“He helps me unwind too,” I sheepishly admit.
“And that’s great.” He runs his eyes over my clothes. “By the way, you look hot in his clothes.” A cheeky glint appears in his eyes. “But you’d look even hotter in mine.” I bark out a laugh, leaning in closer to him. “Or wearing nothing at all,” he adds in a lower, huskier tone, grazing his nose along the column of my neck. His head whips back, and his eyes pop wide. “You seen this?” His voice contains a hefty dose of amusement.
“Seen what?” I jerk upright on his lap, and he groans, adjusting himself in his pants.
“Axel gave you a hickey.”
My jaw slackens and I’m speechless for a split second. “Oh fuck.”
Skeet chuckles again. “It’s low enough to disguise it, but …”
I quirk a brow. “Finish that thought.”
“But it seems lonely, all by itself.” His fingertips dance across my neck on the other side. “I think you might need a matching one.”
My lips curve into a smile. “You want to brand me too?”
“That sounds so wrong yet oh so right,” he quips, nuzzling into my neck.
I tug the shirt aside, granting him more access. My body hums with excitement, and my voice oozes delight when I say, “Do it.”
He grins at me. “Hells yeah, baby.” He kisses me fiercely on the lips before gliding his mouth to my neck, right at the point where it meets my collarbone, and sucking hard. I close my eyes, moaning and shifting on his lap as he marks my ticklish skin.
“What the actual fuck?” Axel exclaims, and my eyes snap open.
Skeet’s mouth doesn’t leave my skin, but his body rumbles with silent laughter. “You gave me a hickey.” I faux glare at Axel.
“And what?” His brows climb to his hairline. “He’s giving you a matching one?”
“Exactly.” Skeet lifts his head up, keeping his eyes locked on my neck, admiring his handiwork, as he responds to Axel.
“You two are so fucking weird.” Axel shakes his head, fighting a smile.
“Bite me.” Skeet flips up his middle finger, and Axel can’t contain his smile this time. Skeet looks at him strangely. “You know, I thought for sure you’d be the jealous one, but you’re handling this well.”
“Unlike some we won’t mention.” Axel waggles his brows.
Skeet chuckles. “Gilchrist’s always been so in control. I’m not sure he knows how to deal with all this.”
“Did you see the look he gave me when Blaire came in wearing my clothes?” Axel smirks gleefully.
“Stop it!” I poke Skeet in the ribs and shoot a warning look at Axel. “Don’t do that when Heath’s not here to defend himself.”
“Sure thing, sweetheart,” Axel says with a wink, handing me my freshly laundered clothes. “Just prepare yourself. Heath’s the most competitive of all of us, and you’re not going to know what’s hit you when he next comes at you.” He tweaks my nose playfully. “Don’t say we didn’t warn you.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Heath is a man on a mission at school on Monday. Every second we’re together, he’s all over me like a rash—minus the itching and scratching, thankfully. I’m not usually one for PDAs in school, but there’s no resisting Heath’s magnetic allure. Whether he’s pinning me to my locker and kissing the shit out of me, pulling his chair in so close during lunch that he’s practically sitting in my lap, or finding ways to sneakily touch me during class, he ensures he has his hands on some part of my body every time we’re together. While I sense there’s some truth to the guy’s musings that he’s jealous, I also suspect it’s his way of making things up to me and sticking one to Cassie at the same time. She still hasn’t come near me, but she embeds imaginary daggers in my back whenever we’re in the same vicinity.
By midweek, I’ve forgotten I was ever angry at Heath. I’m laughing as I’m trying to retrieve books from my locker—completely unsuccessfully—because Heath has his arms circled around me from behind and he’s tickling the side of my neck with a slew of feather-light kisses.
“Could you sink any lower?” a grating voice says in proximity, and Heath immediately tenses.
Snatching my books, I close my locker and whirl around, smiling pleasantly at my arch-nemesis. “Could you be any more obvious?” I retort, deliberately running my hand up and down Heath’s back.
Cassie deliberates her next words carefully. “Funny, joke’s on you, Arizona,” she taunts before flipping her hair over her shoulder and sauntering off.
“She is getting on my last nerve,” Heath grits out, steering me toward our next class, but I’ve zoned out.
The way she pronounced Arizona has me wound up tight, like a ball of yarn. It isn’t a secret that we moved here from Arizona. Mom and Dad felt it was best to be as honest as possible in order not to trip ourselves up, but they cautioned me to avoid going too deep or giving too many specifics away. So, all anyone knows is that I’m originally from Arizona. It’s a big enough state not to draw too much attention.
But Cassie doesn’t say anything without meaning.
She wanted me to know she knows something.
What exactly is the million-dollar question, and I barely sleep a wink that night wondering about it.
I’m unusually quiet the next morning, and the guys notice. Skeet pulls me away from Heath, pinning me with a concerned look. “Has something happened?”
I scrub a hand over the back of my neck. “Cassie makes me nervous, and I don’t like feeling like I’m in the dark.”
“You think she’s up to something.” His bright green eyes probe mine.
I nod slowly. “Yeah. I do.”
