Safe From Home (Worth Fighting For #1)

Chapter 1 ~

Rory ~

There hasn’t been a single moment in the last three years that I’ve felt safe.

My father's snoring echoes through the house, making me extra vigilant of my movements. I look back, my eyes landing on the sleeping form on the couch. I turn back to the door, biting my lip.

I quietly limp to the door. The tiles are cold under my bare feet, my shoes held tightly in my hand. I hold my breath as I push the screen door open, wincing at the soft creak it makes as it shuts.

As soon as I'm off the verandah, I sprint for my car. It's not until I'm driving away that I finally relax. I wait until I’m turned away from the house that I turn on my headlights.

My hands shake as I grip the steering wheel, my knuckles turn punishingly white.

You’re okay, I tell myself.

There’s no other cars on the road at this time of the day as it’s still a few hours before sunrise.

I turn off the road to the backfield of my father's small property. There’s a sliver of land that passes Ms Beckham’s old house that gives us access to this side of the property. The few acres my father owns are overgrown and just scrub but there’s a little clearing here that I come to hide.

The old rickety gate gets stuck as I’m trying to yank it open. As I’m doing so, a house light comes on and I frown. Ms Beckham went to live with her grandson a few weeks ago, she would have told me if she sold.

We have our weekly afternoon Skype session on Wednesday so I'll have to ask her about it.

I drive the worn path to the clearing, park under the tree and hop out. Grabbing my sleeping bag and book from the back seat, I put the heel of my shoe on the back tire and heave myself into the tray of my Hilux ute.

I lean back against the cab and drag my sleeping bag over me. I place my book down beside me and pull my legs up beneath me.

My racing heart finally relaxes, the morning adrenaline wearing off. Closing my eyes, I try to sleep for another few hours.

Five more days, I tell myself. Five. More. Days.

. . .

Sneaking into school at six o’clock in the morning isn’t new to me.

The librarian leaves the back door unlocked for me most mornings and when she doesn’t, I have my own key.

Lindsay is probably one of the only teachers who care about our education. And, I’m not just saying that because I’m slightly biassed.

I’m here earlier than normal since I was able to sneak out this morning unnoticed so I take longer in the shower of the school locker room than my normal rush. I’m not always lucky enough to get away before my father wakes up.

Changing into a pair of stretchy skinny jeans and a plain t-shirt, I’m immediately regretting my decision when the denim rubs against the bruise on my hip. Walking over to the mirror, I gently pull down one side and wince at the dark colouring that covers a large amount of my hip.

I have shorts in my bag but that will bring more drama than I want to deal with today so I’m just going to have to suck it up and deal with the material against my bruises.

I grab my school bag and my car keys go straight in my pocket. I don’t trust the assholes here with my shit.

Lindsay smiles and waves when I walk into the library.

Her gaze immediately returns to the book in front of her.

I get a peek of the cover and stifle a laugh.

I think this is the third time I’ve seen her reading this series.

I wonder why she hasn’t recommended it to me.

Usually with her favourites, I can’t get more than two metres into the library without hearing the genre, content and how good it is.

I take note of the title and remember to search it later.

I head to the back study room attached to the library. Thankfully, because of how early it is, there's no one else in here but me.

Pulling out my laptop, I busy myself with my English assignment until the bell goes and it begins.

. . .

Dominic ~

I ignore the irritating, screeching noise of some random chick insisting I sit with her, jocks calling my name and go straight to the front corner row of my Maths classroom.

I would have preferred to stay under the radar but apparently, everyone met the twins this morning. They would have gotten sick of the attention after five minutes. Mason and Maverick have never been ones for school cliques—none of us are. We prefer to stick together.

I drop my shit on the desk and slyly observe the girl beside me from the corner of my eye as I sit down. She’s reading an old and clearly loved book, not looking up when I sit down.

Good.

The new kid whispers start as soon as I give the rest of the class my back. I can barely contain my scowl when the guys behind me start talking.

"What the fuck's he doing?!"

"Way to become a social outcast!"

I rap my pencil on the desk, waiting for the teacher to get here.

I glance over in time to see her eyes flick up in annoyance. She doesn’t say anything, just leans into her hand that’s holding up her head while she reads. The cute huff she makes is enough to make me continue tapping the end of my pencil on the dirty desk.

I can almost hear the little noise Alec makes that matches his often disapproving look.

I sneak another look at her.

Her long brunette hair covers half her face but I catch a glimpse as she pushes her hair over her shoulder, never once taking her mismatched eyes off the book.

Huh, she has two different coloured eyes. Without a good look, I can see one is a light brown colour and the other is sky blue. I’ve never seen that before.

