Page 58

I can’t sleep, which is ridiculous because I’m fucking exhausted. I’ve been driving through the night, and only agreed to pull over into this shabby motel because my eyes started to droop.

Even without Thiago’s bizarre and long-winded threats, I wasn’t going to put Meg’s safety at risk, especially not on this first leg of the journey toward Harrison. She agreed to humor me in this whole ordeal, but I can tell she’s not convinced. She doesn’t think we’ll find him or Laura, or that I’ll stand by her side throughout. That’s why I’m determined to prove myself, starting with the pillow wall between us in the bed. I’ll behave, for as long as she wants me to.

So here I am, lying on my side on the lumpy motel mattress, one arm folded beneath my head and silently watching the glow of Meg’s phone around her brunette hair. She’s curled away from me, fully invested in a message exchange that I don’t have to see to know who is on the other end.

Before I shut my phone off, Thiago had been messaging me too, a string of updates on how Meg’s room smells, a selfie of him on her bed, and a warning that this short trip is the only time I’ll get to test out my theory with Meg. To see if she really likes me when I don’t have to be the perfect captain everyone else expects.

Inhaling the stale air, I cringe at the scent of damp carpet that’s carried through the overpowering floral cleaner someone has been too liberal with. A neon sign flashes beyond the paper-thin curtains, staining the ceiling in pulses of red, then darkness, then red again. Like everything else around me, it irritates me to no end. The thin blanket, the creaking bedframe, the outdated television on the bulky dresser.

I tune it all out in favor of tuning into Meg’s breathing, a small gasp passing her lips on occasion. Being so close makes it impossible to keep up the pretense that I don’t want to rip the phone from her hand and claim every inch of her. But that’s not going to solve anything. I’ve spent years convincing myself her fury was the thing I wanted most, that it was the only version of her I understood. Now, I want Meg to see what’s underneath the bully who’s taunted her all these years, and to choose to give herself over to me willingly.

Finally, she locks the screen with more force than necessary and places her phone on the nightstand. The room darkens instantly, leaving only the neon wash and the thin silver line of moonlight cutting across the bed. She shifts onto her back first, staring at the ceiling before deciding the springs protruding into her back won’t do at all, then carefully turns onto her other side.

Her movements are cautious, as if she’s trying not to wake me. As if I could sleep with her this close. As if I haven’t been cataloging every restless breath for the past twenty minutes like a looming predator watching a prey that continuously evades him.

Yet, all of her attempts to be subtle are blown by her hair catching beneath her shoulder, her cami vest twisting, and her soft exhale being filled with frustration. Only then does Meg blink against the darkness and realize I’m watching.

“Oh, hi,” she whispers awkwardly, pulling her arms tight against her chest. “I thought you were sleeping.”

“I've been thinking,” I reply in an instant. There’s no use pretending I was doing anything else, like plotting just how I’m going to use Thiago’s resources and then find a way to shove him out of Meg’s life. As counterproductive as it would be, it’s a satisfying thought.

“About what?” Meg’s expression shifts instantly, caution flickering across her face, followed by something heated she poorly tries to smother before I can enjoy it. Meg is incredible at a lot of things, but hiding from me has never been one of them. She swallows, wets her lips, and I track the movement shamelessly. Apparently, I misplaced the last of my self-control somewhere between our last service station stop and the peeling motel wallpaper.

“That you have no idea how beautiful you are when you're angry.” Meg’s entire body stills. I see the reaction hit her, the faint widening of her eyes, the way her thoughts seem to stumble over one another. For once, I don’t smirk. I don’t attempt to soften the truth with cruelty or hide it behind arrogance. I simply lie there in the dark and let the truth settle between us.

Tomorrow, we’re going to get closer to Harrison than she has in a year. Tomorrow, I might watch her break or blossom into the girl I’ve always known she is. Not even the girl she was before the blood trails, the rumors, and the fear taught her to question her own rage. She’ll be someone even more formidable, and I’ll be the man standing in her shadow, grinning with malice and radiating with pride.

