Broken Empire: A Reverse Harem High School Bully Romance (Boys of Oak Park Prep Book 3)

by Callie Rose

  His breath caressed my skin as he spoke, and I let myself fall into his touch for a moment—let myself fully believe his words. I wanted to believe them. Wanted so much for them to be true.

  He pushed open his door and walked around to let me out, grabbing my crutches from the back and handing them to me.

  “Bet you won’t miss these,” he said with a soft smile.

  “Fuck no. If it wouldn’t be wasteful, I’d burn the damn things as soon as I’m done with them.”

  He chuckled, then walked slowly beside me as we made our way into the building. We waited for ten minutes before Doctor Garrett came to collect me, and I left Elijah in the waiting area as I trekked into the exam room.

  I tried not to let my nervousness show as the doctor did his checkup, examining my healing scars before moving on to my leg, but I could only seem to answer his questions in short, choppy sentences.

  When he took the cast off and began poking and prodding at my leg and ankle joint, I had to work hard not to close my eyes. The swelling had gone down a lot, but that only highlighted how much my muscles had atrophied. My calf and even my thigh muscles looked so much smaller on the right side than the left.

  Doctor Garrett took a few x-rays too, and when he’d finished his exam, he leaned against the built-in desk in the small office, crossing his arms over his chest.

  “Everything is looking good, kiddo. You’ve still got a long road to recovery ahead of you, but from a surgical standpoint, your leg is looking really great. It’s healing cleanly, and at this point, I feel comfortable letting you start walking with the cast off. Your first stage of recovery will just be walking on your own for as long as you can before your leg starts to feel too tired or painful. You’ll want to keep your crutches handy because it’ll be slow going at first, and I don’t want you to push too hard too fast.”

  He lifted one hand to rub at his chin, making the small cleft deepen.

  “I get the sense you’re pretty driven and stubborn, Talia. And those are great qualities to have. I think they’ll give you your best chance at resuming all your previous activities one day—including dancing. But just remember, it’s a long game. A marathon, not a sprint. Don’t push too hard now and end up wishing you hadn’t later. Keep giving yourself time to heal, because that’s going to be the foundation that you build your strength on later. Make sense?”

  I nodded, gazing down at my too-thin leg. He had me dead to rights. I was already itching to start moving again, to start testing the boundaries of what my body could handle.

  But I knew from experience that he was right. My recovery last time I’d broken my legs had been slow, and even though I hadn’t had the money or resources to get all the help I needed, I’d been careful to do everything my physical therapist had told me to.

  If it would help me dance again someday, I could be patient.

  I would make myself be patient.

  Chapter 10

  Doctor Garrett hadn’t been kidding about how exhausting it would be to walk on my healing leg. The Monday after I got my cast taken off, I tried walking across campus unassisted—and only made it halfway there before I had to swallow down my pride and ask Finn to give me my crutches back.

  After six weeks of wearing the cast, I’d become so accustomed to its weight and bulk that my equilibrium felt off without it. And I felt strangely more self-conscious about my leg now that the large black cast was gone, as if it’d been a buffer between my damaged limb and the rest of the world.

  The Princes still stuck by my side between classes, carrying my backpack and often my crutches as I struggled down the hallway at the pace of a ninety-year-old. I started dressing out for gym class, thinking that maybe the simple act of putting on athletic clothes would help bolster my spirits, but as I hobbled around the track while kids ran and yelled and played games nearby, bitter disappointment filled my gut like acid.

  I was so far from where I wanted to be. So far I couldn’t even see my goal on the horizon.

  The rest of the week dragged out like a bad dream, and even though I knew this was a good thing—that each time I hit a new marker in my healing process and started pushing for the next, it would feel like starting over, like pushing ahead from square one again—I had a hard time finding the bright side.

  On Saturday afternoon, a few hours before I was supposed to meet Finn for a study session, I tugged on my leotard and some sweats and a t-shirt, then grabbed my crutches and headed across campus.

  I slipped into the large gym building through an open side door and took the stairs slowly up to the second floor. I hadn’t been inside the little dance studio since my accident; the last time I’d been there had been my final practice session before my audition for the Pacific Contemporary Ballet.

  Pushing the door open, I flipped on the lights, illuminating the shiny hardwood floor and the mirrors and barre that ran along the wall. I let the door thud shut behind me and propped my crutches against the wall. Then I tugged my shirt over my head and kicked off my shoes and sweats.

  Barefoot, wearing just my leotard, I walked slowly toward the center of the room, watching my reflection as the girl in the mirror did the same. It was a sight I was so used to, one I’d seen countless times—but today, the girl with dark hair and pale skin looked almost unrecognizable.

  I stopped several feet away from the mirror and stood there, just looking, trying to process the image before me.

  Build a strong foundation, Talia. Be patient.

  I had replayed Doctor Garrett’s orders over and over again in my head, trying to find inspiration in them instead of just frustration. He had given me the go-ahead to start physical therapy as long as I worked slowly, and he’d requested that my grandfather have the therapist call him to go over a few things before we began.

  Maybe it was because we hadn’t actually started yet that I felt this way. Maybe once I had a solid plan of action and a course laid out for me, it would be easier to get through the bad days.

