Chapter twenty-two
Bexley
I’m not entirely sure if I’m flattered by the babysitting arrangement the guys have implemented among themselves or offended that they think I need supervision.
Either way, it is kind of nice having company in the house.
For once, I’m not drowning in the quiet.
Ry, Hunter, and Tai have been taking turns spending the night, though if Mayor Astor decides to turn up, who knows what the plan would be.
It would be the world’s most awkward family reunion.
Maybe I should keep snacks in the house in case. Food makes everything better.
Could candy fix that situation? Probably not… but no harm in trying, right?
Scratch that. Hard liquor seems like the better option.
I suppose there are some benefits for them though. I’ve never been sorer, but it’s the best kind so I have no complaints.
Well, the only complaint is that Tai might actually be a wolf in disguise.
The body heat on that man is insane, and no surprise, he’s a grade-five clinger in his sleep.
I wake up all sweaty just from his body squishing against mine.
None of them will let me be the big spoon, and despite my promises that their assholes would be safe, I keep finding myself waking up to boners digging into the backs of my thighs.
When Monday rolled around, I had high hopes that the hostile energy had been taken down a notch thanks to the double fight nights.
But even with Perkins’ punishment on display and offering more stress relief at the warehouse, I’m frustrated to find I’m still on the receiving end of small-minded bullying tactics.
It’s mostly words though, and the occasional object hurled at me.
Thankfully the throwers aren’t Olympic athletes by any means.
I’m actually concerned by how poor their aim is given the level of funding Willowbrook receives.
No one has tried to touch or corner me though, so I guess that’s a win.
Definitely not worth mentioning to the guys.
They are already on edge and I’m worried that one minor inconvenience may send them into a full-blown meltdown and ruin the entire plan.
This is just pretty much normal Willowbrook behaviour so I can handle it. They just didn’t pay attention before to realize that this was normal day-to-day life for me.
I’ve blocked the catcalls and taunts out with my headphones as I walk solo to third period, but when a slender frame steps out in front of me, blocking my path, I’m forced back to reality and auditory torture.
“The Dean would like a word, Ms. Spencer,” Elizabeth says coldly. “Now, please.”
“Well since you said please,” I mumble dryly, plopping my earbuds back inside their case.
She clearly hears my snarky reply but ignores it, the two of us ascending the familiar steps to the Dean’s office. The door is wide open as I approach and I spot him waiting when I enter, dressed sharply in an extensive suit and reeking of essence de dickhead.
“Take a seat,” he directs coolly before nodding dismissively to Elizabeth behind me. I hear the door close quietly and I can’t help but notice we’re conveniently alone this time. No Principal Samson or Mr. Martin to save me this time, which I guess raises the question…
What have I done this time?
Last I checked I haven’t stolen any more cheerleader uniforms or broken acrylic nails. I didn’t even get a chance to smack Perkins in the jugular when he attacked me last week—a massive regret.
Damn—I might be completely innocent for once.
Not that I wasn’t innocent before… Despite the fact I was definitely guilty of prior accusations, those came from provocation and self-defence. This time there’s nothing that springs to mind.
“I think it’s about time we have a little chat,” Dean Lannister starts, sitting down across from me.
I raise an eyebrow, on high alert. There’s no way this is a little catch-up where we braid each other’s hair and exchange skin care routines. “About what?”
His face gives nothing away, just an emotionless void of cunt-syndrome. He locks eyes with me as if attempting to wear me down with his eyeballs. “It’s come to my attention that you’ve developed certain relationships with some of my students.”
Without skipping a beat, I nod and say, “I’m very much in love with Sophia Beckett. She understands me in a way that only makes sense to therapists. I make no apologies for our affair.”
Dean Lannister breaks, scowling unamused. “Your attitude will be your downfall, Ms. Spencer.”
“Or the reason I’m remembered fondly,” I disagree light-heartedly. “Either way, I’m shocked that you would care about my relationships.”
“Care is not the word I would use,” he shoots back hostilely. “However, when it involves my son, I’m forced to step in.”
I fold my arms, not breaking our optical game of chicken. “And what type of relationship do I have with Hunter exactly?” I ask. “I thought you would have been pleased that students are getting along. Seems like it would be less paperwork for you. Well, your assistant, anyway.”
He narrows his eyes, clearly disliking my sarcasm and credit-worthy ray of sunshine attitude to the conversation. “My house staff informed me of your presence last week. You are not welcome in my household, Ms. Spencer. Then or moving forward.”
Forcing my face not to react, I tilt my head to the side. “And what exactly did they have to say about my visit to the prestigious Lannister household? Only good things I hope.”
The Dean doesn’t voice it out loud, but the way his body tenses up and anger flashes in his eyes, it’s easy to tell he’s been briefed on our musical adventures.
Ew, gross. That’s rather disturbing to find out that he knows.
At least it’s second-hand information and my screams didn’t grace his eardrums directly.
It takes everything in me to repress a shiver of repulsion at the thought of Hunter’s father hearing us.
“I doubt I need to explain to you the functionality of a man with Hunter’s caliber,” he replies, low. “Or the needs they have. Do with that as you will.”
This fucking asshole.
He’s actually implying I’m nothing more than a hole to Hunter—a means to an end.
“I’m terribly sorry if that’s how you function. Though I would argue the caliber between yourself and Hunter is vastly different,” I shoot back. “Regardless, whatever is happening is between me and Hunter. It has nothing to do with you.”