I’m not sure what he sees in my expression, but he reaches out, discreetly hooking his pinkie around mine. It’s as much as we can risk in the school hallway. “Whatever it is you’re worried about, you aren’t alone, Blaire. We’ve here for you.”
On the spur of the moment, I tug Skeet back over to where Axel and Heath are talking. “Can we meet after school at your place, Ax?” I cut in, dropping my hold on Skeet’s arm. “There are some things I need to tell you,” I blurt before I lose my nerve. “Things about my past that you should know.” I chew on the corner of one nail, my insides twisted into a million knots.
They exchange subtle looks. “I’m cool with that.” Axel sends me a penetrating stare. “Are you sure you want to tell us?”
“No,” I honestly admit. “But I don’t want to not tell you either.” I lower my voice. “It doesn’t feel right keeping this from you even if my parents will be mad if they find out.”
Heath tucks me under his arm. “We’ll keep it between the four of us.”
We are all summoned to the assembly hall for a meeting just before the last class of the day. Apparently, there’s some important group session the entire school needs to attend. Seniors and juniors are attending the first session, so I walk with Heath and the guys, and we manage to find seats together near the front of the podium.
The noisy rumbling of chatter only dies down when the principal takes to the stage, commanding quiet. A bunch of other adults sit in a line of chairs behind her. The principal clears her throat, looking around the room. “As you are all aware, gun violence, and gun violence in schools, is a very real concern for every educational institute across our great nation.”
Alarm bells start ringing in my head, and a line of sweat coasts down my spine. I rub my clammy hands down the front of my jeans, trying to hear over the thrumming of blood filling my ears.
I gulp, giving myself an inner pep talk in an attempt to control my burgeoning anxiety. I’m sure this is just routine. If there was anything personal, the principal would have informed me, right?
“Here at Kentsville High, we have always taken the security and safety of our students very seriously,” she continues, and I try to focus on her words rather than giving in
to the temptation to flee. “And we believe it’s our duty, in conjunction with parental support”—she waves her arms in the direction of some of the people sitting behind her—“to educate our students appropriately as well as invoking necessary safety precautions.”
She smiles at a tall, severe-looking man with sharp features and a pinched mouth, and he stands, coming alongside her on the podium. Heath visibly stiffens at my side.
“Thanks to the generosity of Lionel McFarland,” she continues, “we are delighted to welcome a panel of experts here today to give a wide variety of presentations on mental health, social media vigilance, coping in the aftermath of tragedy, safety precautions we can all adopt, and the threat of gun violence in our society today.” She places her hand on his arm. “Before the session begins, Mr. McFarland would like to make an introductory speech.” She steps aside, giving him the floor.
“Thank you, Principal Ivers, for affording me the opportunity to say a few words.” He looks out across the crowd, his eyes locking on his daughter’s as she slips into the room, late, with her trail of minions skipping behind her. Mr. McFarland beams proudly as Cassie and her crew take up the row of seats right in front.
Suck-ups.
“As a businessman and a father, the escalation of gun violence in schools has alarmed me for some time, so I’m honored to be in a position to offer my support, and the support of my family, to Kentsville High in whatever way I can.”
I’m squirming in my seat, and my shirt is now glued to my back. An ominous sense of foreboding washes over me, and the urge to run is riding me hard. But I don’t know how to do that and not draw attention to myself, so I grip both sides of my chair hard and try to breathe. A challenge that is more difficult than it sounds.
“Are you okay?” Skeet whispers in my ear, his brow creased with worry lines. I don’t know how to respond so I just stare at him, fighting panic and paranoia, and he grows more concerned.
“I asked for a few minutes,” Mr. McFarland goes on, “because I wanted to show you something important.” He looks to the crowd, zoning in on his daughter now, and I start shaking. I’m vaguely aware of Skeet whispering something to Heath behind my back. “And I’d like to thank my daughter Cassandra for the suggestion.” He beams proudly before flicking a switch, dimming the lights in the hall.
Cassie turns around, searching the crowd eagerly. Even in the low light, I can spot the telltale gleam of success in her eyes when her gaze lands on me. My lower lip wobbles, and I glance frantically around.
I need to get out of here.
“Blaire.” Heath’s worried tone has me twisting around. “Blaire, what’s wrong?” He looks over my shoulder as he wraps his arm around me. “Baby, you’re shaking all over.”
“I was going to tell you,” I mumble, horrified as the screen starts to load. Bile travels up my throat, and I genuinely think I might puke. “Oh God, no.” Tears leak out of my eyes unbidden as the full scene is unveiled.
It’s a church or chapel of some sort. The large, ornate room is packed to maximum capacity, and the camera zooms in on the framed photos of the seven victims, surrounded by bunches of cream and gold flowers. Their faces have always tormented me, yet my eyes are adhered to the screen, and I’m unable to tear my gaze away.
“Today would have been Todd DeLaurentis’s eighteenth birthday,” Cassie’s father continues explaining, “and his parents are hosting a memorial service to remember him and the other victims of last year’s Amber Springs Academy shooting. The ceremony is being televised via live feed, and I felt it was fitting to begin today’s session by remembering some of the latest victims of gun violence in our high schools.”
