To have him touch me.
I should hate him for what he’s done. The names he’s called me. The things he’s put me through.
But I can’t just…leave him out here. He saved me. Despite everything he’s put me through, in the end, he helped me. And the weather is terrible. What if he’s seriously hurt? Internally bleeding?
Like an idiot, I turn and head back toward him. He watches me approach, shock registering on his handsome features as I draw closer and closer.
“Give me your hand.” I hold mine out.
He stares at it with a grimace before lifting his gaze to mine. “You came back.”
“I shouldn’t. You’re a complete dick.”
He laughs. “My charm won you over.”
“That and you coming to my rescue.” I wiggle my fingers at him. “Give me your hand or I’m leaving. And I’m never coming back.”
Whit isn’t stupid. He takes my hand and I brace my feet in the mud, trying to haul him up. But he weighs more than I do and the ground is slippery. Of course, my hand slips out of his grip and I’m the one who goes stumbling backward, my ass landing in the mud with a loud plop.
Despite his pain and the wounds on his face, despite the rain beating down upon us, he starts to laugh.
“Should’ve seen your face,” he says, shaking his head.
God, he’s the worst.
I’m sure I look completely undignified as I push myself out of the mud and rise to my feet once again. He does the same, struggling and groaning in what I can only imagine is tremendous pain as he eventually staggers to his feet.
Good. I hope he hurts so bad he can’t sleep tonight. It’s the least he deserves for what he’s put me through. I don’t care if he did save me from that asshole Elliot and his little friend.
“You gonna make it?” I ask him once he’s taken a few careful steps in my direction.
“Will you ah…” His voice drifts and he glances down for a moment before he looks back up, rain droplets clinging to his thick eyelashes. Of course, I would notice this. Despite the beating he took and the fact that he’s covered in mud, he’s still gorgeous. The fallen angel determined to lure me into darkness.
“Will I what?” I toss back at him, crossing my arms. I realize the rain has become lighter. And the thunder and lightning have completely disappeared.
“Walk me back to my room?” He takes another step toward me, his arm brushing mine and I grab hold of him, realizing that he’s actually pretty unsteady. “I know I weigh more than you and I don’t expect you to carry me, but it would help if you could maybe guide me there?”
I do not want a glimpse into the inner sanctum that is Whit’s exclusive dorm. I’m guessing Sylvie must live in one of the private dorm suites as well.
“I shouldn’t help you,” I tell him warily, keeping my distance. Watching him as if he’s a snake prepared to strike. I don’t trust him. He’ll turn this around on me somehow. Make it look like I snuck into his room and then I’ll become the campus whore.
Though I wouldn’t doubt I already hold that title.
“You shouldn’t,” he agrees.
We stare at each other, rain dripping off of us. He still cradles his arm against his stomach, and I wonder how bad his ribs are. Bruised? Broken? He’ll be in really bad shape if they’re broken, and what if moving him makes everything worse?
I glance over my shoulder, my dorm hall looming in the near distance. A thought forms in my mind, one that is absolutely ridiculous, but now would be the time to make it happen. No one’s around. They’re all at the game. We have plenty of time.
“Can you walk?” I ask as I go to him. I slip my arm around his waist and hold him steady, trying to ignore the heat of his skin that burns through his saturated shirt.
We start to move, his steps halting, his face wracked with pain. He leans into me, almost too heavily, and I brace my feet, trying to remain stable. “Feels like I can’t breathe,” he mutters.
That’s his ribs. Has to be.
My mind made up, I steer him gently toward my building. “We’re going to my room,” I tell him.
“What the hell? No way.” He laughs, immediately clamping his lips shut. I’m sure that hurt. “They catch me in your room, you’ll be expelled.”
“No, I won’t. And you’ll make sure of that.” We walk side by side, his heavy arm slung across my shoulders, my arm still around his waist.
“What do you mean?” There’s a pause between each word, as if it took a lot out of him to say that, and I try not to let that little detail worry me.
But it does.
“You’re a Lancaster. Untouchable. We’ll tell the truth, and nothing will happen to me,” I say simply as we approach the double doors of my building.
“Don’t you have an advisor watching the front desk?” he asks.
“They’re all at the game.” When I left for my jog, the front desk was empty.
I’m hoping it still is.
“You’re taking a chance, Savage,” he says admirably. “I don’t know if that’s brave or fucking stupid.”
Probably both, is what I want to tell him.
But I keep my mouth shut.
Nine
Summer
Somehow, I get him into my room, though it’s not easy. We had to pause a lot. He coughed once, and I thought he might pass out, but maybe that’s me being overly worried. I had to shove him against the wall and hold him there, praying he wouldn’t lose consciousness. He’s too heavy. There’s no way I could’ve lifted him.
When I finally get him into my room, I guide him toward the chair at my desk, helping him sit. I realize quickly that he’s shivering from the cold and his wet clothes.
I’m shivering too.
“I’ll be right back.” I hold my index finger in front of his face, trying to sound like I mean business. “Don’t move.”
“I couldn’t if I tried,” he croaks, trying to crack a smile and failing miserably.
I leave him in my room and go to the communal bathroom, where I grab a couple of towels and a washcloth. I go to the sink and turn on the water, running it until it’s scalding, then saturate the washcloth with it, wringing it out quickly before I shut the water off. I scurry back down the hall, knowing we don’t have a lot of time until the game is finished and everyone comes back to the dorms.
I need to get his clothes, and mine, into a dryer. I can’t have anyone notice that I have boy’s clothes either, so I need to mix them in with other stuff. It won’t look unusual that I’m doing my laundry on a Friday night. No one likes me at this school. I have no friends.
What else am I supposed to do?
I enter my room to find he’s still sitting in the chair, his pants puddled around his feet. He glances up at me with a grimace. “Get this shit off of me,” he groans.
Irritation filling me, I go to him and kneel on the floor in front of him, pulling off his shoes first, then peeling off his socks. I go to grab his trousers and I realize his boxer briefs are there too.
Slowly I look up at him to find he’s smirking at me. Despite everything. The pain and the wet clothes and the crazy situation we’re currently in, he’s got an arrogant look on his face and I know exactly why.