Broken: Winchester Academy, Book 3

by Madison Faye

  Needless to say, I’m pretty fucking proud of her.

  Love is never wrong. It’s never “forbidden,” it’s just not understood sometimes. And I get that now. Actually, there’s a lot I get now, a lot of it thanks to her. I get that being a man isn’t just being the toughest motherfucker around. It’s protecting what’s yours. It’s owning up to your own bullshit and having the grace and dignity to know when you’re wrong. It’s having the balls to fix what needs fixing. It’s laying it all on the line for the woman who makes you feel alive.

  Emily and I did end up causing quiet the scandal back at Winchester. I mean, shit like that doesn’t really ever stay bottled up. But fuck if either of us care now. I ended up keeping in touch with a few people, believe it or now. I mean, besides Jamison, that is. Turns out, Beckett Truman is a pretty cool dude, and we got to be pretty damn good friends, I learned that I wasn’t the only one with a dirty little secret at Winchester. He didn’t get me for the football team, but he did get the next best thing—my twin brother.

  And as it happens, whatever drama everyone back home was devouring about Emily and I after it got out, it was pretty soon forgotten. After all, like I said, we were far from the only drama in that damn place. I mean, there was some pretty juicy details I picked up later about the swim coach, Coach Kirby, and… well, like I said, it was pretty fucking juicy. Then there was the thing with Zara Bateman, the band geek extraordinaire, and that guy from the football team. No, excuse me, not “guy.”

  “Guys.”

  …Scandalous place, that Winchester Academy.

  And of course, all the shit that soon went down with my brother and… well, fuck it. That’s not my kiss to tell about. All I know is, life found a way. We found a way. Emily and I found a new life, a life for just the two of us. And I found redemption. I found the love of my life. I found my masterpiece. And you better be damn sure I’m going to hang on to it as tight as I can.

  * * *

  The End.

  Sneak Peek - Banned

  Looking for more Winchester Academy? I’ve got you covered! Scroll on for a sneak peek of Banned, book 3 in this series of standalones.

  What happens when the school’s quirkiest band geek starts a rock band with three of the hottest guys in varsity football royalty?

  Well, pretty soon, I’m not just “with” the band.

  I’m with the band. The whole band…

  What could possibly go wrong?

  You know, besides everything.

  * * *

  They’re panty-meltingly gorgeous, cocky, and three of the biggest stars on the varsity football team. I’m the dorkiest, tuba-playing music-geek this side of band camp. In a school full of rules and cliques, Anders Teller, Griffin Reeves, Carson Lafayette and I have nothing to do with each other.

  * * *

  Except, I’m about to have everything to do with them. With all of them.

  * * *

  They’re the last thing I expect when I sneak off campus after curfew to audition for an up-and-coming rock band. Neither is finding them mostly naked when I show up, or falling—yes, literally falling—into their arms…

  * * *

  Everyone says to keep clear of crazy-hot musicians. They say the same thing about totally beautiful, ridiculously tempting football jocks, too. So what’s a girl to do when she comes across a stupid-hot combination of both?

  * * *

  There’s three of them, and one of me. And before long, it’s not just the practice room that’s rocking and rolling…

  * * *

  One never-been-touched nerd, three huge, utterly tempting jocks, and three whispered words that make my toes curl: “we’re gonna share.”

  * * *

  As The Bard says, if music be the food of love, play on.

  * * *

  Well, something tells me we’re about to play all night.

  * * *

  This mfmm romance is all about her - no m/m. Safe, no cheating, and a HEA guaranteed.

  * * *

  Chapter 1

  Zara

  This is a really, really stupid idea.

  The words tumble through my head for maybe the eleven-thousandth time as I duck behind the bushes and creep forward under the window to the campus security office. The hard-shell guitar case in my hand bangs against my shin, and I wince in pain, but I keep going. This might be my first time sneaking off campus, but that doesn’t mean that I don’t understand that the first rule of sneaking off campus is don’t get caught sneaking off campus.

