Dear Ava

by Madden-Mills, Ilsa

  Stay far, far away.

  Chance’s chest rises. “My father took my car away after that party. I still don’t have it—when I did nothing wrong. She was my date, and that was all it took for him to judge me and hold me responsible.”

  Yeah, but he left with Brooklyn.

  Annoyance tugs at me. “Weren’t you in love with her?”

  He inhales sharply, but his voice is subdued. “No.”

  Liar.

  I chuckle under my breath.

  My gaze lingers on her heart-shaped face, watching as she stumbles, her feet pushing forward and stopping about four feet from us, staring at Chance. Hate flows from her, almost palpable. Hot. Electric.

  He pales and his throat bobs, some of that anger leeching out of him and turning into…hmmm, fear? Nothing ruffles him these past months like someone bringing up Ava, and seeing her for the first time since that night—well, he looks as if he’s seen a ghost.

  He drops his eyes.

  “You over her for real?” I stare at him hard.

  “Fuck yeah.”

  Last year, he was totally lost in Ava. I saw it when he gave her puppy dog looks in class, and shit, even I heard angels singing when she gazed back at him. I saw it when he’d throw down his helmet after a game and dash over to pick her up and twirl her around. He talked about her constantly, how he thought she might be the one. He didn’t brag about his sexual conquests with her. No, he kept that under wraps.

  He and I have been best friends since our days at the elementary campus. When I showed up one day in middle school with my face in stitches, swollen and red, and he asked me what the hell happened, I told him it was nobody’s business. He accepted it, made it his own personal crusade to tell everyone to Back the fuck off and stop asking. When he lost his mom sophomore year to cancer, I stayed by his side for weeks, playing mindless video games and talking about nothing to ease him. I know what death is, the grief it brings.

  Chance’s jaw grinds. “I never thought I’d see her again.”

  I stare down at my phone. “Yet here she is. Random factoid: did you know date rape drugs wear off pretty fast?”

  Chance flinches. “Just stop, Knox. She wasn’t assaulted. She lied.”

  “Mmmm,” I murmur.

  Dad easily obtained the police report for Dane and me after her interview and everyone else’s at the party. I know about the bruises on her inner thighs. I know she doesn’t remember much. And those police interviews with the players? A fucking joke, or at least I think so, though it was a tense few days with my dad’s scrutiny squarely on us for the first time in a while. Dane was one of the guys dancing with her in the video, and then there was my predicament. Still, once our obligatory interview with the cops was over, Dad flew us to LA for a U2 concert as if nothing had happened.

  Dane may have told me to stop staring, but even he has her in his sights, a low, wary look in his gaze.

  She certainly draws the eye.

  “Guess it doesn’t matter,” I say to Chance. “Nobody believes some scholarship girl.” I study my nails.

  His reply is lost when Brooklyn appears next to Chance, batting her lashes up at him as she curls her fingers around his upper arm. “Hey, baby,” she murmurs, sending a scathing glance back at Ava. “You okay?”

  He gives her a nod. “Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”

  Brooklyn smiles at him and wanders off to slide in next to Jolena, and I watch them huddle together for a moment then approach Ava.

  How will she handle it?

  Will she stay at Camden when life gets tough?

  Because it will.

  It’s going to be fucking bad for her—

  Chance snaps his fingers in my face, and I realize I’d forgotten about him. His eyes have followed mine to the girls several feet away. “You’re a dick. Stay away from her,” he finally says.

  I laugh.

  We all know he doesn’t mean Brooklyn.

  “Both of you shut up. We’re all dicks. We’re Sharks,” Dane says just as the bell rings.

  Sharks. I don’t know where the name came from, this “club” we’re in, but it’s been around for years. Our dad was one. Chance’s too. We stick together. Mostly it’s jocks from the various sports teams, born to the richest parents. We don’t have a ceremony with hooded cloaks and candles and hazing. Either you’re part of the inner circle or you’re not.

  We straighten, pick up our backpacks, and head down the hall, cutting through the less fortunate, making our way to class.

