24. Stone
STONE
My obsessive infatuation with Wren is fine . It’s not out of control. It’s not taking over my life. I’m not constantly thinking about her.
I’ve got hockey to think about. Especially since she offered to come to the game tonight.
I close my laptop and pack my bag, then lean back and eye Wren four tables away. Her back is to me, hunched over her notebook. We’re the only two people studying in the library. It’s game day, and I think everyone except Sticks decided to sleep in.
As soon as she left this morning, climbing over me and getting dressed in the bathroom like a chicken, I hopped out and followed her.
Past Wren, at the reception desk, the sole student worker has her head buried in a book.
I hoist my bag over my shoulder and stalk up behind Wren. She’s got earbuds in. Totally distracted.
“Ahh!” I yell, sliding my hands under her arms and yanking her backward out of the chair.
She full-on screams, flailing as I hoist her over my shoulder. She brings her legs up to her chest, her arms going everywhere. Her hand smacks into the side of my face, fingers digging into my mouth, and I can’t withhold my laugh. I drop her back to her feet and spin her around.
As soon as she realizes it’s me, her mouth drops open.
I burst out laughing. “Sorry, Sticks,” I wheeze. “Is that your defense plan for when someone grabs you? Flailing? ”
Her face is getting red. The flush creeps up her neck, and her mouth opens and closes. I wipe fucking tears from my eyes while she gets more pissed by the second.
The student worker glances over at us, but I ignore her.
“Come on, baby. Maybe you should take a self-defense class or two…”
“You—you asshole ,” she shouts, shoving me back a step.
I catch her wrists and drag her in. I kiss her before she can stop me, nipping at her lower lip. “Mmm,” I whisper, “you should’ve just stayed in bed with me.”
“I have to study,” she grits out.
Yeah, yeah.
I release her wrists, and she straightens her shirt. She circles the table and rights the fallen chair, huffing hard enough that displaced strands of her dark hair float out in front of her face.
She’s adorably out of sorts.
When she sits back down, I frown. I drop into the chair beside her.
“What are you doing?” she asks, her voice guarded.
“You’re cute when you’re pissed.” I tuck her hair behind her ear and let my fingers trail down the side of her neck.
She puts her earbuds back in.
Pointedly.
I chuckle to myself and lean back, watching the side of her face. She goes back to reading something, her lips moving. Until her phone lights up between us, and her attention goes to the screen.
“Aren’t you going to answer it?” I shift forward.
Unknown number .
Wren flips the phone upside down.
“Do you know who that is?”
She shrugs. “No. I don’t know. Maybe.”
“That sounds suspicious.” I narrow my eyes. “Sticks?”
“Stop calling me that,” she hisses. “And it’s nothing.”
I snatch her phone. She makes a noise of protest, but she doesn’t stop me from using her face to unlock it and then going straight to her recent calls.
A half dozen unknown number calls from today and yesterday. Only one, the first, was answered. And she said it was her ex.
“Brad?” I force out.
She just shrugs.
I shake my head at her, then shoot off a text to Archer.
And a second one to Evan.
Twenty minutes later, both guys join us in the library. Archer has his school bag slung over his shoulder and two cups of coffee. He drops into the seat across from Wren.
She yanks out her earbuds again, glaring at me.
“What?” I raise my hands in surrender.
“I don’t need to be babysat .”
I scoff. “Archer is an excellent babysitter. E and I have some business to attend to.”
Arch grins. “You don’t want to hang out with me, Wren? I got you coffee…” He slides one of the cups toward her.
She pinches the bridge of her nose and takes a moment. Maybe reining in her temper. But she eventually drops her hand and points at him. “I need to study . No talking. No loud music. No distractions.”
He lifts one shoulder. “That’s fine, I’ve got an econ paper due on Wednesday.”
She takes a sip of the coffee and nods. “This is bribery. But I accept.”
“Perfect.” I tug a lock of Wren’s hair. “See ya later, baby.”
Wren purses her lips, and I leave her with a smile.
It falls from my lips once we’re outside, and I glance at my best friend.
Things have been a little awkward since…
well, really, since Wren moved into the house.
I sometimes catch him watching me with a weird expression.
Like he’s thinking something, or suspecting something, but then he brushes it off.
It was only made worse by Wren’s confession. I didn’t want Evan to know because it was my business with Wren. Tainting her relationship with her foster brother would’ve done no one any good.
