I pull away from his touch, putting as much steel in my voice as I can. “Then I don’t know why you’re asking. Like you said, you were there. Of course I’m not fucking okay.”
A flash of pain flits through his eyes, and he reaches for me again, but I stand quickly, hunching over so I don’t hit my head. Then I grab my backpack and duck out from under the bleachers, walking quickly back toward the school.
I didn’t ask for this. Any of it. Not this crushing secret. Not the bond I can’t seem to shake or ignore that pulls me toward these four dangerous, overwhelming boys.
The cafeteria is closing by the time I make it inside, so I just grab a bag of gummy bears from the vending machine. I can only eat a few, but the sugar helps boost my energy for a bit. I make it through the rest of the day on autopilot, trudging from one class to the next until the final bell rings.
Of course, my day isn’t over yet. I still have fucking detention. As I’m headed toward the large room on the second floor, I pass by Savannah and a few of the other cheerleaders. They move toward me as a group as I walk by, and Savannah gives me a shove. “Have fun in detention, you skank.”
Her voice is a furious hiss, and she still looks like a wreck—her eyes are bloodshot, and her normally perfect hair is lanky and flat, like she hasn’t washed it in a couple days.
I’m torn between wanting to shove her back and wanting to… I don’t know, hug her or something. But I know she wouldn’t accept sympathy from me, and we don’t really have that kind of relationship anyway. So I ignore her and keep walking.
The teacher’s assistant checks me into detention, and without even looking, I know exactly where River is sitting. I can feel his gaze on me from the back of the classroom, but this time, I ignore it, picking a seat right up at the front.
It doesn’t stop him from watching me though.
18
When we get out of detention, River follows me out of the school, where I find Lincoln waiting. I honestly forgot to consider how I would get home after detention when Lincoln offered to drive me this morning, but I can’t be totally pleased that he waited.
It’s a nice gesture, yes.
But it’s also something else.
Controlling.
He and River keep me between them as we walk to the parking lot. Then River dips his chin in a nod before splitting off to meet up with Dax and Chase, who are still here too for some reason, lounging by Dax’s car. As soon as my seatbelt is buckled and Lincoln starts the engine, I cut an angry look toward him.
“I’m not a fucking flight risk, you know. And I already told you I won’t tell anybody. Why don’t you believe me?”
“Maybe it’s because I’d need several more hands if I wanted to count on my fingers how many times you’ve lied to me,” he responds with a low snort.
“Maybe that was self-preservation, asshole.”
“And maybe this is too,” he shoots back with a sharp look in my direction.
I bite my tongue on my response to that. I already know it’s self-preservation on his part, and I could throw some choice insults his way for that. But he’s trying to protect his friends too; I have to grudgingly respect that.
But apparently, he wasn’t kidding about not believing me.
For the next week, I feel like I’m under constant surveillance. Lincoln drives me to and from school, and inside the halls of Linwood, the guys keep a rotating security detail on me. They either sit with me at lunch, or if I manage to sneak off under the bleachers, Dax and Chase find me and stay with me until the bell rings. I wish I could enjoy their company, wish I could believe for a second that they were actually hanging out with me because they liked me as a person, but I can’t.
They just don’t want to leave me on my own. They’re watching me to make sure I don’t crack, that the strain doesn’t get to me. That I don’t say the wrong thing to the wrong person. In detention, River loiters outside the room to wait for me and only chooses his seat after I’ve picked mine—always the one right next to me.
I don’t quite get why that’s necessary. I mean, is he planning to slap my phone out of my hand if I try texting under the desk? It’s not like the four of them can actually monitor me every second. My mom already knows something’s going on with me, although she thinks it’s just lingering effects of my “stomach bug”. But if Lincoln barged into my room and refused to leave or wouldn’t let me shower alone, you can be damn sure she’d notice.
So their near-constant watch over me at school seems both pointless and annoying, and it irritates me that none of them have figured out the giant flaw in their plan.
“Are you just doing this to torture me?” I blurt to Lincoln on the way home from school on Friday. This week felt like it took a year, every day dragging on at a snail’s pace. I’m still having nightmares several times a night about shadowy figures and screeching brakes, faceless men and Iris crying. They leave me on edge and exhausted, ill-equipped to handle this sudden relentless attention from the kings of Linwood.
He shoots a glance at me out of the corner of his eye, cocking an eyebrow. “Is that seriously what you think?”
“You tell me.”
He makes an annoyed noise. “No.”
“Then why? Why don’t you trust me? Why don’t you like me?”
I’ve wanted to ask him that question ever since the first damn day I met him, when a switch flipped behind his eyes, and I watched hatred spread across his face like dripping paint.
He