  I sighed, reaching up to tighten the messy bun I’d gathered my hair into.

  As I dropped my hands, the door opened behind me.

  My heart jumped as my focus flew back to the mirror—and I caught sight of Finn as he stepped into the room.

  Our gazes locked in the reflection as he leaned back against the door, shoving his hands into his pockets. He was dressed in regular street clothes, a soft blue t-shirt and cargo pants. The shirt clung to the broad expanse of his chest and his thick biceps as he shifted slightly, cocking his head at me.

  “What are you doing here, Legs?”

  “How do you always know when I come here?”

  The lazy, easy smile I liked so much bloomed across his face, dimples appearing in his lightly tanned cheeks. “I’d say it’s my sixth sense, but actually, this time I just saw you walking across campus. You could’ve called one of us. We would’ve come with you.”

  I shook my head. “I didn’t really want company.”

  His head dipped in a nod, and he pressed away from the door, pulling his hands out of his pockets. “You want me to go?”

  “No.”

  The word slipped out before I had a chance to think about it, but it wasn’t a lie. The second he’d walked inside the room, some tangled, knotted part of myself had unclenched, making it easier to breathe.

  His smile returned, both brighter and softer than it had been before, and he stepped forward tentatively, coming to stand a few feet to the side behind me, still gazing at me through the mirror.

  “So, what are you doing here?”

  “I don’t know.” I huffed a small laugh, shifting my focus from him back to the girl in the reflection. “I just came to… look, I guess.”

  It sounded dumb when I said it, but Finn didn’t laugh. In my periphery, I saw him nod seriously.

  “What do you see?”

  My throat worked as I swallowed, and pain flashed through the eyes of the girl in the mirror. “I don’t know. I don’t—I don’t feel like myself.�
��

  “What do you mean?”

  I shook my head, staring hard at my reflection. My leg was looking better—though it was still too thin, the scars that marred the flesh still too bright and pink. But I knew it wasn’t strong enough to support me the way I wanted it to, and I could see the slight angle of my body as I held most of my weight on my left leg.

  From the outside, I looked almost like I always had, except for the scars that decorated my body now. It was as if someone had taken the old me and drawn on her with a purple-pink marker—uneven, jagged slashes with no rhyme or reason.

  But on the inside, nothing felt the same.

  I dragged in a deep breath, turning away from the mirror to face Finn, meeting the bright blue of his eyes as he gazed at me.

  “I… I never thought of myself as the most beautiful girl in the world. I didn’t have perfect hair or perfect skin or perfect boobs. But none of that really mattered, because when I danced, I felt beautiful. I felt beautiful because of what my body could do, the way it could move and—”

  I broke off, biting my lip. I shifted a little more of my weight to my right leg, letting the burn flow up my muscles.

  “I miss ballet so much. It’s like what you said that day. Dance is like a—a language. It’s like speaking, telling a story. I used to be able to tell stories with my body. Now I feel like… a fucking mute.”

  Bitterness tinged the last word, and against my will, a tear slid down my cheek.

  Fuck. I hadn’t meant to let this much of my pain out. I always tried to keep it shoved down, compressed and locked up tight, buried under my determination and hope.

  But it was there all the same.

  Finn’s brows drew together, and I saw his gaze sweep over me as his expression turned thoughtful.

  “I dunno about that, Tal. I know you miss dance, and I hate that for you. But I think your body still tells some pretty incredible stories.”

  Stepping forward, he crouched down before me on the floor, reaching out to trace a path over my healing ankle with a feather light touch. My nerves were still damaged in some places, so it was hard to feel the touch, but that didn’t stop heat from racing over my skin as he brushed his fingertips over the area around my scars.

  “See? These right here? These tell the story of a girl who’s gotten back up every time she’s been knocked down. Every. Single. Time.”

  He stood slowly, tracing his fingers up my leg before catching my hand in his and raising my arm to hold it between us. Still grasping my hand in one of his, he traced the pink lines across my forearm and bicep. “These tell the story of a girl who gave four assholes a chance to redeem themselves.”

  His touch moved higher, gliding lightly over the pink marks where my seat belt had cut into my skin. He ran his hand down the angled line of that scar, resting his palm on my upper chest. “And this right here? This tells the story of a girl with the biggest heart I’ve ever met. A heart an asshole like me would be only so lucky to know.”

  “You’re not an asshole, Finn,” I murmured, feeling his hand move with my body as I breathed.

  “Ah, come on, Legs.” A grin tilted his lips as he chuckled. “Let’s not get too carried away. Of course I’m an asshole. Or at least, I used to be one. Still am a lot of the time.” His expression grew more serious, the teasing smile slipping from his face. “But that girl? The one from the story I was telling you about—the one with the huge heart? She’s teaching me how not to be one.”

  My heart slammed hard against his palm as something almost painfully sweet burned in my chest. I lifted my own hand to cover his, securing him to me as I limped awkwardly forward, closing the distance between our bodies. My leg was too weak for me to rise up onto my tiptoes, but when I slid my arm around his neck, he came to me, dropping his head to press his lips to mine.

