Page 24
“That line of questioning is inappropriate,” I state, my voice smooth enough to keep it from sounding like the threat it is. “Meg has demonstrated extraordinary strength and discipline returning to the lacrosse program. That’s what tonight is about. Not dramatizing her trauma. We’re done here.”
Out of the corner of my vision, Meg’s eyes cut to mine, wide and drowning. Silence falls heavily around us, and I waste no time in whisking her away, leaving the journalists to choke on the tension they’ve created. Her hand is cold now, gripping mine too tightly, but I don’t loosen my hold. Guiding her off the platform, past the moderator’s startled apology, past Dean Colt’s pale face, I angle my body between Meg and the cameras that lift. The only reaction the papers will be able to print is the image of my back.
The cold air outside hits like a wash of mercy, allowing Meg to breathe deep enough for it to rattle in her chest. Our driver has the door open and ready, my hand shielding the top of her head as Meg all but crawls inside. I slide in beside her, shrugging out of my jacket and wrapping it around her shoulders before fastening her seatbelt. The movements are automatic and practical, and the fact Meg doesn’t fight me along the way is more worrying than anything else that has happened this evening.
The limo pulls away, flashes smearing against the windows as I tuck her into my side, too tired to pretend I’m still acting solely out of decency. After the past hour of being her distant support, I simply want her close. Streetlights pass, each one highlighting the tic in my jaw until Meg’s voice breaks through the silence.
“Did you know?” she asked, and I don’t need any more clarity around her question. I have no doubt my father played a hand in orchestrating every minute of this evening, down to the questions being fired our way. He gave Meg an opportunity to prove herself, not caring if she was ready for it or not.
“I suspected it might come up, but not so boldly.” I admit. Meg looks at me then, and I feel the weight of everything she doesn’t say. Her anger would be easier to combat, but instead, she simply looks exhausted, softened by shock, and wrapped in my jacket like I didn’t fail to protect her. The rest of the drive is quiet, shrouded in everything I’m unable to say. Meg won’t care for my explanations, we’re too far gone for any hopes that we could be more than just rivals. That’s how our story has panned out, and that’s all we’ll ever be.
Reaching Hawthorne House, I step out first and scan the path. There isn’t a photographer or one of my father’s assistants in sight. Just dark windows, damp stone, and the faint pulse of music from somewhere upstairs. Swallowing down my regret and terrible decisions, I walk Meg inside, up the stairs, and all the way to her door where her gym bag sits abandoned on the mat.
“It’s done now,” I state coldly as she bends to lift it. Clearing my throat, I struggle to keep my gaze on her and not the door over to the right, vibrating on its hinges. “For what it’s worth, you didn’t fuck up half as much as I thought you would.”
“Brilliant, thanks.” Meg rolls my eyes with a spark of irritation. I almost grin, a lightness exploding through my chest. Time and time again, Meg’s resilience never fails to amaze me. It’s part of her appeal, how she always bounces back and finds a glimmer of herself deep inside. Unlike me, who is steadily losing himself one piece at a time.
She slips inside her room, not so much as saying goodbye, not that I expected any different. It’s not like I gave her much of a choice this evening, the leash around my neck extending to us both.
For a moment, I linger in the hallway, standing between two closed doors and the wreckage waiting behind each one. Meg on one side, wrapped in my jacket and all of the damage I failed to shield her from. Cody on the other, silent, furious, and further from me than he has ever felt, despite being only a few feet away. Slowly, I cross to his door and brace my hand against the wood, the grain cool beneath my palm.
“Hey Code,” I whisper, pathetic enough to say it and coward enough not to knock. My fingers drag along the grooves before falling away as I force myself to keep walking. Leaving both doors shut. Leaving behind both people who have shredded my heart without knowing how deeply I can bleed. Leaving before I decide the knot of red silk at my neck would be an ideal noose.
Chapter Thirteen
It takes less than one minute of scrolling through the campus feed with my eyes barely open to see what the entire academy is talking about this morning. ‘Chemistry on and off the Field?’ glows viciously against the darkness of my pillow, and my morning breath turns even more bitter.
Beneath the headline, Everest stands tall against the warm courtyard lights in a charcoal suit, red tie at his throat and golden hair catching every flash of the cameras. Meg is clinging to his side in a red dress, her face tilted toward his with an expression the forum has already decided is a lethal mix of affection and desire. They look…good together. Perfectly marketable. I keep staring because apparently self-harm comes in many forms. Then, I throw the phone across the room.
It hits the laundry basket and lands face-up between a discarded sweater and a pair of jeans. The photograph remains there, glowing faintly amongst the mess, Everest and Meg frozen within the screen. I don’t need to read the comments, but I can imagine them. Students tearing apart the way his hand sits at her lower back, speculating whether their rivalry has turned into something else. I merely lie there, my back teeth grinding together.
