Chapter 23 #2
There are nods and grunting, and a few phones make an appearance. Spencer laughs and puts his hands on his hips like he’s preening under Harley’s judgment. It’s gross and it’s also not fooling anyone.
His hands are trembling.
“And what about your cousin? Joey is the whole reason this started. Are you going to beat him up? I’m not afraid of you, Arbour. You think getting a face tat makes you so fucking tough? You’re just a pussy, with a deadbeat dad and a fucked-up mom, who’s riding on your cousins’ coattails.”
Harley leans down to drop his blazer on his bag and I can see the flames burning in Harley’s eyes. Spencer is a dead man.
Fuck it.
“I can organize a cleanup crew if you want to kill him,” I whisper, a smile playing at the corners of my mouth like I’m playing with him. Plausible deniability and all that. Harley smirks at me as he straightens.
“We can talk about how you have access to one of those later, Mounty.”
He turns and steps into the proverbial ring.
I don’t know who calls the ambulance, but I do enjoy watching them wheel Spencer Hillsong away.
Harley grabs his shit and leaves the chapel without looking at me, so I guess his charitable mood is gone.
His hands are a mess and there’s blood all over him.
Any teacher who comes across him would have to be on Avery’s books to not call the cops. It’s a good thing they all are.
I manage to convince the kitchen staff I’m an overworked, failing mess, and they scrape together a tub of roast pork and sides smothered in gravy for me to take to my room to eat.
I don’t know why I haven’t thought about trying it before, and I’m thrilled when I sit on my bed and dig in.
I screw around on my phone and try to tell myself I’m googling Vanth Falling news just to keep tabs on my bully and because I’m bored.
I didn’t burn the shirt.
It only survived the black paint nightmare thanks to me shoving it under the loose floorboard for sound dampening, but old habits and devotion die hard. I’d fished it out and am back to wearing it, and a tiny pair of sparkly booty shorts, when there’s a knock at my door.
I panic.
It’s embarrassing as fuck to think about any girl in this place seeing me wearing it after throwing a tantrum at Blaise, so I scramble to find something else to put on over it quickly.
“Mounty, for fuck’s sake, I can hear you rummaging around in there. Open the door.”
It’s Harley. Oh God, I cannot open this door wearing the shirt. I will lose any credibility I’ve managed to gain with Blaise if he tells him. “I’m- ah- naked. Give me a second.”
I find one of the new sweaters I bought from the thrift store in Haven—it’s clearly a man’s sweater and it’s three times the size of me—and I throw it over my head.
When I’m sure he won’t be able to see the Vanth shirt, I throw open the door to his deep frown. His eyes trail down my body, and when they reach my bare legs, he starts to look around my room, his scowl deepening.
“Can I help you?” I say, breathless. He curses at me under his breath and pushes past me into my room. Rude.
“Please come in,” I say sweetly, and shut the door behind him before I can think better of it.
He may still have it out for me academically, but I’m not afraid of being around him.
I snort at myself. I’ve just watched him pummel another student until the kid had to be intubated before he was scraped off the chapel floor by the EMTs, and yet, that only proved to me that I have nothing to be afraid of. Funny old world.
“Is there a guy in here?” he asks as he peers into my closet. My jaw drops.
“What—why would there be a guy in here?”
“You said you were naked. It’s five o clock, you haven’t just showered, and you’re wearing someone else's clothes. Who did you let win the bet?” He’s damn near hissing at me. I look down at myself, sigh, and then rub my face.
“I lied. I wasn’t naked, I’m wearing a shirt and shorts under this. I just—it doesn’t matter. This is my sweater. I’m not a wannabe model like the other girls here, and I like being comfortable. No guy. I’m not interested in seeing any guys here at Hannaford naked, thanks.”
Blatant lie. I’d be interested in him. Or either of his friends, really.
I try not to think about the time I saw him come all over Annabelle’s face in the woods, but then it’s all I’m thinking of and my face heats up.
Harley squints at me like he’s trying to decide if I’m lying. I roll my eyes at him.
“This place is a literal closet. Check under my bed and see for yourself that there’s no one here.” He actually bends down and checks. My blood heats, and not with desire. “What exactly gives you the right to police who I fuck, anyway?”
He smirks at me and shows me his knuckles.
They’re a mess; he hasn’t cleaned them at all.
From the look of him, he’s just thrown different clothes on, no shower.
I should feel grossed out by that, but I lick my lips at the thought of the sweat that’s still on him.
He smells fantastic—totally unfair, because I know for a fact that I smell putrid after that much exercise.
I duck under my bed, pull out my first-aid kit, and grab some antiseptic wipes.
He drops onto my bed like he owns the place, and I start to clean up his wounds.
“I’ve just cleared your social calendar for you, I wouldn’t want that to be for nothing.”
