Chapter eight Tai
Chapter eight
Tai
Damn gigantic fluff monster.
Today was going pretty great until I started walking to my car after last class. Mary texted to give me the heads up that Calvin has apparently mistaken my new sneakers for a chew toy.
Now, playing devil’s advocate, I know they say dogs are color blind. But my shoes do not squeak. Nor are they bright blue like his very cute, very new fluffy bone. I even intentionally picked the color for his new toy to one that Google said dogs could see.
I’m certain this is an attack and a doggy declaration of war. It’s punishment for slacking on our afternoon walks lately. But where is the logic?! If I’m down a pair of shoes, that negatively affects his pavement time.
Maybe Soph put the shoes outside. I’m almost positive I left them in the house…
I think.
Hitting the call button on my cell, I tap my foot impatiently.
“What’s up, ass goblin?”
Ahh. Classic sibling pet names. So endearing.
“Did you put my new sneakers outside?” I grumble accusingly down the phone to Sophia. “Calvin ate them.”
On the other end, I hear a pause before the audible, loud scoff shoots back at me.
“Tai, what would ever possess you to think I’d want to touch your smelly shoes?
Besides the fact I already have to endure your train snores through the walls, I do not have a death wish.
I need to ace my final exams, not die from gross brotherly odors. ”
“They do not stink,” I argue. “They were brand new.”
“You wore them at least once. Foot fetishes are not on my kink list.”
I roll my eyes. “But dragon dick is?”
“Ew. Are you really thinking about my sex life?” she questions, gagging with what I assume is repulsion.
“NO!” I shout back. “Yuck, no. Besides, there is no sex life to discuss. Nope. None.”
Soph snorts. “Alright, if you say so, big bro. But your beef is with Calvin. I didn’t touch your gross floppy clown shoes.”
“Fine,” I huff, opening the car door one-handed. “Are you going to be home this afternoon?”
“Maybe,” she mutters dryly. “Surprised you’re not just stalking me like the creep you are.”
Starting the car, I wait for the phone to switch over to hands-free mode. “It comes from a place of love, Sophia. You know, that thing you feel for me.”
“Wowwww,” she drawls out. “Someone thinks highly of themselves. Next, you’ll be using womb buddies as an excuse to beg me to do your hair.”
“Well, now that you mention it…” I laugh. “It needs a toner. The green is nearly faded out finally. Thank fuck. Can you do it?”
“No.”
“You should be thankful I didn’t eat and absorb you in utero.”
I hear talking in the background of the call, my ears straining to recognize the voice. It’s too fuzzy, but just as Soph goes to curse me out, a notification pops up on my screen. I gasp excitedly, launching to snatch the phone from the holder. “Gotta go, twinnie! BYE!”
There’s another curse of my name as I abruptly end the call, opening the app. Shit—this is it.
Throwing the car into drive, the tires kick up gravel as I screech out of the Willowbrook parking lot and make a beeline home.
I’m momentarily distracted by Soph’s car very clearly parked near the front door, pulling up beside it. Liar.
Racing inside, I say a quick hello to Mary as she pokes her head out of the kitchen, taking the stairs two at a time.
I crash into my computer chair so fast that the momentum launches me away from the desk, my legs scrambling to pull myself back as I reach hastily for the mouse and click it wildly.
We haven’t been able to sneak into the Dean’s office since his ass has been permanently glued to his leather throne ever since the attack on Cedar Heights. Luckily, we know his credentials—all thanks to a team effort by H and myself.
When the notification popped up on my tracking app that the footage was being accessed, I was so excited to finally see it was go time. We’ve been waiting too damn long to view the footage without it being flagged.
I have to admit, Bexley’s comment that Marcus wouldn’t bother to check had stirred up some uncertainty. But it’s a huge relief to see her assumptions were wrong this time. Maybe Marcus does care deep down.
Okay—that’s probably a vast overstretch. But at the very least, he’d be interested to know who is behind the attack just as much as we are. That man is nothing but particular and anal about things, always needing to know everything about everything, just like Hunter.
If I’m quick, I might be able to log in while he’s still snooping around, lowering the risk of being busted. It’s a nice little reward after the whole traumatic Shoegate incident.
Setting up the VPN, which is conveniently routed to the Willowbrook IP address, I open the administration portal, punching in Dean Lannister’s credentials.
I’m familiar with the setup, so it only takes me mere seconds to open the cameras’ cloud storage, scrolling to locate the date and time from the night of the dance.
“Friday…” I mutter to myself, heart beating faster in anticipation. “Four o’clock, five o’clock…”
Then nothing.
Physically, I recoil like I’ve been slapped in the face with one of Calvin’s slobbery chew toys—something that has actually happened before, courtesy of Sophia.
I scan the files again, doing a double, then triple check of the timestamps. A huge chunk of time is missing, several hours of footage seemingly gone.
Quickly, I let out a nervous laugh as I try to calm myself, checking the deleted files. It’s not a ridiculous assumption that Marcus may have accidentally hit a wrong key, but ice-cold chills ripple through my body when I realize the deleted files folder is completely empty.
That’s not a coincidence. That’s a choice.
You only ever fully delete and empty your trash folder when you are trying to permanently delete something. And to have a completely cleared folder now? It speaks for itself.
Shit. This is looking more and more suspicious by the day. I can practically hear Bexley laughing, boasting that she was right.
Except, the laugh grows louder, and I realize it’s coming from the hallway outside my bedroom door.
I shove the chair back and scurry to the door, ripping it open.
“Fucking hell, Tai Beckett!” Sophia scolds, clutching her beloved Kindle to her chest. “I didn’t touch your shoes!”
