Chapter 32
Chapter Thirty-Two
LUKE
The bus ride back is torture. Every mile feels like ten.
Grant is two rows back, talking about some play from the third period.
He’s been checking his phone every five minutes like a drug dealer.
What’s up with him lately? I inwardly laugh, because who the hell am I to judge when I’ve been doing the exact same thing?
I close my eyes and drop my head back against the seat, letting the hum of the engine vibrate through my skull. One thought pushes through—Madeline, my buttercup. I can’t help but smile when I think about last night.
The girl has flipped my life on its head, and I’m not mad about it.
My life without her was dull, with no connection to anything—an anger I didn’t want to deal with simmering inside of me.
Madeline makes me see the world in a different light.
She’s been through it too, but still she cares about everyone—who’s worth caring about.
As sappy as it sounds, it makes me feel fucking picked.
No man has or ever will be where I was last night.
My face was buried between those long legs of hers that drive me crazy, and then I was inside of her.
I now understand what people mean when they talk about heaven.
My phone buzzes. I pull it out, hoping it’s her. I’m trying not to blow up her phone. I’m already getting what I want.
Bennett: School announcement soon. It’s official. Homicide.
I stare at the screen, my stomach dropping. They found enough to call it murder. Coach Murphy is dead. My brother had already told me they were certain it was her, but they had to wait to make it official.
I text back, “Details?”
Bennett: Not yet. Keep it quiet until morning.
I shove my phone back in my pocket, my jaw tight. It might be a good thing the cops are on the case. Madeline can maybe leave it be, but I doubt it. It’s not her way. That girl is going to keep me on my toes.
I close my eyes again. Drop my head back.
When we finally pull into the Kingmakers parking lot, I’m the first one off the bus, grabbing my bag and heading for my vehicle.
“Locke!” Grant calls after me. “Not going to the dorm?”
“Later,” I shout over my shoulder.
I jump into my truck and make the short drive over to town. I could walk it, but I don’t know what our plans are after I pick her up. I’ll have to tell her about what my brother texted me.
The coffee shop comes into view, and I see her through the window—sitting at a table, alone, staring at her phone.
Relief hits me so hard when I see it. Every muscle in my body relaxes. She’s there. She’s fine. She’s—
The door opens, and someone steps out.
Emily.
She’s got her bag over her shoulder, her head down, walking fast. She glances back toward the coffee shop window, then crosses the street before turning at one of the three lights in town.
My blood goes cold and then hot.
I push through the door hard enough that the bell jangles violently, hitting the glass. Madeline looks up, and I see it on her face—guilt, surprise, the flush of someone who just got caught doing something they shouldn’t be.
“Luke—” She blinks, wide-eyed, starting to smile to try to cover the barrage of things that passed her face when she saw me.
“Outside.” My voice is tight. “Now.” A small huff leaves her, but she nods, getting up. I follow her out. “You talked to her.”
“Luke, it’s not—”
“Don’t.” I run a hand through my hair and pull to feel the sting. “Don’t lie. I saw her leave. You know Emily. The girl I told you to stay away from.”
Madeline’s chin lifts. “You don’t get to decide who I talk to.
” I get that, I do, but it’s still not going to fly.
She knows how I am. This isn’t new. Still, she let me have her last night.
Her thinking that she can get away from me is gone.
I’m not even faking that shit anymore. Not when a psycho is running around and chopping people up.
“I get to worry.” I step closer. “I get to worry when my girlfriend goes behind my back to meet with someone connected to a fucking murder investigation.” I stare down at her.
“Madeline”—I try to soften my voice—“if something happens to you, I don’t think you understand how gone I am for you.
” I take a deep breath. The L word is on the tip of my tongue, but I don’t say it.
Not because it isn’t the truth but because I don’t want to scare her.
“I’ll make a chopped-up body look like child’s play if anything happens to you. ”
Madeline softens at that, putting her hand on my chest. “I’m sorry,” she says, “but she’s scared. It was all over her. She gave me her number. Didn’t want people seeing us talking. I want to meet up with her.”
I stare at her, my chest tight. She’s not backing down.
“Where?”
“The library. Public but quiet,” she suggests.
I nod slowly. “I’m coming.”
“Luke—”
“Nonnegotiable.” I take her hand. My anger fades, replaced by fear. “Madeline, you can’t just... not with everything happening.”
“I know. I’m sorry. I should have told you, but it happened so fast. I left work, and she was right there heading into the coffee shop,” she tells me. “I swear I wouldn’t have gone anywhere with her.” She licks her lips. “But I should have texted too.”
“Yeah. You should have.” I take one of her hands off my chest and squeeze. “Come on.”
We walk toward my truck. The afternoon sun is dipping, casting long shadows. I open the door for her. It’s not till I get in that I tell her.
“Bennett sent me a text,” I say finally. “While I was on the bus.”
Madeline looks up. “And?”
“The school is making an announcement soon.” I pause. “Officially. They’re calling it a homicide.”
“So it was her?”
I nod. “It’s official now. Coach Murphy is dead. And they’re treating it like someone killed her.”
