“Thanks for coming back,” I say as I get inside, the sarcasm evident in my voice.
Bodhi turns in the front seat, his stupid grin wide as he looks between me and Corbin. “Don’t thank us,” he says. “Corb insisted.”
I jerk my eyes toward my seatmate, but he’s staring out the window, drumming his fingers on his thighs.
The ride back is as quiet as it was before, but Corbin doesn’t grip my leg this time, and I almost miss the touch. Almost.
As soon as we get home, I let out a sigh of relief at the familiar garage.
“Don’t breathe a word of this.” Corbin’s mouth is by my ear, and I lean into him without thinking. But as quickly as it was there, it’s gone.
I’m being pulled from inside, pushed up the steps and into the hallway, and deposited back outside my bedroom door before I can blink.
They walk away in silence, and I watch them go, making sure I’m alone before I enter my bedroom and shut and lock my door. I perch on the side of the bed. I’m not sure for how long, but I don’t move until I see a light outside my room. Creeping to the wall, I hesitantly peer around the side of the window, spying as the garage door opens and the Maserati crawls back out, turning down the driveway. It has to be them. Mom wouldn’t leave in the middle of the night.
I sigh and rub my eyes. Things just got a lot more interesting around here.
I leave the bathroom light on to cut some of the darkness as I crawl into bed still fully dressed. I pull the comforter up and even after I drift off, I see cold green eyes in my dreams the rest of the night.
3
Corbin
“What the hell? What was that?” I ask as soon as I’m back in Brock’s room after dropping Landry at her door. I clasp my hands behind my neck, pulling down, as if the pressure would take away what we did.
“What was what?” Bodhi asks, lounging on the bed, scrolling through something on his phone. He doesn’t even bother to look up at me.
“Calm down,” Brock mutters and then drops to the floor, where he starts doing sit-ups. “There’s nothing to worry about.”
“What if she calls the cops?”
“She’s not going to call the cops,” Bodhi groans, finally looking up and pinning his gaze on me. “Sit down before you fuckin’ wear a hole in the carpet.”
I drop to the side of the bed and place a hand on each knee, calming my breathing.
“What’s got your ass so worked up?”
“You know what,” I growl, putting an end to the conversation Bodhi so clearly wants to have.
“Yeah, we told you we got you, man. Quit flipping the fuck out.”
I know he means well, but a small part of me is still internally screaming. I don’t need this right now. I can’t deal with this, and I fuckin’ told them that. I’m pissed, and I want to punch something.
“You’ve”—grunt—“never cared”—grunt—“this much before,” Brock says in between sit-ups.
I give in, striking the mattress with one closed fist. “I’ve never had anything to lose before,” I say quietly, teeth clenched. “I told you I didn’t want to do this. We didn’t have to pull her out of bed and interrogate her like we were in the Mafia.”
“You don’t have a choice, man. We are a team. You know, the three, the triple threat, the Three Kings of Almadale Prep.” Brock’s mocking voice grates on my ears.
I know the terms people call us, and I have always secretly basked in the glory of being a king. We all have. But real life is interfering now, not that these two idiots would know anything about that.
“But she isn’t dumb, and neither is her mother. We couldn’t risk her room being bugged, so we had to take her out of the house. We talked about this.”
I scoff and stand, pacing the floor again, hands looped back around my neck. “I know. I’m not bailing.”
“Of course you aren’t,” Brock says, a rare laugh erupting out of him, as if the mere idea of me walking away from our little group were a joke.
It’s always been us, ever since we arrived at Almadale Prep, freshman year.
“Sit down. We got shit to discuss.” Brock grabs his T-shirt from the end of the bed and wipes his face off. “We had to get the ball rolling, see what she knows. I can’t tell if her little Miss Innocent act is just that—an act—but we sure as hell will find out.”
“I don’t think it’s an act.”
“We know you don’t. You always think the best of everyone. Maybe cut that shit out every once in a while.” Bodhi laughs and sits up, scooting up toward the headboard.
I plop down beside him, exhaling loudly. “She doesn’t know anything,” I grumble, tired of being harassed for my good nature.
The guys try to make me hard, but … I don’t know … maybe I don’t have it in me. Not that anyone else at Prep knows. They all think we are impenetrable, that nothing can get to us. That’s why my secret is so important to me. Nothing can jeopardize my future. Nothing.
“You don’t know that,” Brock says, leveling me with a serious look.
“I know she wasn’t acting.” I think of the way her blue eyes flashed in anger at us and how something about it brought out a strange, almost primal side of me.
“Of course she was. Everyone is always acting.” Bodhi laughs, sitting up beside me. “No one ever acts like themselves. You should know that most of all.”
“Fuck off,” I snarl.
“Chill.” Brock steps forward, pausing when his phone pings in his hand. He frowns as he swipes the screen, the silence growing longer in the room.
“What’s up?” Bodhi asks.
Brock’s head snaps up. “Nothing. I gotta split for a little while.”
“Drop me at the bus stop?” I ask, and he watches me for a minute, his stormy gaze unreadable.
“Damn, you are both abandoning me?” Bodhi whines, and we ignore him.
“Come on,” Brock says, giving me a chin up, and I follow him out.
We walk in silence. Brock is immersed in whatever he’s typing on his phone, so he doesn’t see me slow down at her door. I crane my neck, listening for any sounds but not hearing anything. Part of me wants to apologize to her, but I know I’d never hear the end of it from the guys if I did. She isn’t to be trusted—yet.
I keep replaying her wide eyes, ones I could get lost in if I were a different guy, and her shaking hands as we led her down the hallway. I feel like an ass. But I have more than just me to focus on now. I can’t be playing stupid games anymore.
Brock is silent as we climb in, checking his phone once more before putting the car in drive and pulling out. I can tell he’s got something on his mind, but if he wants to talk about it, he can let me know. We are tight, but we know when to push and when not to. I glance up at Landry’s window as we leave, and maybe my eyes are playing tricks on me, but I see movement.
“What do you know about Peyton Rossman?”
“Peyton Rossman?” I jerk my head to the side and study Brock. What an odd person to bring up.
There’s definitely history with her and Almadale Prep, but she left last year and hasn’t been seen since.