There’s really no point in denying it. It’s obvious he knows, so lying would only make matters worse.
I wasn’t prepared for this at all. In retrospect, I probably should have had this conversation with the guys in case this happened—so we were all on the same page and had the exact story.
But all I can do is just wing it and hope I don’t fuck us up too much.
A few seconds of silence pass between us, the Dean leaning back in his leather chair indifferently.
“There’s little reason to suggest I’m wrong,” he finally replies.
“After all, it was Hunter’s idea not too long ago to leave you in the Ridgeview Valley warehouse overnight.
Of course, I supported it completely. I was most impressed with his commitment to upholding our sacred beliefs. ”
I hate how much that stings. More so, I hate how much it bothers me when, let’s be real, I already knew that. It’s no secret that Hunter had acted on his own, handcuffing me to the table the night before Mom’s funeral. I guess I had put it out of my mind with all our newer problems recently.
It would be stupid to dismiss the past entirely. But we’ve all done our fair share of shit to each other. I’m not innocent either. We’re past that though. Now, we’re some weird and deranged version of the Suicide Squad. The only way to move forward is to let go of the hate.
But still…
The idea of Hunter hurting me is a pain I’ve tried to avoid all my life.
It’s what I’ve protected myself from since the moment my father walked out.
Dean Lannister’s words scare the shit out of me—a stark, cold reminder that I’ve given Hunter, Rylan, and Tai the power to destroy me.
And out of everyone in the whole wide world, they are the last three I would have chosen if I had to give anyone that type of power over me.
And if this is nothing more than just a game to them…
No.
I’m letting this bastard get inside my head. It’s exactly what he wants, what he’s hoping for. I’m better than that. I won’t let him win.
“Does it bother you?” I finally ask, shaking away the fear and mustering up the strength to speak.
His face hardens defensively. “Does what bother me, Ms. Spencer?”
I smile sadly. “The fact you’re so obsessed with some ridiculous small town rivalry that you’re proudly bragging about giving your approval to a stupid teen prank?
You’re meant to be a leader—the Dean of this school.
Yet you’re actively taking pleasure in bringing harm to a student—one currently under your supervision, no less.
That’s not just embarrassing… that’s genuinely psychopathic. ”
“Earth to Bexley. Hey! Snap out of it.”
The library comes screaming back into focus, my eyes homing in on an annoyed Hunter. He’s standing by the table, eyebrow arched with a look of frustration on his face.
“What?” I mumble back stupidly.
Crap. How long has he been standing there?
We’re all meeting after school to go over new findings. I was the first to arrive and clearly went into an out-of-body experience. Great—Love has given me the survival instincts of a wet fart.
Hunter drops his bag to the floor, sliding into the seat across from me. “I basically had a full-on conversation with you,” he grunts. “But apparently the lights are on but no one is home.”
Normally, I’d throw back some amazing remark—probably insult the red tips in his hair or the perfectly tailor-made jersey that cost more than a week’s worth of food—but I’m too annoyed right now.
And worse, I’m a horrible person because even though he’s done nothing wrong, I can’t help but resent him presently.
“Go fuck yourself,” I murmur.
Hunter recoils slightly, aghast. “Excuse me? What the hell have I done?”
I cross my arms, glaring at him. “Beside insinuating I’m fucking stupid?”
“Oh, get over it, Bexley,” he scoffs. “No love lost between us, remember?”
Ah… well, yes. Those were my words. But after my little tea party with his father, I don’t care how irrational or crazy I seem. Fuck this man, fuck his father, and fuck his damn audacity to use the words I said to my best friend against me.
“How could I forget,” I say darkly. “It wasn’t too long ago that you kidnapped me and left me abandoned in a cold warehouse overnight, making me nearly miss my mother’s funeral.”
You know what? Come to think of it… he’s never actually said sorry for that. I should never have fucked him six ways to Sunday. Asshole didn’t deserve it.
Someone probably should have warned him that women file information away in the dark corners of their brains, like tiny grenades, ready to detonate at any time—whether that’s a week or even fifty years down the track. So, yeah—we’re going to address that now.
Hunter’s mouth falls open in disbelief as he struggles to grasp our sudden one-eighty twist. “Seriously… I thought we moved past everything,” he says incredulously. “What has prompted all of this?”
Are you kidding me? He actually has the nerve to appear concerned?
No… we’re not doing logic or sense, Hunter. We’re fucking fighting.
That explains the times he turned up at my house.
Fight me, dammit.
I rise from my chair, glaring down at him. “You,” I answer firmly. “You caused all of this.”
By association.
By his past actions.
By the sudden demise of my sound judgment and the guilt and hatred I feel for letting him take that solid part of me.
At least I thought it was solid. Maybe I wasn’t as strong as I thought.
I wait for him to overreact, to be belligerent as always. It’s what I can always count on.
Right?
Hunter relaxes back in his chair, holding me under an intense stare. “If you keep seeing me as the villain in your story, then this will never work.”
My voice drops low as I meet his gaze. “You were the villain. That’s the problem.”
“Bexley…” He starts, voice softening.
“Dammit!” I yell, slamming my fists on the table top. “No! Don’t Bexley me, Hunter.”
His eyes slightly harden, but he still refuses to give me what I need. “You’re right,” he acknowledges. “I’m sorry for doing that. I regret it every day.”