Two days of radio silence from me, and he’s flaunting her in front of the press. So that’s it then? The distraction Everest begged me to set, the fire, the fallout, it was all for nothing because Everest has gotten his own way after all.
Slowly, my gaze lifts to the opposite wall, and I can’t help but wonder if he’s in there with her. Did he stay the night? Whilst I was vibing to my music and finally painting something other than her, did he sneak in and throw all of our efforts back in my face?
Rolling onto my back, I fight a war against my head and my heart. One says kick the door down and take the answers I seek, the other asks, why is it never me? Why can’t I walk the red carpet on his arm, proud to be his arm candy? Will the campus ever gossip about us? Is loving another man so wrong, or is it simply Everest I’ll never be able to have? Those racing thoughts and more drag me out of bed.
I take my anger all the way to the bathroom, towel over my shoulder, shower bag in hand and wispy white hair loose around my face. Meg’s door is shut. I look at Meg’s door, a fleeting glance that worries Everest might materialize before I force myself to turn and walk away. Slamming the bathroom door a little harder than necessary, I twist the lock and strip. Reaching for the shower, my fingers have only just touched the chrome when a harsh, shrieking sound cuts through the room.
For one stupid second, my heart ceases in my chest. Fire. Smoke. Everest on the floor, Meg choking on the tiles. My arms burn with the memory of dragging them backwards, hot panic closing around my throat. Then reality crashes in, and I blink away the images flashing before my eyes. There’s no smoke, no heat beneath the door, no shouting other than the alarm itself.
On a curse, I wrap my towel around my waist and storm out of the bathroom, taking the stairs directly towards the fire exit. Clothed or not, I need to show up for roll call, or the professors will come searching. A small voice in the back of my head wonders if just Meg will follow me down the stairs, or if her guilty nightcap will be right behind her. Either way, I don’t get the chance to find out.
Halfway down the first flight of stairs, the alarm stops so suddenly, it continues ringing in my ears. Pausing with one hand on the railing, I frown and glance around as I hear the bathroom door on the floor above close, the deadbolt slamming into place. Slightly disoriented, I laugh once under my breath. So that’s how we’re playing. Fine by me.
Returning to my room, ignoring the steam curling beneath the bathroom door on the way past, I dress quickly. Dragging black denim over my thighs and pulling a sweater over my head, I stuff my feet into unlaced boots and don’t bother trying to style my unruly hair. Finally, I bend to grab my phone, the screen unlocking to the same photo of them.
This time, I look closer at Meg’s face, at the way her eyes are fixed on Everest like he’s the only stable thing in her entire world. His hand is on her spine, his fingers gentle yet protective in a way he keeps insisting has nothing to do with wanting her. I zoom in on Everest’s expression until pixels distort, his façade falling away as the image breaks down into meaningless colored squares. Whether he’s playing a role or not doesn’t make me feel any better. Nothing does. Only getting rid of her will.
Closing the forum, I swallow hard, shooting a message to the number I saved but haven’t had the balls to contact yet. It’s a simple order to meet me before period one by the back entrance to the music block, one with just enough mystery and firmness that it won’t be ignored. Grabbing my satchel, I head out before I can think better of it, and before Meg has left the shower. I’d be lying if I said my ears didn’t prick up on the way past, listening for any moans or low laughter. Thankfully for my mental state, there’s none.
The central courtyard is disturbingly awake by the time I stride across it, students moving in clusters and failing to hide giggles behind their hands. Gazes cut across to the main notice board, namely to the posters which have been printed in their full glossy, oversized glory and pinned up for everyone to see.
Everest and Meg beneath golden lights. Everest and Meg on the carpet. Everest and Meg seated beside each other at the panel, her red dress matching his tie like the picture-perfect coordinated couple.
I don’t slow down, both not wanting to and unable to give anyone the satisfaction of seeing my face change. I can break behind closed doors, that’s the deal. But still, I catch fragments of those images in the corner of my vision. His hand on her thigh. Her body angled into his. The whole board is a shrine to the new power duo, the captainship no one saw coming but won’t be able to stop watching. Gripping my satchel strap, it takes more effort than expected not to tear every poster down with my bare hands, my steps wooden as I head for the far edge of campus.
Reaching the music block, I round to the rear entrance. It’s overgrown, outdated, and forgotten by everyone except first-years who take wrong turns and dealers meeting their clients, me included. The bell for period one won’t go for another twenty minutes, so I expect to sit around and count down with my foot twitching. However, as I cross the cracked stone pathway, Laura is already there waiting.
