Chapter 4 #2
Twenty seconds later, my phone lit up with the first of several messages.
Layla: Yas, bitch! Skool can suck it!
Layla: We’ll stop by the front office on our way out. Tell em U R puking.
Great.
Layla: We’re loading up in Bonnie now. Where we goin?
Me: Treehouse?
Griffin was reading over my shoulder.
My phone buzzed in my hand, but I smiled at him sadly instead of checking it.
He only continued to regard me.
My eyes misted, and he tugged me closer, rubbing his thumb back and forth across my shoulder.
I swallowed thickly, certain I’d never get over the terror of losing him—motherfucking twice—so long as I lived.
Tears slipped free without my permission, rolling down my cheeks.
Good thing I wore waterproof mascara and eyeliner.
He pressed a kiss to the crown of my head, and I wanted to freeze time to remember that kiss forever, instead of all the tragedy, all the fucking torment, all the injustice we had no idea how to escape.
And I was thinking of other body parts of his I wanted to get inside me as quickly as possible.
He chuckled.
We gazed at each other, our eyes softening, until my phone buzzed again.
Layla: Treehouse it is.
Layla: And hurry the F up. I wanna C U guys.
Meaning, she wanted to see Griffin. The guys too.
Me: On the way.
I explained.
Griff shook his head in stunned disbelief as he reached his hand to help me up—slowly.
Once I was on my feet, not as steady as I’d like, he asked again,
I leaned into his chest.
I wobbled a bit on the way to the passenger side, but I felt steadier once tucked into Clyde’s bucket seat. Griff closed my door and circled the front to his side.
As he merged into traffic, I said,
Griffin was looking from me to the road and back again, his mouth slightly ajar.
“Holy shit,” he said, accidentally whispering it aloud. “That’s a sweet car,” he added quickly, covering beautifully.
he repeated, his deep voice pitched with incredulity, as if trying the new number out.
He clasped my hand, squeezed my fingers on the straight stretch of road when he didn’t need to shift.
I chuffed.
Griffin chuckled.
I chuckled as well, then referenced aloud a passing car to cover for us.
I hated the constant lies everyone fed us. All the fakeness, the ruses, the fact that we couldn’t believe a single thing anyone ever told us.
But even more than that, I hated that we had to lie, to pretend, to hide when we’d never wanted to be anything but ourselves.
Ridgemore was a typical small town. Some might claim it was boring here, but we’d carved out a place for ourselves. We’d adventured, had fun, found peace in the woods and the natural beauty of these misty mountains.
I’d never before felt the urge to escape Ridgemore. To travel elsewhere, sure, maybe even to see the world. But now I wanted to load up our cars with our crew and drive off into the sunset, pedals to the metal, putting Ridgemore and everyone in it permanently in our rearview.
Gazing out the window, I leaned my forehead against it and sighed.
Griffin stiffened.
Griffin growled into our bond as he took the turn back into the Periwinkle Hill neighborhood. The vein along his neck bulged, making him look angrier than he’d been when I told him we’d been robbed of four entire years of our lives.
I said sadly.
Griffin huffed angrily, that vein popping more.
Layla’s voice popped into our conversation.
Griffin startled at the sound of her in his head, glancing sharply at me.
I said.
Brady chimed in.
Griffin said, rounding a turn fast enough to squeal tires a little.
Hunt said, his relief palpable through my mind.
Griffin looked at me and smiled. Our private time was over, but at least in moments our crew would be together again.
It was exactly how we were meant to be.
And we’d kill every single motherfucker who ever tried to tear us apart.
It was time to get to the murdering part of our plan. The Truman Show, psycho style, baby. It was time to weapon up.