When Meg doesn’t respond, I inhale and dig deeper. We’re far beyond surface-level emotions now.

“I've always been surrounded by people who mask every thought and feeling, keeping their intentions locked behind sly smiles. I remember the first time I saw you on the pitch. You were a powerhouse, charging forward and at the last second, you swung and missed the goal.”

The memory returns with painful clarity. Hollowbrook’s pitch in early autumn, the program scouts leaning against the stands with clipboards, ready to pass their judgment. I’d been waiting for my own scheduled slot, every inch of my styled hair and crisp white uniform appearing effortless. It was my father’s first uniform, and he insisted we always dress for the role we want.

“Mmmm,” Meg twists her lips. “That was the first time I bashed my stick against the goalposts until it snapped, and it wasn’t the last.”

“You were glorious,” I reply instantly, a small rumble bleeding from my chest. “I'd never seen such raw emotion. You embraced your rage, leaving it out there for everyone to see.”

Her brows lift, doubt ever-present in her blue eyes. She probably remembers that day for her unladylike explosion, after which the scouts dragged her into an office and lectured her on talent vs. discipline and composure.

That’s not how I remember it. I was preparing to warm up when I heard that shout, the snapping of a stick cracking against the post. The scout's whispers came next, but my eyeline had already been drawn to Meg, and the breath was instantly knocked out of me. She’d missed her shot, and she had no reservations in allowing the fury to rip out of her so violently that it echoed across the field. Everyone stared, most of which looked appalled. Not me. I was in awe.

Shifting slightly, unable to stand the distance any longer, I close my hands around her wrists. Meg flinches, the reaction passes through her skin and into my fingers. I still at once, keeping my thumbs gentle as they brush over her frantic pulse. She doesn’t have to fear me, and I instantly hate myself for being another person she is wary of.

“That's the day I decided I would become the cause of your anger. I wanted your outbursts, your hatred, and all of your attention.”

The confession leaves me on an exhale, the weight I’ve been carrying around seeping away so she might be able to see underneath it. I’ve spent years making an art form out of provoking Meg, convincing myself it was all in the name of keeping our rivalry alive. Now I’m staring into her eyes and stroking her wrists, I can see what it really was. Obsession.

“Everest,” she breathes, holding my gaze the best she can in the darkness. “Why am I really here?” I swallow hard, batting down all of the instant responses that try to slide from my tongue. I could act as if I’m the noble hero, caring for Laura’s well-being or exacting justice on Harrison, but if I want Meg to trust me tomorrow, then I need to give her the truth. Lifting one hand and tucking her hair behind her ear, I let my fingers linger along the curve of her jaw.

“You're the only person I've ever known who didn't have to hide until someone gave you a reason to. We're going to correct that travesty.” Knowing I’ve revealed more than I was prepared to give, I start to pull back, but Meg’s hand closes around my forearm. The contact stops me more effectively than any command could.

“And then what happens?” she asks, ignoring the pillow wall to lean into me now. I study her within the neon glow, searching her eyes for the reply she wants. After a beat, I realize it’s not my place.

“That's a question only you can answer.” Glancing away, I try to find comfort in not hiding behind a façade anymore. In doing the right thing, by Meg at least. This is her story, her choice, and she’s had enough men speaking for her. I don’t want to decide for her anymore. I only want whatever she’s willing to give. “We should rest. Can I...”

My voice trails off, unable to find words that wouldn’t be completely pathetic. I’ve been with Meg before, kissed her, fucked her, yet asking to hold her is different. It’s asking for intimacy that she doesn’t owe me.

Yet, as I move, Meg doesn’t stop me. I drag the pillows away and let my hand settle over her hip, moving slowly enough for her to halt me at any time. She doesn’t. Instead, her body shifts toward mine, hesitant at first, but as she gets close enough for her warmth to sink through the thin barrier of clothing between us, that hesitation resolves. I pull her against me, displaying incredible restraint as I press a kiss to her forehead. Bracing her hands on my chest, my heart thuds powerfully in an attempt to get closer to her.