It's like one of those perfect movie moments when the hero and the heroine have an accidental kiss …
“Wh-what the fuck?” Ranger spits, and then he shoves me unceremoniously off of him. Oh, that's right. He thinks I'm a dude. And he's a straight dude. Who hates me. “Ah, shit, I'm bleeding,” he grumbles, reaching up to wipe some blood from his lower lip.
“Sorry,” I moan, rolling to one side and sitting up. I'm facing in the direction of the path, but there's no sign of the shadow man with the knife. Did you just hear yourself, Chuck?! You said shadow man … with a freaking knife?! Kind of a big deal. I'm still panting, my heart racing furiously, as I peer into the darkness looking for my own, personal boogeyman.
There's no sign of him.
I sigh with relief.
“Are you fucking insane?” Ranger snaps, grabbing a discarded cigarette off the ground and lighting up. He doesn't look at me as he takes a drag. “What the hell are you doing careening around campus at two in the morning?”
“It's two?” I ask, and then feel my jaw clench with anger. No wonder my neck hurts so bad. Not only did I just have a head-on collision, but I was trapped in that stupid trunk for like five freaking hours.
“Yeah, numb nuts,” Ranger quips, and I decide that's pretty much the first time I've ever been called numb nuts. “What are you doing out here?”
“What are you doing out here?” I repeat, realizing that the reason I can't see anything out there in the darkness is because my glasses have gone missing. With a curse, I end up on the ground like Velma in Scooby-Doo, patting around the gravel as I look for my—hopefully—unbroken glasses.
“What does it look like I'm doing?” Ranger repeats in this snippy asshole tone that I'm well-familiar with at this point. “Smoking a goddamn cigarette.”
“Can you help me find my glasses?” I ask, ignoring his insulting tone. I'm starting to panic here. If I lose my glasses, Dad will kill me. And then he'll make me wear my contacts, and I'm sure the whole school will know if I don't have the big, ugly frames to protect me.
“No.” Ranger continues to stand there and smoke, one foot up on the bench that was carved by some long ago students out of a fallen log. He's dressed in a black and white striped nightshirt that's completely unbuttoned.
Or at least … I think that's what he's wearing. He's a bit blobbish right now. Glasses, glasses, glasses, I repeat to myself as I crawl around on my hands and knees.
“I want to know why I have a bloody freaking lip, Carson. What's your problem anyway?” Ranger continues to bitch at me as I crawl around in a desperate search, panic clawing at the inside of my throat.
I was just chased by a guy with a knife.
What would've happened if he'd caught up to me?
Would I be … dead right now? Worse?
“Hey.” Ranger pushes at me with one of his big combat boots, putting the dirty sole on my shoulder. He knocks me over into the gravel, and that's when I start to cry. I don't mean to; it just happens. Silent tears slide down my face as I get back on my hands and knees and keep searching. After a minute, Ranger scoffs, bends down and snatches my glasses up, handing them out to me. “You are freaking pathetic, you know that?”
I slip the lenses up my nose and sigh in relief when I find them unbroken. Thank god. My gaze slides up to Ranger's closed and darkened face. He stares down at me with tight lips, a tattoo visible on his chest that I didn't notice before. It says Jenica with little hearts on either side.
His dead sister.
His suicidal sister … or his murdered one.
“Why do you think she was murdered?” I blurt, and Ranger's blue eyes go wide. He grits his teeth, and I cringe slightly when it looks like he might hit me. Instead, he flicks his still lit cigarette in my direction.
“None of your damn business, Carson,” Ranger sneers, looking down at me like I'm the scum of the earth. His blue-streaked dark hair hangs in razored waves over his face. With the black plugs in his ears, and the tattoos, he actually looks less like an emo-douche and more … badass or something. “Just stay the fuck away from me, okay? Don't come to Culinary Club on Thursday.”
Maybe he thinks that's a punishment … it's not.
But as he walks away, I scramble up to my feet and follow after him. No way in hell I'm being left alone out here. Once inside, I pick up the emergency phone in the kitchen and stare at it.