  Especially not tonight. Not with what’s at stake for me.

  I move quickly, panting, my heart racing as I scurry across a dark stretch of the campus quad and into a thicket of trees. Winchester really is beautiful at night, with the manicured gardens and grounds, the ancient stone walls, and the gorgeous Tudor-style buildings. It’s like sneaking around Hogwarts or something. Except it’s not a magic wand or broomstick in my hand, it’s a guitar. Because tonight, I’m going to my first ever audition for a real, live band.

  Real enough and exciting enough to give me the balls to sneak off of my boarding school campus, after curfew, on a school night. I should mention that for a complete and utter band nerd like myself, whose never once gone to a party, or broken curfew, or broken really any rule at Winchester, this is wildly and completely out of character.

  But, it’s worth it. Even if it’s dangerously stupid. I mean, this is my dream, and even if the orchestra, and the pep band, and the jazz band I play in at school here are great and challenging in their own rights, the opportunity to play in a real rock band, with gigs lined up and even an opportunity to compete in the Rockland county Battle of the Bands next month, is too good to say no to.

  And tonight, I am not saying no to it.

  Tonight took planning, too. I mean you don’t just decide to sneak off of the Winchester campus one day having never done it before. It took time to figure out when my dorm’s head resident would be back in her own room and not prowling the halls. It took time to figure out where the maintenance guy keeps the spare key for the laundry room exit door in the basement, the one that leads out to the maintenance dock and dumpsters behind my dorm hall. And, it took time to scope out the big wrought-iron fence that surrounds Winchester and discover the old side-entrance behind the campus security office. It took perfect timing to wait until the end of the football game tonight before changing, grabbing my stuff, and making my daring escape, seeing as I play tuba in the marching pep band that played tonight.

  Tonight, the gate squeaks, but it’s a quiet squeak, thanks to the olive oil I snuck out of the dining hall at lunch and dumped over the rusty hinges earlier. I slip through, shutting it behind me and shivering with excitement as I realize I’m outside the grounds now. I glance down the street, and my pulse quickens as I spot the headlights of the cab, I just ordered fifteen minutes ago, waiting right where I asked it to.

  I glance one more time back at the fence, and the campus behind it, take a deep breath, and start hustling for the cab. The stiletto heels of my thigh-high boots strike loudly on the quiet sidewalk, and as I near the cab and notice the cab driver leering at me, I’m made very much aware of just how short my skirt is. Or how skimpy my purposefully torn AC/DC tank top is. To say nothing of the scandalously sexy pair of black thong panties I’m wearing. I blush when I think of slipping those on earlier. I mean it’s not like I’m that girl. I’m not going to an audition and like, taking my freaking clothes off or anything, no matter how insane an opportunity it is. But they make me feel sexy, and confident, and I need both of those things tonight.

  Obviously, none of this outfit is dress-code appropriate for Winchester. And quite honestly, this skirt would even probably warrant a stern talking-to from the resident advisor or other faculty even if I wore it outside of classroom hours on the weekend. But tonight, this is me. This is my look, I mean, I’m sneaking off my high school campus to audition for a rock and roll band.

  …Gotta look the part, r
ight?

  The driver doesn’t seem to give too much of a shit that I’ve pretty clearly just slipped out a side entrance of a private boarding high school. Well, first he tells me I have to be eighteen to ride alone in a cab, but he only gives my ID the briefest glance before he grunts and puts the car into drive. We roar through the night, through downtown Southworth and over into Rivington next door, where my audition is at. I shiver as I look out into the night, my hands gripping my bag and my guitar case tightly.

  The Battle of the Bands could be a huge opportunity. I mean, Rockland county being so close to New York City, the finals showcase has been known to attract well-connected agents and producers. There was a band who won four years ago who just played on Jimmy Fallon’s Late Show, so, yeah, this is a big deal for me. Even if doing this is dangerous. Even if it’s supremely stupid.

