“I’m a fan of lacrosse.” There’s never been a bigger lie uttered from my lips.
“Go ahead and admit you’re here to check on Breaker.” She giggles. “You two can pretend if you want, but you’re end game. Have been since we found Georgina’s body in the woods.”
I hate the reminder and try my hardest not to think about that night. One single evening shifted everything. Palmer and I had no idea, but that night forever solidified the Glass House Boys to us. From there, we couldn’t help but fall into their wicked spell. Look where that got the two of us. We found ourselves stuck under the control of others and nearly got ourselves killed.
My best friend has drawn the long stick in this deal. She’s gotten the love of her life. A boy incapable of emotions has settled deep into her heart, proving some people aren’t what they seem to be. I’m happy for her, truly, but I’d be a piece of shit to admit the truth of my hurt. My story didn’t end with fireworks and romance. Mine ended with a bloody dress and a knife in my hand.
“Palmer, I’m not here . . .” My words drift off when I see the truth heading our way.
“You’ve got to be kidding me!” Palmer groans.
“Hey, Laney!” Tripp jumps up on the cement wall and holds onto the metal bar separating the field from the fans. “I thought you were going to sit with Trish and the girls.”
I cut my eyes to Palmer, then inch down the bleachers to sit in front of Tripp. “Yeah, I might as well put the gun in their hands and pull the trigger for them.”
“I plan on winning them over.”
“Unlikely.” Marek comes up behind Tripp and smacks the back of his head. “Delaney can do better than you, and you know it, or else you wouldn’t be insecure in her presence.”
“I’m not insecure,” Tripp counters, proving Marek’s point.
Marek hops onto the wall next to me, leaning his forearms on the railing, looking the part of the school bad boy. “Well, my boy’s about to prove how inferior you are in life and on the field. Buckle up, mother fucker.” Marek makes a show of closing his eyes and taking a deep inhale through his nose. “Smells like cracked skulls.”
“Okay, go sit down, Marek. I don’t need a bodyguard.” I shove him, then smile when I catch his grin as he walks over to Palmer.
“I’m not afraid of them, Delaney. I know they’re a package deal with you. Maybe, in the not so far future, you’ll feel confident in calling me yours, and when that happens, they’ll lay off.”
“You want to be my boyfriend?” I hate how shredded my self-worth is that I’d ever doubt someone of Tripp’s stature would want to be in a relationship with me.
The DuPont family is old money, the exact kind of deep pockets my parents have always dreamed of me being with. Polished and refined. Cocky with a strength that goes deeper than the body. When I look at him, I see a future that’s mapped out for me. There’s comfort to be had in the life he could give me.
I close my eyes to imagine it. As the image of me walking down the aisle at the DuPont estate hits me, I open my eyes, expecting to see Tripp wearing a navy-blue suit.
But it’s not him. Breaker Davenport. I shake my head, trying to force myself to face a reality where my future doesn’t depend on these very moments.
Tripp smiles like he can see my thoughts, and I reach out to grip his shoulders, tugging us close between the slats of the railing. Right over Tripp’s shoulder, I watch Breaker walk onto the field. Unlike most athletes, the uniform doesn’t wear him. No, he owns every fiber of his jersey. His eyes are glued to mine, and I’m stuck, unable to break away, watching him twist the lacrosse stick in his hand.
“He’s ready for war,” I whisper, not meaning to. “Shit, sorry.”
As if Tripp can sense him, he keeps an eye on Breaker strolling towards us. I beg and plead in silence for him to stop before he reaches the track. When he does, I sigh.
“If he wants a war, Laney, then a war is something I’ll give him.” Tripp leans up, popping a kiss on my mouth. This special attention isn’t for me, though. The confidence in his walk as he inches closer to Breaker is frustrating. He thinks there’s a competition. They come shoulder to shoulder, both keeping their focus on anything but the other’s face. Breaker’s eyes are watching me.
My breath hitches when Breaker advances away first, heading directly for me. Reality is I should go up and sit next to Palmer. Something has me frozen in place, hungry for whatever storm he’s about to deliver.
Once he’s at the wall, he leans against the cool cement. His arms are crossed over his chest, and the tattoos covering his skin stretch over his tight muscles. From where I’m sitting, Breaker’s profile is visible, but by tracking his eyes, it’s easy to see he’s locked in on Tripp.
Thinking he plans on lingering here without saying anything, I open my mouth to alleviate the unnecessary silence. As I do, he spins, and his once-flat face shifts to pleased.
“What?” My annoyance is loud and clear.
“Wondering if he knows you hate being called Laney, is all.” Breaker swipes his tongue over the new lip piercing, caressing the metal loop.
Dammit. I hate he knows that without me needing to tell him.
Tripp started calling me Laney when his family stayed with mine over the New Year. Not having the heart to tell him I despise the nickname, I pretend like I find it cute.
“I hate you,” I groan, frantically looking for an out.
“You don’t hate me. You hate yourself for letting someone like Tripp DuPont give you some cutesy version of your name when you know you hate it. You