Not wanting to get caught out staring, I glance away just in time to avoid our gazes colliding.

Where the fuck is this teacher? Who the hell is this late to a class?

The girl beside me puts a bookmark in and lays the book down, sighing softly. Opening her textbook, she starts copying notes into her book. Her handwriting is neat and slanted. I notice that in her notebook there's several little drawings and maybe lyrics or poetry around her maths notes.

I look across and notice the rest of the front row doing the same at the girl beside me—opening their textbooks and writing shit down.

Everyone behind us is either on their phones or chatting.

All schools are the same. The smart kids keep their heads down and avoid the attention by sitting at the front. The rest are the 'popular' kids—usually backstabbers and troublemakers.

The rowdy back and middle rows are whispering snide comments to the girl tucked into the corner beside me, ignoring everyone and everything around her.

She either doesn’t care or can’t hear them but it infuriates me.

I turn around and glare stonily at the dickheads who suddenly lose their backbone at my scowling. The room falls silent for all of two seconds before it grows noisy again but they're not stupid enough to start up on her again.

I know I’m probably starting shit I shouldn’t on my first day, especially without knowing the context but I just can’t help it. I have a soft spot for loners and outcasts.

She shifts in her seat in silence, creeping further back into herself.

I start rapping on the desk again out of irritation towards the lateness of my new maths teacher. It’s not like I know what the fuck I’m supposed to be doing.

The girl with mismatched eyes takes pity on me and leans over.

“He’s going to be a while,” her husky voice whispers in my ear.

“He does this often?” I raise one eyebrow and she nods.

“He doesn’t teach shit. The questions and notes are in the textbook, any other study has to be done in your own time.” She doesn’t meet my eyes when she says this.

I must still look lost because she slides her textbook over, flicking between the pages. “Notes at the front, questions at the back.”

“Thank you,” I say roughly, still angered by the comments I heard. She doesn’t acknowledge my words.

She flicks through the textbook until she finds where she’s up to and pushes it into the top corner of my desk so I can see it. I copy her lead.

We were supposed to pick up our textbooks at the library this morning but J’s bullshit made us late.

The teacher comes in eventually, coffee in hand with dark shades covering his eyes. He doesn't say anything, just does the roll before laying his head on the desk.

We’re silent for the majority of the lesson, writing notes before starting the related equations. Fucking algebra. I've never been good at algebra.

I lean closer and see her tense before forcing herself to relax. Interesting.

“What’s your name?” I murmur.

She looks across to me and I capture her gaze, studying her mismatched eyes. She gifts me with a faint half-smile that's quirky and fucking gorgeous at the same time.

“Laney.”

. . .

Rory ~

I quickly look down at my textbook and I see him mouth my name, getting a feel for it. I’m sure he heard my stumble.

It’s been a long time since I’ve had to introduce myself and that name is fucking stupid.

"It's Dominic. In case you were wondering, darlin’,” he says gruffly in my ear, curiosity brimming in his words.

My eyes flick up subconsciously. He stretches his long legs out in front of him, a pen dangling from his fingertips as he studies me.

"Where are you from?" Comes out of my mouth before I can stop it.

Dominic smirks, drawing my attention to his lips for a brief moment before my eyes go back to his dark chocolate eyes. Not black like I originally thought.

"If you were thinking I sound like a redneck, you'd be right," he drawls, sending sparks of heat north. He confirms my suspicion of his southern accent.

"I was thinking more along the lines of Morgan Wallen or Kip Moore." I tease. My face pales when I realise what I’m doing but he just chuckles.

"Not bad, Sweetheart." He dips his head in recognition of my American country music reference. "For future references, I prefer George Strait."

I scrunch my nose and shake my head. "You do not sound like George Strait."

Dominic snickers. "No, I prefer to listen to old-timers like George Strait."

Not embarrassed, I lean back in my chair. "Doesn't everyone?"

He watches me like a lion stalking its prey. "No," he finally says, "they don't."

The bell goes, saving me from having to respond.

I pack up my stuff and head for the door.

Someone grabs my elbow and gently pulls me back, out of the stampede of people. My instant reaction is to panic then fight but the hand leaves.

I turn around, my heart racing wildly.

Dominic studies my reaction and takes a step back.

"What do you have next?" He asks in his rough southern accent. It takes me a moment to understand what he’s asking me.

"Art," I reply, pushing away the fright that arose when he grabbed my arm.

He nods slightly, a sliver of dark hair falling over his eyes. His mouth curls up in a secretive smile. Dominic walks past me, not before drawling, "See you round, Sweetheart."