Too much damage has been inflicted on both sides.
At this point, it feels irreparable.
Even as those thoughts crash around inside my head, I take a tentative step in his direction. A need so strong bubbles up, propelling me forward. It’s as if there is a delicate thread connecting us to one another. Nothing has severed it.
Deep down, I don’t think anything ever will.
My feet shuffle forward cautiously as my heart picks up tempo, pounding faster, harsher until it fills my ears. The sound of the ball hitting the trampoline-like woven material becomes more insistent.
Is he able to sense my presence?
Does he realize I’m on the other side of the bushes? That I want to find a way to blot out the past and start anew?
But how could we move forward?
My father is dead.
I’ve lost our baby.
And eighty years of bad blood sits between us.
The fresh wave of grief that crashes over me is so powerful that my knees nearly buckle with the force of it. His name swells in my throat before I slap a hand over my mouth to keep the sound buried deep inside. With the afghan clutched to my chest, I force myself to retreat. The sound of the rubber ricocheting off the bounce back intensifies until it reaches a frenzy.
I stumble back a step.
Then another.
And a third before forcing myself to swing away. Whatever fragile possibility had been swirling through the air vanishes as I rush to the little parcel of land I’ve claimed for myself in the far corner of the yard. My fingers tremble as they arrange the blanket on the lawn with painstaking precision. My heart thumps a painful rhythm as I block out the boy next door.
It’s easier said than done.
Once I’ve stretched out and found a comfortable position, only then do I realize the repetitive sound of the ball has disappeared. Other than the wind rustling through the treetops, the night has grown eerily silent.
I focus my attention on the sky stretched out overhead. There must be a million stars crowded against the velvety blackness. Even though we’ve been here for two months, the brilliance and clarity never cease to steal my breath away. Fresh amazement spirals through me.
When my mind is full of angst, routine has always helped settle it. In need of that now more than ever, I begin the hunt for familiar constellations. Automatically, my gaze fastens on the North Star or as it’s otherwise known, Polaris. This is the point in which the entire northern sky turns. The axis of the earth is nearly pointed at it, and so it remains fixed in place while other stars circle it.
After that, I move on to the Big Dipper. The big ladle in the sky is one of the first arrangements I could identify. Next there’s Pegasus, a white-winged horse flying through the galaxy. I shift my gaze, knowing I’ll find both Andromeda and Pisces. One by one, my muscles relax, losing their rigidity as I sink further into the earth.
If we end up moving, stargazing in the backyard is what I’ll miss most. In a dark night sky, it’s possible to see up to forty-five hundred stars. With the light pollution in Chicago, only thirty-five are visible to the naked eye.
And just like that, my mind returns to the dilemma that drove me outdoors.
Deep down, I realize there’s nothing here for us.
Or, more accurately, me.
At the very least, leaving this town behind in our rearview mirror will be cathartic. The closing of one chapter and the beginning of another. Hawthorne has been filled with untold amounts of pain. A forced engagement, Dad’s sudden death, and an unexpected pregnancy. In Chicago, I can begin healing and in time, forget about everything that happened here.
Even though nothing will ever dull the pain of Dad’s demise, there will be a certain amount of comfort to be found in returning to a place where our family made so many good memories. Where life seemed almost idyllic compared to this.
As those thoughts coalesce, forcing me toward a decision, the sound of Kingsley’s ball ricocheting off the bounce back punctures the stillness, destroying the sliver of peace I had found. No matter how much I want to drive him to the outer recesses of my mind and heart, it’s not possible.
He will always be there, pushing at the edges, demanding entrance.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
My gaze slants toward my brother as we drive to school in silence. It feels like we’ve come full circle in the two-and-a-half months we’ve been in Hawthorne. My life is once again my own and we are pariahs at the exclusive prep school.
Since my return home, Austin has grown solemn. I would be more concerned with the change in his behavior if so much hadn’t taken place in such a brief period of time. My gut tells me this has everything to do with the decision we have yet to make. Neither of us has broached the subject since the other night. By unspoken agreement, we’re avoiding it for the time being.
Whether he meant it to, his words about not being able to go home again have been echoing throughout my head. What if we uproot our lives for a second time in a matter of months and nothing in Chicago is the same?
It’s a scary prospect.
My brother hits the blinker, signaling our turn onto school property. The elaborate stone and wrought iron gate looms before us as we roll forward before passing through it. Not so long ago, driving onto the picturesque campus would have unleashed a horde of nerves, making me sick to my stomach. All of these snotty kids with their fancy cars, entitlement issues, and wealth scared the hell out of me. For whatever reason, that’s no longer the case.
My twin parks the car near the front of the building. There is a sea of navy blazers in the parking lot as students stand around in small clusters, laughing and talking. A few watch us from the safety of their groups. We might be Hawthornes, our great-great-grandfather founding this godforsaken town, but that doesn’t matter. We didn’t grow up here and therefore will be considered newcomers until we die. This is the kind of place that takes generations to be absorbed into the fabric of society.
