and give a faint shudder.
Something pricks my upper thigh. Cold bleeds into me, that ice holding me hostage growing worse and worse. Until it travels up my spine and encases my brain.
Everything slows down after that. It’s like my mind wants to follow but can’t.
Down stairs, each thumping footstep driving a shoulder into my stomach and abdomen. Dropped into something hard and dark. A door slamming.
Trunk , my tired thoughts finally produce.
I don’t want to be here.
I don’t want to do this.
I don’t want…
I don’t…
I…