We’re a block away from the library when Evan finally speaks.
“Where are we going?” He makes a face. “Your text was a little vague. And freaking early . What’s up with you and Wren anyway? Are you—”
I elbow him. “If you’re about to ask me something you don’t want to know the answer to, I suggest you shut up. Because I’ll answer it. Explicitly.”
He scowls. But then… “You didn’t tell me about the drugs.”
“What drugs?”
“At school. When you got hauled out of the lunchroom, arrested , and…you didn’t tell me about the drugs planted on your car. All you said was that it was a misunderstanding.” He stops.
I face him on the path and wave him off. “It was a misunderstanding. They thought I was a drug dealer, but…eh, whatever. Water under the bridge.”
Minus the part where I threatened Wren to stay away from me.
He sighs and resumes walking.
I roll my eyes. “We’re fine now. Me and her.”
“She spilled beer on your lap less than twelve hours ago. And you’re fine?”
Well, okay. I smirk. “I think hating me is her love language. It just means she cares. Anyway, this isn’t about that. The soccer team practice is ending right about now.”
Evan groans. “This isn’t about that ? But it’s about the soccer team?”
In the time it took them to get to the library, I did some hunting. It was either that or continue to stare at Wren. And as alluring as she is, I’m not that dull.
Dad always said there was exactly one way to know one’s enemy. Or, well, he used to say opponent. And he was definitely talking about prosecutors. But his advice can be applied toward the lowlife cheating scum of an ex-boyfriend.
That philosophy has also been hammered into me by hockey coaches since I was old enough to care. Watching game tapes, analyzing plays.
It shouldn’t be a surprise at all that I spent my time wisely. And that is, hunting down all the information on social media platforms about our dear Brad . Even his name reeks of the garbage hiding under his skin.
“You do no research, do you? Even when Wren showed up at your door after their breakup? You didn’t look into him?”
Evan has the good grace to seem a little ashamed.
I hold up my phone. More specifically, the cheating dickwad’s social media page, which highlights him on the soccer team.
“He keeps calling her from a private number,” I add.
“Excuse me?” Evan frowns.
I throw my hands up. “I know! As if Wren doesn’t have enough things to worry about. I know we’re watching her, and we’ve got her back, but honestly. When will it end? The nightmares have pretty much stopped. But she didn’t bother to tell either of us about this caller—”
“How does she know it’s him?” he questions.
“She answered the first call. Ignored the rest.”
He grunts.
We arrive at the field just as the team is finishing their practice. I point out Brad, a tall, very average douchebag. We stand and watch for a long moment while my anger climbs slowly.
The more I analyze him, the more I know Wren was wasting her time. But that doesn’t negate the fact that she trusted him, and he cheated .
The coach heads off with a few players, disappearing around the only permanent building for the practice field and heading in the direction of campus. Brad and another player are picking up small orange cones on the field.
I stride toward him, leaving Evan rushing after me.
“Do you have a plan here?” my best friend whisper-yells.
“Yep.”
No time like the present to throw caution to the wind.
“ Stone —”
“Hey,” I call. “Tall, dark, and asshole.”
Brad straightens. He recognizes me, and a split second later, he realizes what I said. It’s obvious from the sheer annoyance that takes over his expression.
But here’s the thing: guys like Brad whatever-his-last-name-is deserve to rot in Hell. How the fuck could he see someone like Wren Davis and think she’s not worthy of all the love in the world? How could he look at anyone else when he had her ? Much less fuck someone else.
“What’s up, Foster?” Brad asks. “You seem like you have a stick up your ass.”
I clench my teeth and ball my fists.
I’m ten feet away.
Then five.
Evan grabs for me, but his hands slide off my shoulder. “Stone, no—”
I punch Brad as hard as I can.
In the nose.
Pain radiates down my arm, familiar and new—not quite as masked by game-day adrenaline as during hockey fights. But it’s worth it, because the slimeball folds like an accordion. There’s blood coming out of his nose, and he otherwise doesn’t move.
Evan stops beside me, belatedly gripping my arm.
And I didn’t even get to warn him to not call Wren anymore.
We stare down at him, and the soccer teammates start yelling from across the field.
I glance at Evan and shrug. “Too late.”
Ah, well. Brad didn’t stand a fucking chance.