“Really feeling the love right now, bro.”
“Calm your sarcasm, sis.” He spins me again and pats my ass like a ballplayer, directing me into my room. “You have half an hour then I’m dragging you out, ready or not.”
Thirty minutes later, dressed appropriately in my own pair of black skinny jeans, black and white Chucks, white V-neck, and leather jacket, I sit in the passenger seat of Pinky while JT drives us to King’s.
My hot pink Jeep sticks out like a sore thumb amongst the sea of matte black sports cars parked around the huge empty lot surrounding the buildings that serve as home base for Carter King and the Royalty Crew.
The bonfire that is a staple of these Royal Balls is going strong. T and Savvy are already here, standing with the other high schoolers staying far enough away so the smoke won’t give Savvy an asthma attack.
JT tucks me under his arm and leads us to where Carter and his aptly named second, Wesley Prince, hold court. He takes one of the open seats around the fire and pulls me to sit in his lap.
JT falls into easy conversation with the guys while I give a handful of chin jerks hello. I managed to hold it together during our stunting clinics last night and practice with both the Marshals and Admirals today—the latter significantly harder because of the Roberts Twins—but I’m all tapped out on social interaction.
I may not be a regular at these things like JT is when he’s home—until T and Savvy started attending, I used to hang with them instead—but nobody seems to be bothered by my silence. The lack of judgment and pettiness is actually one of my favorite things about the Royals.
With a two-year age gap between us and King, we didn’t mingle with him and his crew much past our mutual connection of T and Savvy’s friendship. But when shit started going down and the bullying got out of control at Blackwell Public, JT took matters into his own hands and sought out a more active friendship with the king—no pun intended—of Blackwell.
Being a member of one of the town’s founding families, Carter has connections all the way from the mayor’s office down to the gossiping elders. He has way more pull, and dare I say power, than one would think is typical for a person who is barely old enough to legally drink.
Outside of the obviously illegal street races—he inherited the operation then grew it into the biggest circuit in the tri-state area in a handful of years—no one really questions all the things the Royals are actively involved in.
I suspect the reason JT dragged me out tonight was to remind me that though Carter may be more his friend than mine—hence why he isn’t the CK in my life—he’s a friend nonetheless. There wasn’t anything they could do digitally, but King and his Royals were the ones to shut down the bullying that happened inside the halls of Blackwell Public.
Even after Carter graduated, Wes continued to uphold the Royal protection decree. So, being dragged to a Royal Ball instead of letting me wallow in a pint of Ben & Jerry’s? This is JT’s way of making sure I remember there are people who will have my back when he has to return to Kentucky tomorrow night.
When “Wasabi” by Little Mix comes on, I know T and Savvy have taken control of the sound system, and if I wasn’t so depressed, I would find them for an impromptu dance party. Instead, those nerve endings that would be tapping my feet and swiveling my hips are deadened, and my legs remain hanging limply over the side of the chair.
Like a box of Rice Krispies, the fire snaps, crackles, and pops. My attention is drawn to the dancing orange and red flames, watching the way the oxygen moves from the heat at the peak of the high teepee of stacked wood.
I’m free to zone out, but I can’t tell if it’s a blessing or a curse. It’s nice not having to fake being alright when I’m the farthest thing from it, except the flip side is any time I have too much time to think, my thoughts turn to Mas—fuck!—Mason.
I’m angry.
I’m hurt.
If you told me my heart had grown tear ducts, I would believe you since it literally feels like it’s weeping out the pain of missing him.
Guess I better get used to my new reality.
#Chapter9
By the time Trav and I emerge from his room with a plan to get Kay back, the Alpha party is in full swing downstairs. I come to a halt at the threshold, Trav bumping into me at my abrupt stop.
“Oh, shit,” Trav whispers at the sight of Grant Grayson glaring at us as he pauses in unlocking his own bedroom door.
Having been lost in my own head these last few days, I didn’t even think about the lack of communication from him. He warned me not to hurt his best friend, and that’s exactly what I did. His response—or more accurately, his lack of one—is a clear sign of whose side he’s taking in all this.
Guess he went with ‘sisters before misters’ instead of ‘bros before hoes’, huh?
We stand in a silent stare-off until the sound of running footsteps precedes Em’s appearance at the top of the stairs. “Oh, good.” She flicks a glance in my direction but dismisses me instantly, giving her full attention to Grayson. “You’re back.”
From over Em’s head, Grant’s dark gaze meets mine again, but he also ignores me and only speaks to her. “You’re still here?”
“I was waiting for you. JT knew you’d be mad enough he didn’t
