Chapter 23
Chapter Twenty-Three
MADELINE
Georgia and I walk across campus to our morning classes. The air is chilly, like September is trying to be October. I was slightly disappointed when I stepped out of my dorm room and Luke wasn’t there, but I think they have practice in the mornings.
I try not to yawn, since I stayed up too late texting with Luke about everything and nothing. I’m beginning to think he’s misunderstood and keeps his guard up, just like I do.
I kind of love that Luke is so into me, given his past. It surprises everyone. I don’t really get it since I’ve heard other girls talk about him, but no one’s actually seen it for themselves.
I’m starting to think they’re all full of shit, and fuck, does that have to suck to have people out there saying they slept with you when they haven’t. It’s strange. I’m also starting to realize that rich people can be really weird.
“So—” Georgia says, and I recognize her tone. We always know what the other is thinking, like best friends should. “This thing with Luke. Not looking so fake anymore.” I cringe. I should have known she wasn’t going to let me get away with acting as though it was.
“It’s complicated.”
“Complicated how? Complicated like you’re actually into him, or complicated like you don’t know if you can trust him?”
I kick a loose rock and watch it roll away.
“Both. He was such a dick to me at first.” I shake my head.
“Now he’s different. Or maybe I just want to see something that isn’t really there.
” I think that’s my biggest fear. That I’m reading Luke wrong and it could blow up in my face at the end.
I’m already in way deeper than I’ll even admit to myself.
“Madeline.” Georgia stops and turns to face me.
“And you don’t like him. Remember? He’s been an asshole to you for years.” Georgia’s expression softens.
“He’s only an asshole in passing, and I didn’t like him before, but I see a different side of him when he’s with you.” There’s no hope for me now, if he’s won Georgia over.
“Doesn’t make it okay.”
“Maybe not, but he treated everyone the same way. If you stayed out of his way, you were fine. Besides—” She looks around. “I think some messed-up things happened at home before his dad died.”
“Why do you say that?” I ask. This is the first time I’m really hearing about his past when it comes to his family. I know the basics, that his brother is his guardian, but I figured he was probably in the same situation as mine. Dead dad and all that.
“I mean, people aren’t just assholes for no reason. There’s a reason he acts the way he does. Seeing this other side of him makes that clearer.”
“Right,” I agree. “We all have our shit.”
Georgia nods. “If you like him, I’m fine with it.
If he turns out to be a psycho asshole, you’ll dump his ass.
” She’s right. “He broke into an office for you. He punched someone. Went to a crime scene to stoke your curiosity,” she points out.
“He’s either totally unhinged or totally into you. Maybe both.” I snort a laugh.
Before I can answer, voices drift from the groups of students ahead. I catch pieces: “...police were at the rink...” “...affair with a student, I heard...” “...no, it was an accident; she fell through the ice...”
Georgia raises an eyebrow, and we both realize the news about Murphy being missing has spread to the students. “Here come the theories.”
We walk closer, listening. A girl with too much eyeliner is holding court. “...Definitely a secret love child. Coach Murphy had a baby with the hockey coach, and he killed her to hide it.”
“That’s...” Georgia starts.
“Completely insane,” I finish.
Another voice, earnest and wrong: “My roommate’s cousin said it was a drug deal. Steroids. All the coaches are on steroids and make the athletes take them.”
We walk past, and Georgia presses her lips together, trying not to laugh. “Steroids,” she whispers. “Of course.” Murphy is the Ice Crew coach; we don’t take steroids. It’s so ridiculous you can’t help but laugh.
“At least they’re creative,” I mutter.
Then I see him. Luke is leaning against the brick wall outside the science building, arms crossed against his broad chest, watching for me. When our eyes meet, something shifts in his expression—possession, relief, or hunger. He pushes off the wall and closes the distance in three strides.
“Hey,” he says, and his hand finds my hip, pulling me close like it’s second nature. Like I belong there.
He doesn’t wait for me to respond, just dips his head and catches my mouth with his.
He kisses me like he’s been thinking about it all morning, all night, like he can’t help himself.
When he pulls back, his thumb traces the edge of my jaw, and he smiles, small and private, even with students passing all around us. This feels so real.
Georgia clears her throat. “I’ll just... go ahead. I’ll save you a seat.”
She disappears into the building. Luke doesn’t notice, his focus entirely on me. His thumb traces the edge of my jacket, back and forth.
“I found something.” He reaches into his bag and pulls out a thin folder. “Emily P., former student. Graduated a few years ago.”
I take it and flip it open. Photo, transcript, address. “How did you—”
“Don’t ask.” His jaw tightens. “She’s in Boston now, at art school. And Madeline...” He leans in, lowering his voice. “She filed a complaint against Murphy last year but withdrew it three days later.”
The air leaves my lungs. “She reported her.”
“And took it back,” Luke says, his eyes dark and serious. “We should talk to her before whoever killed Murphy realizes we know about the pattern.”