  Yet…

  I can’t stop my eyes from lingering on Ava’s back as she struggles with the combination on her lock. Her head is tilted down, the strange dark hair draped on either side, exposing the graceful arch of her neck taut with tension. The skin there is creamy and perfect.

  She walked in here like she owns the place, but she doesn’t.

  I do.

  Still…

  The very air around her seems lit with an aura of expectancy.

  Emotion, something unnamed, rare and beautiful, brushes down my spine.

  I tense.

  Rein it in.

  4

  I’m so freaking late, practically running when I dash into my History of Film class. The teacher, Mrs. White, is an older lady with gray curly hair and small wire-rimmed glasses. She’s wearing a baggy dress with huge pockets on the sides and old sandals. Rather absentminded and a bit quirky, she has a rep as a fun teacher. She lifts her head when I come to a stop, my shoes squeaking on the slick tile. Everyone already has a seat, and it’s clear from the seating chart on the whiteboard that she doesn’t have my name down. Great. That’s what last-minute registration gets me. It’s going to be like this all day, me showing up and not being on the roll.

  She stops talking, a surprised look on her face as she motions me forward. Everyone cranes their neck to get a look at me as I walk up to her desk, maneuvering through the small desk tables, each one seating two students. Dang, I’m going to have to actually sit next to someone. I send a prayer up that it’s not one of the Sharks, hoping for just a regular student like me. I pass by Piper, whose eyes are wide. I grimace when I see she’s been placed next to Dane. She sticks out her tongue at me and rolls her eyes so hard it actually looks painful, and I bite back a grin.

  “Sorry I’m late, Mrs. White. It won’t happen again.”

  “Snitch,” a male voice coughs out, and her gaze goes behind me, searching the class for the person who did it.

  “That’s enough,” she says firmly then glances at me. “It’s fine, Ava. First day we give some leeway.” She messes with some papers on her podium, shuffling them around, her finger going down a list. “I don’t have you on my roll, and honestly this class is so popular with juniors and seniors, almost every seat is filled.”

  “I registered late. Sorry.” I keep my spine straight. “Just put me in a chair in the back. I don’t even need a table.” Nervously, I tug at my skirt.

  A deep male voice comes from my left. “I have an empty seat, Mrs. White. Liam dropped.”

  Her head rises, and I follow her gaze, my gut churning, recognizing that voice.

  My eyes find Knox Grayson’s. Again, there’s no expression on his face, just that superior, disdainful smile.

  Mrs. White’s eyebrows hit the roof, and I guess she’s just as surprised as I am that one of the Sharks has offered to let me sit with him.

  Games.

  Fucking games.

  I tear my eyes off Knox’s face.

  “I’d prefer the seat in the back,” I tell Mrs. White quietly, leaning in, but unfortunately my words must carry because someone in the front giggles, and I hear the silky voice of Jolena.

  “Wow, a girl who doesn’t want to be next to Knox—priceless.” Her laughter tinkles.

  The teacher puts her elbows on the podium and leans in until our faces are close and there’s no chance anyone will hear. “I’m good with whatever you want. I can put you in the back, but honestly, it’s only going to isol
ate you from everyone. I don’t want that, and in the end, you may miss some things if you can’t see the overhead. You could take the seat up front with Knox, and if you have any issues at any time, come to me and I’ll take care of it.” Her voice is soft, pity dripping like acid.

  Pity. Please.

  I want justice.

  Not likely. They have money. They own this town.

  Miss Harris, is it possible you consented to sex? Your behavior at the party was, well…

  She spreads her hands. “It’s up to you though, Ava. Whichever you want.”

  Sit in the back or sit next to the head Shark?

  My throat tightens as I ponder my options, but I already know what I need to do: establish myself as fearless, just like inmates do when they walk into a prison.

  Swallowing hard, I give her a tight nod, pivot, and walk to Knox’s desk.

  Someone lets out a gasp—Jolena.

  Good. Take that. I am stronger than BTN.

  Knox’s eyes are narrowed as he sits back in his chair, never shifting his gaze as I slide into the seat next to his. He takes me in, cocking an eyebrow as if he’s surprised.