When we moved here, the plan had been to keep my head down and draw the least amount of attention to myself. All I wanted was to get through my last year of high school before spring boarding to college.
And now?
I no longer care if I make waves or if these people have a problem with me. The seismic shift in my thought process has set me free, and it’s liberating. These kids don’t matter. None of this bullshit does.
“You ready to do this?” Austin mutters, drawing my attention back to the present.
“Yup.” More than ready.
As far as I’m concerned, I own this damn school.
It’s my name on the building and my ancestor who founded it. If these people don’t like it or want to resent me for every past transgression my family made, they can kiss my ass. These past months have done their best to break me, but somehow, I’ve managed to survive. I’m stronger than I realized, and there’s something to be said for that.
I straighten to my full height and sling one strap of the backpack over my shoulder. From the corner of my eye, I catch a glimpse of Sloane, along with her wannabes. I’ve gone out of my way to avoid a confrontation with her, but that doesn’t seem to be enough.
Even though I don’t have any concrete proof, instinct tells me that she’s the one who knocked me to the floor after lunch. I’ll always wonder if the fall had something to do with losing the baby or if it was nothing more than a coincidence. Her lips curve into a nasty smirk as if she’s privy to the thoughts running rampant through my head.
“That girl is one hell of a bitch,” Austin bites out.
“Yup, she is.” Where Sloane is concerned, I’m tired of taking the high road and allowing her to push me around. Anger bubbles up, threatening to erupt.
I don’t take more than a few steps when her gaze narrows, and she stalks toward us.
Me.
I’m the one she’s gunning for. Already I can see it in her eyes. We’re like two high-spee
d vehicles destined for a head-on collision. Her friends follow suit, falling in line behind her like some kind of prep school mafia outfitted in matching tartan skirts and blazers. Do they realize how ridiculous they look?
I wait for my heart rate to speed up and my palms to perspire with an explosion of pent-up nerves, but it never materializes. I’m calm, cool, and strangely collected. Sloane Carmichael no longer holds power over me.
“What’s wrong, Hawthorne?” Her smug expression morphs into one of malicious delight as she steps closer, invading my personal space. “Has Kingsley finally come to his senses and dumped your pathetic ass? It’s about damn time.”
Austin crowds behind me. He’s more than ready to leap to my defense should I need him. We’ve always been protective of each other. He’s not about to let Sloane get away with disparaging me. He would never get physical with a female, but he sure as hell would verbally cut her to pieces with his tongue.
My mouth snaps open, ready to set her straight. It’s been a long time in coming. Instead, a deep voice cuts in, stealing my thunder.
“Not that it’s any of your business, but Summer is the one who dumped me.”
What?
My head jerks as my wide gaze lands on Kingsley, who now stands beside me. He’s so close that if I reached out, I could wrap my arms around him. But the physical proximity is deceiving. We both know there’s no way to breach the yawning distance that separates us. As tempting as it is to reach out, I tighten my fingers into a fist, so I don’t do exactly that.
Sloane’s arrogant expression falters briefly before she snorts out her skepticism. “Please, as if she’s good enough for you. That girl is a Hawthorne! She’s not fit to lick the mud from the bottom of my shoes.” Her gaze darts around the growing crowd before she raises her voice. “Everyone here hates the Hawthornes and we always will!”
“No, not everyone.” The words might be quietly spoken, but they ring out clearly for all to hear. “And you’re wrong about her not being good enough. When it comes down to it, Summer Hawthorne is way too good for me and you know what else?” His throat constricts. “She’s too fucking good for you!” His gaze narrows before coasting over the sea of curious onlookers that have gathered around us. “Or any of you.”
Kingsley falls silent. His hands tighten and bunch at his sides as he scans the packed parking lot, waiting for someone to step out of line. A muffled cough or two is the only sound that can be heard. It’s almost as if everyone is holding their collective breath.
Thick emotion swells in my chest until I have to blink it out of my eyes.
Even though his voice remains calm, there’s a steely strength buried beneath it. “If anyone touches one damn hair on Summer Hawthorne’s head or even looks at her the wrong way, they’ll fucking answer to me.”
His gaze crawls over the thick crush of students before coming to rest on Sloane. Her face drains of all color beneath the heavy weight of his stare. Her friends, who had been quick to flank her, shrink away, visibly distancing themselves.
When he finally skewers me with his somber gaze, it’s as if the world falls away and it’s just the two of us. Emotion rushes through me, threatening to swallow me whole. Before I can gather my thoughts or even thank him for coming to my defense, he takes off, striding toward the stone building without so much as a goodbye. I can only stare after him in stunned silence, my gaze trained on his broad back.
Now that the show is over, the thick tension permeating the air dissipates and the crowd scatters like rats from a sinking ship. Some escape to the safety of the school while others congregate in tiny clusters with their heads bent together. A wave of whispers ripple around us. People stare at me before glancing at Sloane, who stands rooted in place, looking shellshocked by Kingsley’s public rebuke.
It's almost enough to make me feel sorry for her.