“What if that’s the end of it?” I keep my voice low. “If someone wanted revenge and they killed her. So it’s over.”
“Possibly,” he agrees.
“What if it was Emily?”
“Shit,” he mutters. “Yeah, not a great idea to contact the possible murderers.”
We stand there, feeling the heaviness between us. Emily P. could be a victim, a killer, or maybe both.
“We need to get to class,” I tell Luke. “We’re going to be late.”
Luke’s hand finds my hip again, automatically and naturally. “I’ll walk you there.”
The hallways are crowded, students flowing around us, but I sense the stares. Heads turning, whispers behind hands, eyes darting away when I catch them. I hunch into my hoodie, uncomfortable with the gawking.
“People are staring,” I say under my breath.
Luke doesn’t even glance around to check for himself. “Let them.”
“It’s weird.”
“You’re with me,” he says, like that explains everything. Maybe it does. “Ignore them.”
We reach my English class. I turn to tell him I’ll see him later, but he’s already shaking his head.
“You’ll wait for me so I can walk you to your next class.”
“Luke, that’s—”
“You’ll wait.” That jaw of his sets, stubborn, but then his voice drops. “Please, Madeline. Just... let me do this.”
I see it again, that flash of vulnerability behind the possessiveness and giving some reason for it.
He needs this. Luke wants to keep me safe and close.
I’m not sure how to feel about that. It makes emotions bubble up inside of me.
He wants to take care of me. I’ve been taking care of myself for so long.
I roll my eyes, making a show of being annoyed so he won’t see that I actually don’t mind. I’m still figuring out how I feel, so I keep my guard up.
“Fine. I’ll wait. But bring snacks,” I joke and turn to head into my class. Luke gives my ass a small smack, and I spin around and narrow my eyes on him.
“Be a good girl.”
“I’ll punch you.”
“I know you will.” The smart-ass kisses me again and then turns me back toward the door.
I head into class, sliding into the seat next to Georgia’s.
The guy on my other side, Tyler, looks up as I say hello.
He nods once, quick and nervous, then stares hard at his notebook like it holds the secrets of the universe.
The last time we were in class together, we chatted, so I’m not sure why he’s acting so strange all of a sudden.
“That’s weird,” I whisper to Georgia.
She leans in, her voice low. “The word is getting around. About Luke. About Caleb.” She glances at Tyler, who’s still pretending to be fascinated by his notes. “Boys are scared of Luke. And you’re his girl now. So.”
“So they won’t talk to me.” That’s insane. How can someone have such an effect on something?
“So they won’t even look at you wrong.” She gives me a shrug, and I’m understanding the weight that comes with dating Luke. The teacher walks in, and class starts.
Luke is waiting in the hallway when class is over, leaning against the wall like he never left.
He looks so damn handsome, and the fact that he wants to protect me only adds to it.
It was easier to deny my feelings toward him when I thought he was a dick.
And before he put his mouth on me. His eyes find me immediately, and something in his expression loosens when he reaches me.
He walks me to history, keeping his hand on my back. I try to pay attention to the Cold War lecture, but my mind keeps wandering to all the chaos in my life now.
Luke is waiting again when the bell rings. Two classes, two walks, and I should be annoyed, but I’m not.
The lunchroom is crowded, so we grab our food and go outside to the tree where Georgia always eats. There’s a table underneath it.
“There is kind of an issue,” I tell Grant and Georgia.
“Eat.” Luke pushes my tray toward me. I roll my eyes but pick up my cheeseburger and take a bite. The food here is actually good, which it should be for what this place costs. Georgia takes a bite of her burger too, trying to hide her smile at how Luke is acting.
We’re telling them more about Emily, the pattern, and the chance she might be involved when the intercom crackles.
“All students report to the auditorium immediately after lunch.” We all exchange a look.
“You don’t think—?” I ask, looking at Luke. If anyone has inside details, it’s him.
“They have to let people know she’s missing eventually.” He’s right.
We file in with the crowd and find seats near the back. I see my sister talking to Dean Locke. She gives him a soft smile before he steps over to the podium, two police officers flanking him. I recognize the one that was at Luke’s house on Saturday night.
“Students,” he begins, “I’m afraid I have difficult news. Coach Murphy has been reported missing. Police are investigating.”
The auditorium erupts. There are whispers, gasps, and a few people even start crying.
I search the crowd for Lana. I find her in the third row, her face pale, her hands clasped tightly. She looks shocked. Grief-stricken. Perfect.
Luke leans close, his mouth against my ear. “She’s good,” he breathes.
I nod, sick with the knowledge of what we know, what we can’t say.
The police officer steps up, explains where Murphy was last seen, and asks for tips. The word “missing” hangs in the air, feeling wrong and heavy. She isn’t missing. She’s dead. Dismembered. Only the killer knows where her body is hidden.
And Lana sits three rows from the front, playing her part, while we sit in the back with our secrets.