  He’s a foot away from me, but I swear I can feel the heat from his body looming close. I scoot my chair a few inches farther from his, making a horrid scraping noise on the tile. He huffs out a laugh and slides his away from me until his chair is next to the wall, putting even more distance between us.

  Good, it’s like that then.

  Never liked you from the get-go, even before that party, my face says as I shoot him a glare.

  Same, his eyes say.

  “Ava,” he says in acknowledgment, his voice husky, laced with dark undertones. His tone reminds me of the night, steel wrapped in black velvet, hinting at secrets and barely leashed power. Since freshman year, I’ve avoided him, but it’s not the scar, because things like that don’t bother me. I’ve lived with kids with scars and burns on their faces, sometimes on their entire body. Luka had cigarette burns up and down both forearms.

  “Mr. Cold and Evil. We meet again.”

  The last time I was this close to him was in Greek Myths junior year when he sat behind me, feet propped up on the bottom rail of my desk. It was the most tense I’d ever been in a class. He’d breathe and I’d hear him, the sound grating on my nerves. He’d lean forward and my hair would move as it he touched it. I’d pass papers back to him and our fingers would brush. When our eyes would meet, I’d drop mine, and he’d laugh. Once…

  “Hey, charity case, turn around.”

  Ugh! I turn in my seat. “What?” My hands clench as I hold myself tight under his scrutiny. My heart thumps so loud I wonder if he can hear it. Ever since seeing him almost naked in the locker room, something is definitely weird between us.

  “Why did Hades fall for Persephone?”

  “Read your textbook, Shark.”

  His voice is low, his eyes liquid metal. “I did. Seriously, I don’t get it.” His gaze lingers on my neck, staring at my locket. “Come on, answer me.”

  Oh, what the heck. If it will make him stop bothering me… “Hades was lonely in hell. It’s a dark, isolated place. She symbolizes light and good. Opposites attract. Why can’t a devil want an angel? They were in love. Happy.”

  “Opposites, huh?” He taps his pen on his desk, thinking, and glances at Chance a few rows over. “You and Chance—serious?”

  Ah, so that’s what this is. “Does it bother you that he’s with me? You think I’m not good enough for your best friend. Chance is perfect. He isn’t a devil.”

  His lids go to half-mast. “Like me.”

  I look at his scarred lip.

  “Ah, low blow. You know just how to cut me, charity case.”

  “Ava is my fucking name,” I hiss then flip back around. Asshole!

  Knox laughs under his breath, and I come back to the present.

  “Didn’t know you’d given me a nickname. Guess this means you’ve been thinking about me.” He pauses. “I kind of like Cold and Evil. Fits me. Truthfully, I’d prefer Hot as Fuck, but you do you.”

  I glance at his face, taking in the long patrician nose, the sculpted cheekbones, the way his dark hair lays around his face. He’s rolled up the sleeves of his button-down, the muscles of his forearms tightly roped and defined. His upper arms are bulky, his shirt tight against them.

  I tear my eyes off him and stare down at my laptop, shuffling around to get my things arranged. I slam down my notebook and pen.

  For some weird reason, I have perfect clarity on seeing him with Tawny, his hand tucked into the back pocket of her jeans as they walked away from the bonfire and got into his car.

  Yet…

  It feels as if something big happened before they left, an elusive memory that dances just out of reach and is up in smoke before I can grab hold and pin it down. It’s been like that for months, bits and pieces all jumbled together.

  “We’re going to be working on a movie project for the next few weeks, so where you’re sitting today is your permanent seat for a while,” says Mrs. White as she begins her lecture.

  “Great,” I mutter.

  Knox gives me a dark look. “My sentiments exactly.”

  She continues. “We’re going to focus on movies at least twenty years old. Some perhaps you’ve heard of. Some are iconic, some suck, and I can’t wait to get your thoughts on the issues they cover, which you’ll put in a five-thousand-word essay.”

  Groans come from the students.

  “What kind of movies, Mrs. White? My dad doesn’t let me watch sexy films, so I hope they’re all G-rated.” It’s Dane, his voice lazy as he sits next to Piper.