  Who’s the “sheltered little prude” now, Trisha? I mutter to myself.

  Trisha is my recently ex-roommate in the dorms. She and I were never a good match to begin with, but once she started sneaking guys into the room—the room where my bed was like six whole feet from hers—was sort of my final straw. No, I never “told” on her or squealed. But I didn’t have to, because Trisha was enough of a squealer herself to get herself caught, red handed. Or, red “naked in bed with Derrick Maybach, the biggest douchebag on the football team,” that is.

  Trisha went on academic probation and got herself a new roommate. And I managed to score an empty single room on the floor above, which works out great for me with being able to practice at night without ticking a roommate off. But still, her parting words of labeling me a sheltered little prude still sting every time they come up on my head. Okay, maybe it’s half true. Maybe I’ve grown up a little sheltered. But everyone at Winchester has. I mean, we’re all sheltered, privileged rich kids, basically. And for the “prude” part?

  I blush.

  Well, just because I wasn’t loudly fucking half the jocks at school with my roommate trying to sleep six feet away, that doesn’t make me a prude. Although, perhaps being eighteen and having never done a thing with a guy does. But whatever.

  The cab breaks sharply, and I jump out of my thoughts, blinking as I glance up at the big, decrepit building. I bite my lip and look around, realizing we’re in the shadiest, most unlit and somewhat scary looking part of Rivington.

  “Uh, you sure this is it, missy?” The cab driver mutters, glancing back at me.

  “Yeah,” I say with uncertainty before checking my email for the audition invitation from the band and confirming the address.

  “Uh, yeah, it is. How much do I owe you?”

  He frowns.

  “Honey, I’m not letting you out here.”

  “Well, this is where I’m going.”

  “Honey, you look sweet,” he mutters, glancing at me in the rearview mirror. “Too sweet for this neighborhood.”

  “No, it’s fine I’m here to see a rock band.”

  His look only hardens.

  “Look, I’ll be fine. But thank you. How much?”

  He grinds his teeth, looking for a second like he might not actually let me out.

  “Tell you what, I’ll give you a hundred dollars for the ride.”

  He swears under his breath, shaking his head and muttering something about “rich kids.” But in the end, he sticks his hand back for the cash and unlocks the door when I press it into his palm.

  “Thanks for the ri—”

  He roars off, peeling around the corner and disappearing, leaving me suddenly very alone on a very dark, very grungy street. I shiver as I quickly run over to the front door of the big old rickety-looking brick building and knock. I hear nothing, so I knock again, harder this time. I crane my ears, picking up the distant sound of drums and a guitar, and my pulse quickens as I grin excitedly.

  I pound on the door again and try the doorbell I finally spot next to it a dozen times, but when no one comes, I sigh heavily and give the door a yank.

  It opens.

  I blink, and quickly step into the dimly lit hallway. The sound of music is coming from further down the hall, so I follow it, listening to the rock sounds getting louder and louder, before I turn the corner and hit a wall.

  Crap.

  There’s an elevator though, so I punch the button for that, and when it dings open, I step inside. Luckily, there’s only one other floor, so I push that. My pulse quickens again as the doors close, and I shiver as I lean against the back wall of the elevator as it slowly rises. My breath comes quickly, and I can feel a shiver teasing across my skin.

  This is it. This is my big chance.

  So, don’t mess it—

  Suddenly, the elevator door open.

  …Not the one in front of me.

  I shriek as the wall behind me—or rather, the second elevator door behind me—suddenly slides open, and I go toppling head-over-heals out. Shrieking head-over-heels, and right into the muscled, rock-hard, and shirtless arms of a man. I gasp at the touch of skin on skin, and when my palm slams against his bare chest, my heart skips as it lingers there. He and I both go staggering backwards, right into two other men, and my mind is all over the place as I realize all three of them are shirtless.

