Page 58 of Dead Girls Don’t Forget

“I’m fine,” I said, twisting my hair into a quick knot.

He didn’t push. He simply watched me for another second, then opened the door and stepped out into the cold. I snatched my panties from the floor, balled them in my fist, and climbed out the other side. The night air hit my bare legs hard. I walked around the car without looking at him and got into the front passenger seat.

The drive home was silent. No music. No conversation. Just the dark road stretching ahead and the heavy, unspoken weight between us.

I stared out the window, jaw locked, forcing the walls back up piece by piece. They had only been down for a few reckless minutes, but the damage felt larger than that.

He pulled up in front of my house and killed the engine.

I reached for the door handle.

“Harper.”

I stopped.

His voice came low in the dark. “I’m not going to pretend this didn’t happen. And I’m not going to let you pretend either.”

I swallowed. “It doesn’t change anything.”

“It already has.”

Chapter 22: Compartmentalized

Morning came too early. I rolled out of bed with a low groan, every muscle reminding me exactly what I’d done the night before. A deep, satisfied soreness lingered in places I refused to think about. I shuffled into the bathroom on autopilot and flipped on the light.

One look in the mirror was enough.

My hair was a complete disaster, tangled and flattened on one side. The mascara had somehow survived better than expected, only slightly smudged. But none of that held my attention. Right at the curve where my neck met my shoulder sat a dark, unmistakable hickey. Deep purple. Impossible to hide.

I stared at it for a long second.

“That rat bastard.”

My cat purred, the traitorous little shit sounding entirely too satisfied.

Concealer took the edge off the worst of the color, but it didn’t hide the mark completely. I cursed under my breath, grabbed a long-sleeved training top, and zipped it all the way to my throat. The rest of my gear followed fast. I was out the door and heading for the track before anyone else in the house was awake.

The locker room was already half full when I walked in. I went to my usual locker beside Cassidy, set my bag down, and unzipped the long-sleeved top. The second the high collar left my neck, the air changed.

“Oh my god.”

I looked over at Cassidy.

She stepped closer, staring at my neck. “Harper. Is that a hickey?”

I slammed my locker shut. “It’s nothing.”

“That is not nothing. That thing is massive.” She grinned, delighted. “Did Jackson do that?”

I grabbed my hair tie and twisted my hair up. “Drop it, Cassidy.”

“I can’t. This is the most interesting thing that’s happened all week.” She leaned in, still staring. “Does it hurt? It looks like it hurts.”

“It doesn’t.”

A locker slammed behind us. Naomi stood a few feet away, eyes fixed on my neck, expression already twisting into something ugly.

“Wow,” she said, voice dripping with venom. “Nice souvenir. Guess you had a busy night.”