Ranger comes back into the room, opening the fridge and grabbing the milk, when he notices me standing there. One dark brow goes up.
“What the eff are you doing?” he asks me.
My hand is shaking, and I sniffle slightly from my brief moment of crying. If I report this, Dad will lose his mind. He'll lock me up in his house and escort me everywhere I go. Then again … how can I not tell him? Tonight might have been a prank. Honestly, the more I think about it, the more I wonder if it wasn't one of the Student Council members inside that hoodie.
Then again … if he thinks it's dangerous here, maybe he'll send me back to California? I pick the phone up again and start to dial “1” for the emergency line.
Ranger snatches the handset from me and narrows his blue eyes. It's so dark in here, the only light coming from inside the fridge, so it's hard to see his face, but I swear there are shadows in that stone-cold gaze of his.
“What's going on?” he snaps, as I curl my hands into fists and meet his stare dead-on.
“A man with a knife was chasing me just now,” I spit out, expecting him to laugh at me. Or deny it. Or … What I don't expect is for his eyes to go wide, for his skin to turn sallow in the glow from the fridge.
“What the hell did you just say?' he whispers as I reach for the handset, and he jerks it away from me again. This time, his nostrils flare with anger. “What. Did. You. Just. Say?” he snaps, and his tone brooks no argument.
“You heard me!” I shout back, feeling the silent tears on my cheeks again. Ranger glares at me, chest rising and falling in panting breaths. “Some psycho just chased me from my dad's house all the way back here—and he had a knife. So, who was it, Ranger? Was it Church? Spencer? One of the twins?”
“None of us,” Ranger growls back at me, shoving the phone into my hand and curling my fingers around it. He steps so close that we end up toe-to-toe. “We might fuck with you a little, but we're not completely psycho.”
“Really? Because Church came all the way up to my dad's place today to threaten me into leaving this mystery about your sister alone.” Ranger's eyes get even wider. “He shoved me into the trunk of a car and left me there for six hours. I don't know who let me out but—”
“So help me, Carson, if you're making any of this up, I will fucking kill you myself.” Ranger pushes me up against the counter with his body, and I hate that I sort of like the feel of him.
“I'm not making it up,” I whisper, my voice cracking. Something about that sound seems to rub him the wrong way. He shoves off the counter and stalks away from me, swigging the milk, and then chucking the glass against the wall. I jump as shards fly everywhere.
“Call Nathan,” Ranger growls, glancing over his shoulder at me. His eyes are glittering with anger. I can see them, bathed in light from the fridge. “Call your dad.”
“You believe me?” I manage to choke out, and he turns away from me.
“Clean up this glass when you're done,” is all he says as he heads into the common area and turns the TV on some old black and white show. The volume is basically muted, but it makes me feel safer, knowing he's in there. How messed-up is that? The guy just broke a bottle and then ordered me to clean it up, and I feel safer with him around?
What the hell is with the state of my life right now?
With a deep inhale, I dial up Nathan the security guard, and get ready to wake up the whole school.
The next day, I can barely keep my eyes open. Dad roused the entire campus last night, called the police, and grilled the hell out of me. Part of me wonders if he thinks I'm full of shit.
&nb
sp; “Thanks for waking us all up last night, Carson,” some blond guy sneers as he walks past, blowing on one end of his straw and shooting the paper wrapper straight into my face. Jerk. But I'm too tired to bother with him. Besides, I already have the Student Council on my ass. The last thing I need to do right now is gain some aggro from anyone else.
My eyes drift over to them, sitting at the table in the corner. The twins are literally standing on it, giving some sort of stupid performance that has the room roaring with laughter. I don't pay much attention to them, switching my gaze to Ranger.
He's staring right at me, so I turn away, and try to catch a nap on the cafeteria table. We're on lock down until the police give the okay, so I'm forced to eat in here with everybody else.
It's a veritable hell.
After school, Dad escorts back to the house, and I find myself being led to one of the upstairs bedrooms.