  A few people snigger until Mrs. White gives them a pointed glare. “I’ll make sure you get Charlotte’s Web, Dane. Too bad, really, especially with so many good movies on the list, like The Godfather, for one. Guess I’ll assign that one to someone else.”

  He deflates. “Please don’t give me Charlotte’s Web. The spider dies and all that crap. I hate it when people die in movies.”

  “Too late,” she says, already writing his and Piper’s names on the board.

  I chance another glance over at their table, and Piper does a gagging motion at me as she points to him. I grin. Dang, I’ve missed her.

  The teacher goes down the list of pairs, assigning movie titles. Field of Dreams goes to Chance and his partner, Brooklyn, and from the way she’s tracing her fingers over his hand on the desk, she’s evidently happy to be next to him.

  I flip back around and face the front, my hands clenched in my lap.

  “Not over him?” Knox drawls. “He’s dating her, you know. Might be serious. He claims it is. Never seen him be so nice to a girl. Do you still love him?”

  I slide my eyes to him.

  His facial expression never changes. Cold. “Not that he’s a bad guy, but you and him don’t go together.” He pauses as if a light bulb just clicked on. “Huh. Maybe it was all about security when it came to him. Nice, clean-cut, boy next door. Is that what you saw in him?”

  The. Nerve.

  He doesn’t know me.

  I cared about Chance.

  I study my nails.

  “I do that too—look at my nails. It says I know what I know and you don’t know shit.”

  I blow out a breath.

  “Nothing to say? I guess that means you’re still carrying the torch. Silly girl. How can you want him when he left you high and dry?”

  Anger flares to the surface at the memories he brings up. “Zip your lips, Cold and Evil, or I’ll punch you in the face.”

  His head leans in close, too close. “I believe you, which is funny, because I took you for the quiet type, but I think I always knew you were something else underneath…” He laughs and leans away from me, but not before the air around him shifts and I catch his cologne. He smells like the ocean, salt and sunshine and coconuts, and my chest swells.

  I turn my head and stare at him, facing off with those gray eyes. “What kind o
f cologne is that? Eau de fish?”

  He looks at his nails.

  “It reeks.”

  It’s freaking divine.

  He whistles and stares at the ceiling. Rakes a hand through his hair.

  “And if your girlfriends aren’t telling you the truth about your stupid cologne, they’re pussies.”

  I swear I see his mouth twitch.

  “Maybe cats would like it. Meow.” I claw at him, and he breaks with a smirk.

  “It’s actually something my mom picked up in Paris. She bought it for me every Christmas. Guess I have enough to last a lifetime.”

  “Ah, Paris. Nice. Beautiful place—Eiffel Tower, cheese, wine, fancy accents, poodles. I shop there all the time.”

  “Really?” An eyebrow pops. “I wouldn’t have known from the state of your shoes. When’s the last time you had a new pair?”

  I give him a fake smile. “Maybe I like worn-out things. At least they’re original and not a cookie-cutter leather loafer. Let me guess…” I tap my chin and take in the immaculate shoe on his large foot. I see the meticulous stitching, the honey color, the comfort it no doubt provides with a nice insole. “Fresh from Italy, I presume.”

  “Man, it’s so nice being rich. What’s it like being poor?” His eyes glow at me.

  He likes this.

  He enjoys messing with me.

  He smiles.

  I smile.

  Oh, honey, two can play at this game.

  I have nothing to lose anymore, and right now, I’m feeling brave.

  I dart my tongue out then bite my bottom lip on purpose.

  He blinks and looks away from me.

  “Cold and Evil, do you get off on arguing with me?”

  “Tulip, you can get me off whenever you want. Wanna meet me under the bleachers later? I don’t mind slumming.”

  “Who told you my middle name?” My breath whooshes out as Mrs. White talks at another table, assigning another movie.

  He laughs.

  “Did you rape me?” The words come out unplanned, but there they are, and I’m glad because his face goes from bored amusement to shuttering into a mask.

  I watch him intently, cataloguing each little change, searching for the truth in the granite-cut curves of his face. His jaw pops, betraying emotion, but when he looks me straight in the eyes, all I see is an arctic winter in those wolfish depths.