“What?” I gape at her before shaking my head. “I don’t care about that right now. I need Bexley,” I say fast, urgently grabbing the purple-haired woman and yanking her through the doorway.
Bexley stumbles slightly before she straightens up and shoots me a half annoyed, half bewildered glare. “Slow down, you maniac. What’s the emergency?”
I drown out Soph’s protests by closing the door on her, turning to face Bexley. “We have a problem.”
“Your shoes?” she asks. “Yeah, I heard.”
“This isn’t about the sneakers,” I say with a grumble. “Sophia, you have a big mouth!” I call out.
“Fuck you and your stinky shoes!” A faint reply shoots back before I hear her bedroom door slam shut.
The sound of laughing distracts me from my mental cursing, and I twist around to find Bexley hunched over in hysterics.
“It’s not funny. They were my new favorite pair, Spencer.”
“Problems of the rich and infamous,” she mumbles, amused. “But what’s the actual emergency, then?”
Letting out a deep breath, I pinch the bridge of my nose. “I got the notification that the footage was accessed.”
Bexley’s eyes widen. “That’s great! We need to check it,” she says impatiently, taking a step toward the computer.
I grab her wrist, stopping her. “It’s been deleted.”
It’s like watching a scene from a horror movie. Bexley pivots in slow motion, a dark, murderous look on her face. “You better not have said what I thought you did.”
“Believe me, I value my bits, so you can imagine how incredibly fearful this is for my balls right now.”
Her face falls. “Those fuckers. I knew it.”
“We’ll get them. Don’t worry,” I say comfortingly, pulling her in for a hug. Bexley relaxes against me, resting her head on my chest.
It’s nice just holding her, offering a silent gesture of support. Leaning down, I gently grasp her chin, unable to resist the urge to kiss her.
“Okay, you’re lucky. I found one tube of toner—”
Both of us swing our heads toward the now open door, Soph’s words turn into a high-pitched choking sound as she takes in our embrace.
There’s no way she didn’t see the kiss. Fuck.
Of course, it wouldn’t be the Beckett residence without chaos.
Is it too much to ask for some privacy? Why wasn’t I an only child?
Slow blinks. A drizzle of confusion. Raised eyebrows.
“Apparently, you’re already being toned down by Bex,” she mumbles, slowly backing out of the room and closing the door behind her.
After school the next day, Bexley summons all of us for a meeting. Surprisingly, H shows his face—though, still looking like he’s battling severe constipation or some other painful ailment.
Well, that’s what I think he looks like when he’s ready to convulse and explode with whatever is happening inside his brain.
I have no idea what the hell was up with him on Friday night. Though, if I had to count all the bizarre encounters lately, I’d probably need to purchase an abacus.
Look—I get it. He nearly died. We’re all feeling fucked up from that night. And it doesn’t help that our fathers are breathing down our necks every chance we get. I’m just thankful it was Soph that busted me kissing Bex and not Dad. I should really be more cautious.
I suppose I understand Hunter’s frustration. We’re meant to be keeping a low profile, but every time we take a step forward, we’re cannonballed two steps back. The growing pressure is weighing all of us down, and it’s clear we’re dealing with something bigger than we expected.
I can’t imagine what he must be experiencing. He’s made it clear from the start how he feels about Bexley, and while I no longer share those same feelings, no one can understand what they went through.
We nearly lost both of them. I guess I just expected things to be a little different. Trauma bonding or some shit. If anything, Hunter seems to fucking resent Bex even more since that night. He was already a ticking time bomb, pissed that Rylan and I had entered into some throuple situation.
Retract that. Definitely not a throuple. I love Rylan like he’s my own brother—I mean, at least he doesn’t try to maim me like someone else I know—but I have no desire to touch his salty nuts.
I can appreciate a handsome man. Just look at Henry Cavill. That man could stroke his self-built computer and tell me to run ten miles, and I’d say, “It would be my pleasure.” But I draw the line at banging Rylan. Fairly certain that would give Hunter a heart attack.
I’d happily high-five the fucker over Bexley’s contorted sex-pretzel body, though.
What would you call us? Probably a trio of carnage.
“Sorry I’m late,” comes a somewhat familiar voice from the doorway.
We’re in Bexley’s house, much to all of our surprise.
I was a bit taken aback when she offered to have us all here, but now that he’s arrived, it makes sense.
The library will start getting a bit risky if we use it too often, and we all know our houses are becoming off-limits with the looming presence of fatherly nightmares.
“Arch, come in!” Bexley greets, motioning him into the living room. “Was Abs okay?”
He nods. “It went as well as you’d expect.”
Bexley pulls a disgruntled face, and when she catches my look of confusion, she explains, “Abby approached the cheerleaders to see if the Cedar girls could practice with them.”
“Oh,” I reply slowly. “Shit.”
Rylan glances over with raised eyebrows. “Tell her not to take it personally. You couldn’t pay me enough to hang with them.”
“Funny,” Hunter murmurs from his left. “Ironic, really.”
Thankfully, H shuts his mouth after Ry shoots him a death glare. Probably best not to bring Liv—Rylan’s former situationship—to Bexley’s attention right now.
Archer sits down next to Bexley, sending a wave of envy through me. The asshole is encroaching on my territory. I don’t care if they’ve been friends for years. She’s mine.
“So,” Bexley starts, glancing around at all of us. “I’ve decided we need to go back to Cedar Heights.”
Hunter snidely snorts. “Agreed.”
She smiles sweetly at him. Yeah—sweet as a man-eating shark. “No, Lannister. I mean, we’re going to Cedar Heights to search the building again. Tomorrow night.”