“How do you think everyone at school will respond?”
“It will be a mix,” I admit. “Some won’t give a shit, some will think it’s cool, while others will be sad, and others scared.” Madeline gives me a horrified expression. “This isn’t your normal school, Buttercup. A lot of these kids will consider Murphy like they would treat staff.”
“You should treat staff like you’d treat anyone!” She puts her face in her hands, shaking it.
“Not everyone is good and moral like you,” I remind her. She drops her hands and looks my way.
“You’re good, you know that, right?”
“I’m good to you, and I most certainly am not moral.” Madeline rolls her eyes, but I’m happy she believes that. I’d do all kinds of immoral shit when it comes to her and not give a single fuck.
“Whatever.” She rolls her eyes at me. I warned her, and I won’t be giving anything more. Madeline knew who she got into bed with last night.
I start the engine, the truck rumbling to life. She settles into the passenger seat, placing her bag on the floorboard.
I lean over her, pulling the seat belt across her body and clicking it into place. My arm brushes her chest, and when I pull back, she’s smiling at me, soft and surprised, like I did something sweet instead of just being a controlling asshole. I can be sweet for her.
I cup her jaw and kiss her, slowly and deeply, tasting the vanilla from her coffee and everything that is my Madeline.
She makes a small sound, her hand gripping my shirt, and I deepen it just enough to remind us both who she belongs to.
When I finally pull away, her eyes are still closed, her lips parted. Fuck, I love putting that expression on her face. It’s better than the few times I’ve completed a hat trick during a game and gotten into a few fights.
I force myself to sit back, put the truck in drive, and keep my hands at ten and two.
“Where are we headed?” she asks, giving me a mischievous teasing smirk.
“My room, at the house,” I say, pulling away from the curb.
“I’m down with that.” Her hand finds my thigh, tracing lazy circles.
We drive in silence, the sun dipping low, shadows stretching across the dash. She’s here. She’s safe. That’s all that matters.
When we pull into the driveaway, I circle around back and park.
“Stay put,” I tell her, hopping out and coming around to open the door for her.
I’ve never done romantic shit before, but I know this is one of the things you do.
It always appeared silly to me when I saw people do it.
It’s not hard to open a door, but I get it now.
“You like opening doors for me.” She takes my hand and hops down.
“I like being near you.” I also want her to be dependent on me, so much so she’ll need me to forever open doors for her because she’ll forget how. Then she can never go anywhere without me.
“And little did you know,” she says as we go through the back door heading up the stairs to my room, one I don’t have to share with Grant, “men used to open car doors originally so they could help women manage heavy, bulky dresses and protect them from street hazards.”
She follows me up the stairs without another word, and I unlock my door, stepping aside to let her in first.
She heads straight for my dresser, pulling open the second drawer where I keep the shirts I don’t mind her stealing. That’s one of those random gobbledygook facts; she’s got lots of them. It’s hard to pay attention to what she’s saying while she’s changing in front of me.
“During World War II,” she wiggles two fingers at me, “a cat named Oscar survived the sinking of three separate warships and was officially nicknamed ‘Unsinkable Sam.’” A wistful expression crosses her face as I cross the space between us. “I’ve always wanted a cat.”
“Then we’ll get a cat.”
“Luke.” She shakes her head at me. “But we’ll get one, one day.” Soon.
She leans down, her lips brushing mine, tentative at first, then deeper when I pull her closer. I groan against her mouth and lift her off her feet. She wraps her legs around me.
“Madeline,” I warn, my hands gripping her hips. “You have to still be sore.” I had only taken her once last night. I should ask her to stop, but my control is zero with her.
“I’m fine,” she whispers, her mouth trailing down my jaw and my throat. “Right now, I just want you.”
And fuck, I’m weak. I’m so fucking weak for this girl.
I take her down to the bed, pinning her beneath me, and she arches up, her legs staying wrapped around me. The shirt rides up, and my hands are everywhere, greedy, like I haven’t already had her. Like I might never get to touch her again.
“Luke,” she gasps when my mouth finds her neck, sucking a mark just above her collarbone. A claiming. A reminder every time she catches sight of herself in the mirror that she’s mine and I’m hers. She doesn’t stop me, only lets out a small laugh, knowing what I’m up to.
I lift my head to stare down at her glowing face. No one has ever looked at me the way she does. She makes me want to be a better man, one she’s proud to be with.
“I love you,” I say. The words slip out before I can stop them, raw but true. I can no longer hold them in.
She goes still, her eyes widening. For a second I think I’ve fucked up, pushed too hard, but then her face softens, her hands framing my jaw, pulling me down to her.
“I love you, too,” she whispers against my lips. “You terrifying, possessive, ridiculous caveman.”
I laugh, the sound breaking something open in me, and I kiss her like I’m trying to crawl inside her and stay there.
Tomorrow, the school announces a murder. Tomorrow, we talk to Emily. Tomorrow, everything could change.
But tonight, she’s here. She’s mine, and if anyone tries to take her from me, I won’t only burn Kingmakers Prep to the ground, I’ll burn the whole fucking town.