“You'll stay in here for the remainder of the year,” he tells me, and I gape at him. That's pretty much the last thing I wanted. Don't get me wrong: living in a dorm full of asshole boys is basically a nightmare, but living with dad is worse. Trust me: I've been doing it for nearly seventeen years now, and I like having my own space.
“Why?” I snap, but he just gives me this look, his eyes a deep blue that are nothing like my pale-colored ones. If he hadn't demanded Mom get a paternity test after I was born, I might wonder if I were his biological child at all. We're so damn different in the personality department. “Nobody else has to move in with their dad.”
“Nobody else was chased by a man with a knife,” Dad replies dryly, and my jaw nearly hits the floor as I gape at him.
“You don't believe me, do you?” I whisper, and he gives me a look through his Coke-bottle glasses.
“I believe you think you were chased by something,” he says with a huge sigh, his big barrel chest rising and falling with the motion. “But if you think is going to get you a one-way ticket back to California then—”
“Have I even asked to go back to California since last night?!” I scream, because even though I thought to take advantage of this situation to get my way, I haven't yet. Something … is holding me back.
Jenica Woodruff.
For some strange reason, I can't get her smiling face out of my mind. Or her brother's frowning one. Or … whatever.
“Charlotte, I'm done with this conversation. I've asked some of the boys to move your things over this weekend. For now, you can sleep in the guest bed. There are spare uniforms in the drawer.” Dad moves away before I can even think up an appropriate response, and I slump down on the edge of the doily-covered bed. Slipping my phone from my pocket, I video chat Monica and pray that she answers me.
Instead, this is what I get via text: Why u always callin', girl?! LOL Text me & I'll reply later. Busy now.
My heart drops, and I feel a frown trace across my lips. Texting isn't the same as seeing her face, or Cody's, not the same as seeing the beach in the background or hearing their voices. I don't want to text. I want to talk, face to face.
I message Cody next, but all I get is sorry, can't talk right now, love ya babe. Groaning, I fall back onto the bed and stare up at the ceiling. Tomorrow, fall break is officially on, and I'll be able to talk to dad again. No way is he going to want to sit with my sulking ass for an entire week.
No freaking way.
Three days into the break, it becomes obvious to me that Archie is nowhere near letting me go back to California. I do manage to get him to give up the car keys so I can go into town though.
Before I leave, I take advantage of the empty campus and toss my boy persona aside, grabbing the duffel bag from the downstairs closet that I stashed there the day we moved. It has a lot of my girly stuff in it.
“Oh, how I've missed you,” I whisper, putting my contacts in and grinning at myself in the mirror. The flat-iron is next, and I take care of those stupid curls, giving myself a sleek, edgy straight 'do that keeps the hair off of my face.
Once I've given myself a smoky eye, red-red lips, and falsies, I feel more like myself. I wouldn't exactly say I was glam, but … back home, my face was always on point. Pursing my lips, I blow myself a kiss in the mirror, douse myself in body spray, and dress in a tight red dress and heels, something I'd wear to a college party.
In reality, all I'm doing is driving into town to hit up the bookstore, the café, and some of the boutique shops. There's not much else except some little farm store that sells both tractors and pies, and some famous food truck that sells hot lobster rolls.
So boring.
I hate Connecticut. I can barely pick it out on a map.
With a sigh, I stand up from the dressing table and pause, listening as Dad's footsteps head down the hallway to his room. He's already given me his keys, but when I asked for them, I was wearing jeans and a plain t-shirt. If he sees me like this … it won't be good.
As soon as I get the chance, I sneak out and practically sprint to the car, locking myself in and feeling my breath come in wild pants. I've got pepper spray on me now, and a Taser. Dad hates guns, but I sort of wish I had some tiny purse-sized pistol right now.
The road into town is winding and narrow, cutting through the winter-dead trees. It takes over an hour to find civilization, and I feel a weight fall from my shoulders as I park in front of a salon and pull the parking brake.
This is what I needed, a break from the Adamson Academy campus, and all its stifling secrets, and heavy-handed Student Council.