  And pantless.

  And gorgeous, and just wearing tight black boxer briefs—one holding me in his arms, and the other two surrounding us.

  My eyes dart all over the place, my breath catching and my heart racing. But when I finally drag my gaze up from those muscles into the face of the stranger holding me, my jaw drops.

  Not a stranger. None of them are strangers. In fact, I saw them barely two hours ago. At Winchester. At the football game. Because the three gorgeous, almost naked guys basically pinning me between them all happen to be three of the biggest, hottest, most well-known star players on the Raiders football team at Winchester.

  Wait, what the fuck is going on?

  “Zara?”

  Anders Teller, the blond-haired, blue-eyed Greek god of a tight end, and also the guy holding me tight in his arms, stares at me, the look of shock on his face as naked as the one on mine.

  He knows my name?

  I mean, the three guys standing around me are basically campus royalty. Popular, gorgeous, star players on the all-star football team. And then there’s me, band nerd extraordinaire. Honor roll dork. Artsy geek. I mean I have a comic book collection, and a respectable one at that for God’s sake. And Anders Teller actually knows who the hell I am?

  I blush at the thought, before I shake it away. My eyes dart around me, at the dark-haired, blue-eyed Carson Lafayette, and the absolutely huge, dark-haired, green-eyed Griffin Reeves. My mouth opens and closes, looking for words but finding nothing. My eyes slide over them, a shiver teasing through me as I drink in the three basically naked guys pressed tight around me, before suddenly, it’s like the moment breaks.

  Anders blinks and quickly sets me down, and the three of them back away from me, staring at me like they can’t quite believe who they’re looking at.

  “What…” he frowns, but Carson clears his throat.

  “What are you doing here?”

  I blink, slowly turning my gaze to him.

  “I—wait, what are you doing here?” I frown, glancing past them at the pile of grass-scuffed football gear and uniforms behind them, like they also just snuck out at the very end of the football game to come here. But what the hell are three of the biggest football stars in school doing at my freaking rock band audition?

  “I asked you first,” Carson tosses back, a slight grin on his perfect, chiseled face. “I mean, isn’t it past curfew?”

  “Look who’s talking,” I throw right back. “And for your information, I’m here to audition for a band.”

  His smile fades, and his eyes go wide as the three of them glance at each other.

  “Wait, you?” Griffin growls quietly in this deep, rumbly voice.

  “Uh, yeah,” I mutter, my brow furrowing. “I’m supposed to meet them here in a rehe
arsal space—”

  I glance past them again, and past the pile of football crap to see the drum kit set up, alongside a couple of amps, a PA system, and some other live stage gear. A bass and an electric guitar sit gleaming in the low light of the space propped up against a couple of amps.

  Hang on.

  “Where’s the band?”

  The words come out quietly, but somewhere inside, I think I already know the answer. Even if the answer is the last answer I could ever have imagined.

  “Yeah, uh…” Anders frowns, raking his fingers through his hair.

  “We’re the band, Zara.”

  My jaw drops.

  “What?”

  “It’s us, Zara,” Carson growls lowly. “We’re the band, we just had no fucking idea you—”

  “You’re Chasing Glory?”

  Three of them glance at each other and nod, and my mind reels.

  “But… but you play football.”

  Anders grins and shrugs. “You noticed that, huh?”

  I glare at him. “It’s a little hard to miss in a place like Winchester, don’t you think?”

  He chuckles. “Well, I also play guitar.”

  “And bass,” Carson tosses out.

  “Drums,” Griffin rumbles.

  I blink, taking this all in. The ad in my favorite off-campus coffee house for the band had a link to their website, and the music clips they had posted were really good. Good enough to make me instantly send them my online demo stuff.

  The realization off what’s happened hits me. The email address was just their band name. The website just had a “coming soon” message under the “pictures of the band” section. I emailed from my private email, not my school “Z_Bateman” Winchester email.