I chuckle as I carefully wipe away the blood that’s already dried, and he doesn’t flinch.
His knuckles are covered in raised white scars, crisscrossing and gouging into his skin.
It looks more extreme than what a prep school fight club would warrant.
I make yet another mental note to look into him and his past. He clears his throat to get my attention.
“So, which cleanup crew would you have called? Manning’s?”
I snort. “Only if I wanted to be blackmailed with it later. Amateurs call Manning.”
He smiles at me, a real one, and I have to focus to breathe.
He’s magnificent this close. I survive sitting next to him all day in our classes by not looking at him, but now I let myself just take him in.
I tape some gauze over the parts of his hands that are still bleeding, and he lets me, watching me as much as I’m watching him.
“So, who then? Who would a Mounty call to get rid of a body?”
I can’t really answer him. It would give too much away. I’d call the Jackal or the Bear. I wouldn’t have to pay them a single penny for their services, either. I’d call in a favor or make a deal with them on the spot, and then my problems would just vanish.
“That should hold if you don’t shower until tomorrow. Or just get one of your friends to do it again for you. I’m assuming you have a kit of your own?”
He nods and watches me put everything away. I feel his eyes on my legs as I bend to shove the kit back under my bed, but when I stand and face him, he’s got his phone out. When he lifts it to his ear, I frown down at him.
“Nothing is wrong, Floss. Can’t I call you to be social?”
I cross my arms and take a step away from him. I guess this is where I pay for making him bleed for me. Nothing ever comes for free, not here at Hannaford and certainly not back home.
“Okay, you’re right, I do need something.
I need you to leave Lips alone. Stop trying to get her kicked out…
No, I’m not joking… I’m not telling you to be her friend, I’m saying stop fucking with her on my behalf.
I’m over it. I’m done… I don’t like her, I owe her, and I hate owing people shit.
Just drop it… if Joey wants her dead and she’s too stubborn to leave to save her own skin, then that’s not our problem. You don’t owe him a cleanup, Aves.”
My stomach hollows out as I listen to him negotiate a ceasefire with Avery for me. He said he owes me; what did I do for him? I think back, but I can’t remember anything I’ve done. Well, the necklace, but I haven’t even told him I have it yet. I wince guiltily.
He hangs up and meets my eyes again. I wait for him to explain, to get up and leave, or to tell me what I now owe him for this.
I wait for him to tell me it's all a joke and that I’m still trash to him.
I guess he did tell Avery he doesn’t like me, but he’s not acting like that.
When he just stares at me, nervousness bubbles up until I speak, just to break the intensity of his gaze.
“Why do you owe me? I don’t remember helping you.”
He grumbles and stands up. He looks almost bashful. It’s charming as fuck.
“Joey set his eyes on you because of me. He heard me raging at Avery about you, and it caught his interest. Whatever, you should leave Hannaford. You’re stupid if you think you can take on Joey and survive.”
I scoff at him. “Of course you’d think that. What could a poor Mounty do against a billionaire sociopath?”
He shrugs at me and flexes his fingers. I can't stop thinking about the damn necklace. I sigh and walk over to where I’ve dropped my bag. I’ve been carrying it around for weeks, trying to pluck up the courage to give it back to him.
“Don't ask me how I got this, and please don't start shit with me over it. Just take it and forget this ever happened,” I ramble.
He quirks an eyebrow at me, but he holds out his hand without argument.
I drop the little gold chain onto his palm and he freezes.
The look on his face breaks my heart. He's so reverent, so gentle as he cradles the little heart pendant in his big, bandaged palm.
When he looks up at me, his eyes are red-rimmed and glassy.
I feel like scum for carrying it around for so long.
“I'm sorry I didn't give it to you sooner. I don't even have a reason, I just didn't. Like I said, please just forget I ever had it.”
“Lips, this is… I've been trying to get this back from him for years.”
I blink away tears of my own as I turn away from him. I wish so much that we had met under different circumstances could be friends. The fierce, protective nature of him draws me in like nothing else. I want him, but I want to be in his circle more.
I hear him moving behind me, but I don’t want to look back at him.
I should have slipped the necklace into his bag while he wasn’t looking or given it to Ash to pass along instead.
I feel the heat of his body press up along my back as his scent envelopes me.
I freeze, and my heart stutters in my chest. It takes me a second to realize he’s not attacking me, he’s not trying to hurt me or get some sort of revenge, he’s just close to me.
I clear my throat like I’m going to speak, but I don’t know what I would say to him.
He’s everything I wish I had, and it pains me to have him this close and to know it’s only going to last for a second.
He leans down and brushes his lips across my cheek softly. My eyes fall shut, and I struggle to stop myself from leaning back into his warmth.
“Thank you,” he whispers into my ear, and then he disappears, closing my door quietly behind him and taking his heat and delicious smell with him.
I feel gutted.