Almost, but not quite.
“It pains me to say this, but maybe he’s not such a dickhead after all,” Austin grumbles.
A gurgle of laughter escapes from my lips. Leave it to Austin to sum up the moment succinctly.
“Holy shit, did that seriously happen?” Everly pipes up from beside me.
“Sure did,” my brother responds.
“Damn.” Almost speculatively, she stares toward the school. “I just fell a little bit in love.”
My gaze tracks Kingsley’s movements before he disappears inside the stone building.
Yeah, me too.
Chapter Forty
My teeth sink into my lower lip as I stare at the phone lying in the middle of my bed like it’s a venomous snake seconds away from striking.
Should I do this?
Is it really a good idea?
Or am I opening myself up to a world of hurt?
Ten minutes later, I’m still trying to figure out the answer. Almost hesitantly, I reach for the phone and stare at the blank screen. Even the thought of composing a text makes me nauseous.
What would I say?
How can I convey what’s been circling through my head for days?
I exhale a shaky breath before typing out a sentence. Then I read it over a million times before deleting it and taking a stab at a second attempt.
Ugh.
Why does this feel like a matter of life or death?
With a furrowed brow, I glare at the text. It seems so inadequate. A quick succession of finger taps makes it disappear. Then I retype a simple sentence, read through it at least a dozen times before losing my patience and hitting the send button. As soon as the message is fired off, a groan slides from my lips as a bubble of anxiety wells in my chest. If it were possible to snatch it from the air, I would do it in a heartbeat.
My mind grows fuzzy as I hyperventilate before giving myself a quick mental slap.
For fuck’s sake, girl, pull it together! For better or worse, it’s over with. There’s no going back.
As terrified as I am, if I don’t see this through to the bitter end, I’ll always regret it.
Decision made, I straighten my shoulders and grab the afghan from the armchair before heading to the tiny balcony. Anxiety churns in my gut as I rush down the steps and cross the cement patio that skirts the pool until my bare feet can sink into the cool blades of grass.
I stop and prick my ears, attempting to pick up the slightest noise. Crickets chirp, a few birds call from where they are nesting in surrounding trees, and the engine from a car grows faint before eventually disappearing. My teeth sink into my lower lip before sucking the fullness into my mouth as doubt flourishes.
Why did I think this was a good idea?
Maybe I should save myself the humiliation and return to the house. There’s no reason for me to sit out here and wait for a guy who won’t show up. I hug the blanket to my chest, knowing deep down I can’t escape the inevitable. I have to make one last ditch effort before throwing in the towel.
It’s not a conscious decision to stumble forward. All I know is that each step brings me closer to the little corner at the back of the yard that borders the golf course. Trembles wrack my body as I arrange the blanket on the ground before stretching out and settling in for the duration. It feels like I’m playing a game of Russian roulette with my heart, and that’s the riskiest decision I’ve ever made.
With every agonizing second that ticks by, the nausea in the pit of my belly grows until I want to curl up into a tight ball and rail at myself for being foolish enough to think this would end well.
Breathe.
I focus on the sky before rattling off the names of familiar constellations, but it’s not enough to distract me. After five tortuous minutes slide by, any hope that we could put the past behind us and start fresh dies a slow, agonizing death. What has become glaringly obvious is that I read too much into Kingsley’s gestures. The telescope. Him sticking up for me with Sloane. They didn’t mean as much as I suspected. The finality of this moment has tears pricking the back of my eyes as an ache rushes i
n to fill the gaping hole in my chest.
Emotion churns beneath my skin, attempting to claw its way out. I release a measured breath and refocus on the pinpricks of light that are painted across the velvety darkness. I take in the sheer beauty and the amazement I feel each time I stare at the solar system. How can you not marvel at the impossibility of it all? Usually that’s enough to put my problems into perspective, but tonight, it does nothing to ease the sorrow that fills me.
“Hey.”
Startled by the deep voice, my gaze shifts, landing on Kingsley. His lower half is encased in black sweatpants, the top in a gray hoodie. The air gets sucked from my lungs as I find him staring down at me with an inscrutable expression. My heart flutters in response to his proximity. It’s become such a familiar sensation, one I’ve experienced dozens of times since spotting him on the beach. And nothing that has happened between us has changed that.
When I remain silent, completely tongue-tied by his presence, he asks, “Is there room down there for me?”
I blink to awareness before scooching over. As I do, he drops beside me before stretching out. I’m ridiculously cognizant of our points of contact. Shoulders. Elbows. Hips. Through the thick cotton hoodie, my skin buzzes with awareness.
Over the last couple of hours, I’ve manufactured a thousand little speeches in my head. Everything I wanted him to know. And now that he’s here...
My brain goes silent.
Not only do the crickets chirp around us, they chirp inside my head.
Awkwardness descends as I clear my throat. It feels dry and scratchy as I lift my arm and point to the sky.
If all else fails, talk about astronomy.
“Do you see the bright star directly overhead?”
Queen of Hawthorne Prep Page 24