Climbing out, I toss what little hair I have and swish and sway my way into the bookstore. I'm here for juicy romance novels with shirtless men on the front of them. Seriously. I'm so sick of the boys at that school. Petty a-holes.
Besides, I hate reading on my phone because all I do is check for messages from Monica and Cody. And I never remember to charge my Kindle. No, I'm in the mood for paperbacks this time. Print is not dead!
Bells jingle on the door as I shut it behind me, closing my eyes and breathing in the sweet scent of ink and paper. Heaven. Monica used to make fun of me for reading too much. Cody, too, come to think about it. But since neither of them is around, and since they don't seem too interested in talking to me, I'll drown myself in words.
I'm browsing the romance section, a towering stack of novels in my hand, when I hear someone approaching from the other end of the aisle. My heart starts to pound, and I turn, losing half my books in the process.
“Whoa there,” a warm voice says, catching them in mid-air. I blink over the remaining stack of books at a gorgeous, chiseled face, sandy hair, and a muscular body in a striped shirt, and apron. There's a name tag there, too, right over one of those perfect pecs. Jeff.
Hmm.
He smells like cinnamon and coffee, and I find myself smiling as his sparkling blue eyes take me in.
“Hi there,” he says, and I find myself grinning. For the first time in forever, I'm being looked at as Charlotte, the pretty girl, and not Chuck, the ugly boy that nobody likes.
It's a nice change of pace.
“I'm Jeff,” the guy adds after a second, balancing my stack of books under one arm.
“I figured as much—from the name tag,” I add, batting my eyelashes. What are you doing, Charlotte? You have Cody. Only … it doesn't feel like I have Cody anymore. He barely talks to me. Seems more interested in chasing Monica all over the place … I exhale, but I'm not a cheater. No way. Not in a million years. “I'm Charlotte, by the way.”
“Charlotte. Beautiful name,” he replies, nodding his chin at my books. “Do you want me to keep these at the counter for you? And maybe make you a free coffee at the same time?”
“Sure, why not?” I laugh, following him to the front and finding a small café in the back of the store that I didn't know was there before. It has fresh cinnamon rolls drizzled with caramel under glass, lemon tarts with edible flowers, and coffee that smells like heaven. “So, how long have you worked here?” I ask, settling down on a stool and setting my b
ooks aside.
Jeff gets to work making me a drink, and I feel myself relaxing. The window behind the counter is open, and I can hear wind chimes and birds chirping, the soft lull of conversation from people seated outside. It's cold out there, but the sun is out, and it's beautiful anyway.
“Since I graduated,” he says, handing me what's clearly a handmade mug with a little chip in the corner. I smile as I curl my hands around it, and Jeff pulls out a tart and hands it over to me. “Assuming you like lemon?” he asks, raising an eyebrow, and I grin.
“Love it,” I say, picking up the tiny fork and carving out a bite for myself. “So, what else do you do when you're not hawking coffee and books?”
Jeff grins, and leans his elbow against the counter, watching as I put the lemon tart on my tongue and shiver with the sour-sweet taste. Oh god, it's so freaking good. I swallow, and Jeff raises an eyebrow.
“It's delicious,” I tell him, and he nods, standing up straight.
“My parents own this place. I've got a business degree, so I decided to come back here and help them figure out a way to make this place profitable.”
“Like giving away free tarts and coffee?” I ask, and Jeff laughs.
“Only to our best customers,” he adds, and I realize we're sort of flirting. Not good. Flushing, I focus back on my tart and start cutting tiny pieces off with my fork. The front door opens, bells tingling, but I'm too busy trying not to look at Jeff to notice the person coming up on my right side.
“Give me a flat white, please,” a familiar voice says, and I glance up to find Church Montague standing one stool over from me.
Oh. Shit.
Cursing, I spin away, so that by the time he turns toward me, all he can see is my back.
“Well, hello,” he says, all bright and cheerful. Pretty sure that means he's insane. “I haven't seen you around here before.” There's a brief moment there where I consider spinning around and saying hah, I got you! but then the reality of what that would mean hits me.
The Secret Girl Page 9