My eyes climb up, meeting the horrified gaze of the principal. She shakes her head, starting to move in my direction.
“It’s about to begin. Please be respectful and attentive,” Cassie’s father adds just as I jump up, my chair screeching with the movement. I push past Skeet’s and Axel’s anxious faces, past the inquisitive stares of other students, tripping over feet and almost tumbling in my rush to get out of the room. My throat swells to the point where I’m struggling to draw enough oxygen into my lungs. Hushed voices follow me as I stagger toward the exit, silent tears cascading down my cheeks as I claw at my throat, rasping for air.
Can’t breathe. Need air.
I don’t hear the footsteps following me.
Not as I crash into the doors and race out into the empty hallway.
Not as wracking sobs rip free of my throat and the choked sound of my anguish bounces off the walls.
Not as my blurry eyes finally focus on the multitude of pictures pasted to lockers up and down the hallway.
Pictures of my brother.
Pictures of me.
The word monsters slashed across the images in blood-red ink.
No, I don’t hear the footsteps following me until they slow down.
Until they’re joined by others as people leave classrooms to investigate.
In my panic to get away, I stumble over my own feet, falling to the ground at an awkward angle.
I manage to land on my butt, face up. Pushing off my hands, I sit up, in a perfect position to watch as Heath, Skeet, and Axel stare in horror at the images and insults tacked to the walls. The principal runs toward me. “Blaire. Wait!” she calls out, as crowds form a circle around me, and I shrink back, trembling and shaking.
Dark shadows flicker across my retinas, and the eerie sound of crying is the only noise in the hall.
“Monster!” Someone shouts, shattering the creepy silence, and it starts a cacophony of similar taunts. The crowd swarms around me, closing me in. Blood thrums in my ears, and my heart is beating a hundred miles an hour. Little beads of sweat form on my brow. I try to take deep breaths, to focus on calming down before I have a full-blown anxiety attack, but the shouting and loaded looks are too difficult to ignore, and my breath oozes out in panicked spurts as I start to lose my grip on reality. In the distance, I hear other shouts and the principal demanding people move back.
Someone kicks me, and I instinctively raise my hands in protection, wincing as pain registers in my ribs. My anxiety flares, and the pressure on my chest intensifies to the point where it feels like I’m dying.
I wish I was.
I wish it was all over.
The eternal pain and torment are something I can’t withstand any longer.
I’m not strong enough to go through this again.
Another foot connects with my torso, and lancing pain spears me on all sides. I curl into a protective ball as more kicks land on my back. Others join in, and I zone out, going to that special place in my head that frees me from reality while I’m attacked from several corners.
Just before I lose complete consciousness, I pray to God to take me. I beg him to let me join Ethan.
Because if this is what my life’s going to be like again, then I don’t want to live.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
“Give the girl some space to breathe,” an unfamiliar voice says as I slowly regain consciousness. My eyes flicker open, and dazzling white light almost blinds me. I press my eyes closed as a warm hand entwines with mine.
“Blaire?” Heath’s voice is hesitant.
“You’re in the nurse’s office,” Axel quietly confirms, his fingers fleetingly brushing against my cheek.
“It’s okay,” Skeet reassures me. “You can open your eyes. It’s just us, the nurse, and Principal Ivers.”
Drawing on hidden reserves of courage, I force my eyes open, blinking profusely as I adjust to the brightness. I attempt to sit up, groaning as aches and pains swamp my body.
“Nice and slowly, Ms. Adams.” The nurse has salt and pepper hair and kind eyes. I don’t bother correcting her as she helps me sit up. “How badly does it hurt?”
I’m sore but I don’t ache as much as I did after the f
ight in the barn. “It’s not too bad. I’ll live.” I offer her a weak smile.
“Did you see who assaulted you?” the principal asks, looming in my line of vision.
I shake my head, and she sighs deeply. She moves to my side, placing a gentle hand on my arm. “I’m so very sorry, Blaire. I had no idea Mr. McFarland had that planned, or I would’ve forewarned you.”
“What about the photos?” Axel asks, his rage barely concealed. “Did you approve those too?”
“Axel.” Heath’s tone carries a caution.
“Of course not.” The principal looks flustered. “And I will find out who’s responsible, and they’ll be dealt with accordingly.”
I almost believe her. Except I’ve been here before. And no punishments were ever doled out. People have zero sympathy for me because of my brother. And I get it. I do. My suffering is nothing compared to the suffering of the families of the victims or the fact those boys and girls lost their lives in such a horrific manner. I love my brother, but I’ve never condoned his actions, and it makes me sick every time I think of it. Doesn’t mean it sucks any less to be me.
“Can I go?” I beg her with my eyes.
The principal shakes her head. “Not until your parents get here. I’ve called them, but—”
“But neither of them picked up.” My smile is tight. “If we’re waiting for them, we’ll be here half the night.” I turn pleading eyes on her again. “I need to get out of here. Please.”
“We’ll escort Blaire home,” Skeet offers. “We’ll keep her safe.”
Surviving Amber Springs: A Stand-Alone Contemporary Romance Page 20