  He kissed me the same way he had touched the rest of me, with tender worship, as if he was trying to heal me through the press of his lips against mine.

  Or maybe he was just trying to remind me I wasn’t broken.

  I slipped my fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck, feeling the smooth skin and strong muscles there. He tasted like sunshine—felt like sunshine—and I pressed myself into the curve of his body, fighting against the weakness in my leg to get closer to him. His arms banded around my waist, supporting me and holding me tight, as his lips explored mine and our breathing quickened.

  Fire swept through my body. I had wanted to do this for too fucking long.

  Tugging the hand that was sandwiched between us free, I wrapped that arm around his neck too, using the leverage to haul his face closer to mine. When his hands slid down my waist and over my hips, squeezing my legs and lifting, I tightened my hold, helping him pull me up into his arms.

  We didn’t stop kissing, and I wasn’t sure I could stop. I was drowning in everything that was Finn.

  In his optimism.

  In his bright light.

  In the goodness I didn’t even know if he saw in himself.

  A noise that was almost a groan rumbled in his throat, and he carried me across the room before setting my ass down on the barre that ran in front of the mirror. He kept his hands on my thighs, keeping me steady as our lips, teeth, and tongues teased each other.

  Ever since the wreck, I had felt like I didn’t know how to live in this new body, like it didn’t truly belong to me—as if it were a broken down old thing on loan from a stranger. But as Finn’s large hands caressed my thighs, sending sparks of heat trailing like flares through my nerve endings, my body felt like my own again for the first time in weeks.

  It was the best feeling I could possibly imagine.

  I tipped my head back, letting him kiss and bite along my jaw, angling my head this way and that to invite his touch to different parts of me. When he pulled my earlobe into his mouth, sucking gently as he worried it between his teeth, a jolt of pure sensation shot down to my clit. I jerked in his hold, a strangled gasp falling from my lips, and the sound of his answering chuckle seemed to melt my bones.

  Fuck. I want you.

  I wanted Finn Whittaker. Wanted him more than I had ever let myself admit until this moment.

  In some ways, he had been the first of the Princes to work his way into my heart, which had only made the hurt of his betrayal worse.

  But it also made this moment better. As if some part of my heart, my body, my soul—or maybe all three—had always known this was meant to happen between us.

  As if all the bullshit in between was just the obstacle course we’d had to run to reach this moment.

  Chapter 11

  God, please don’t stop.

  I didn’t say the words out loud—I was sure of it—but Finn answered my prayer anyway.

  He trailed his lips over my collarbone before working his way to my other ear, and even though I knew it was coming, the feel of his lips and teeth on my earlobe still made my body jump and pulled an involuntary sound from my throat. When he kissed me again, I swept my tongue into his mouth, trying to hike my legs higher so I could wrap them around his waist.

  I didn’t have enough strength to manage it, so I gave up and settled for digging my fingers into the hard, sculpted muscles of his back through his soft t-shirt.

  His body was pressed against mine, and I could feel his hardness nudging against my stomach, sending little thrills of desire and nerves through me. He groaned again, rocking his pelvis against me as he kissed me—

  And then suddenly, he pulled away.

  I almost fell off the barre—would have, if not for his steadying hands—as my body tried to chase his, unwilling to let go of the delicious contact between us. I was breathless and dazed, my chest rising and falling fast as I stared at him in confusion.

  Why did he stop? Does he not like this? Does he not want it?

  He stared at me for a moment, his own breath fast and uneven, and then he shook his head.

  “Not here.”

  As if that settled everything, he looped h
is arms under my thighs again, lifting me off the barre and carrying me toward the door. He released me with one hand briefly to grab the handle, then pulled the heavy door open and held it with his foot as he stepped outside. He glanced both ways down the hall before turning left, trying two doors before reaching one that opened when he pushed.

  It was a supply closet.

  The walls on each side of the small, narrow room were fronted by shelves covered in various sports equipment, and there was a tall chest of drawers in front of the shorter wall across from the door. Finn deposited me on that before turning back to turn the lock, and the heat blazing through my body cooled a bit as I glanced around the small, somewhat dingy space. I couldn’t see how on earth it was better than the dance studio had been.

  “What…? Why?”

  “I wanted someplace that was just ours.”

  Finn turned back to face me, and the visible bulge in the front of his pants stoked the fire inside me back to life. My gaze caught on it for a second before I yanked my attention up to his face, finally absorbing his words.

  When I did, my heart stuttered in my chest.

  The first time I had seen Finn in the dance studio, he’d been getting a blowjob from another girl. That had been over a year go, and so much had happened since then, but the images still rose in my mind like snapshots preserved time.

  Finn’s hand on the wall.

  The look of ecstasy on his face.

  The corded muscles of his neck.

  The tension in his forearm.

  The look on his face when he opened his eyes and saw me.

  My stomach flipped one way and then the other, and my breath caught in my throat as the blond-haired boy stepped toward me. There was still lingering arousal at the memory, but disgust and anger too. And something else that I hadn’t been able to admit was there before—had been there from the very beginning.

  Jealousy.

  I didn’t want someone else to be with Finn. I didn’t want anyone else to make him look like that.