Fearless (The Privileged of Pembroke High #5)

by Ivy Fox

  Although Holland is back home, safe and sound, the knowledge that someone tried to poison her, using one of my dresses to do it, still has my mind working double time. Like Rome, I can’t shake the feeling that somehow Addison is behind the malicious prank. If you can even call it that. In my book, it’s attempted murder, not some bully antic gone wrong like our school is trying to portray. If that junk had soaked into Holland’s skin any longer, then instead of us organizing one funeral, we’d have been planning two.

  And though he’s gone, my father would have hated sharing the limelight.

  Even in death.

  No matter how far my thoughts travel, they always seem to land right back on my father. Maybe it’s because I still feel his looming presence all around this house like a ghost who has unfinished business and needs to make sure we never forget him.

  A shiver runs down my spine, hearing his voice in my head.

  You’ll never get rid of me, Eleanor.

  I shut my eyes, my nails piercing my palms, trying to push the imaginary voice away.

  When you see yourself in the mirror, I’m the thing that stares back.

  You and I are made from the same cloth.

  You think I’m done with you?

  I am you, you silly girl!

  NO!

  “Elle? Are you okay?” Holland questions beside me on the couch, her brows pinching in concern.

  I put on a shaky smile, squeezing her hand, thankful that my outburst was all in my mind.

  “I’m fine. Actually, I think I just need some fresh air.”

  “It’s snowing outside,” Rome interjects the instant he sees me standing up.

  “I won’t be long. Just a quick walk.”

  “I’ll go with you,” Holland adds, starting to get up to her feet to follow me.

  “No, that’s okay, hun. I promise I won’t take too long.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Positive.”

  “Maybe when you come back, you could call Chad over. I’m sure he’s worried about you.”

  At the mere mention of my best friend, my chest tightens, and my face falls.

  Since news got out that my father passed away, my phone has been blowing up nonstop with calls and messages. Amongst the slew of people trying to get a hold of me, Chad has been the most insistent. I haven’t had it in me to answer any of his attempts to reach out to me. I just couldn’t handle all this and him at the same time.

  But Holland’s right.

  He’s my best friend. He’s probably out of his mind with worry, and my silence isn’t fair to him.

  “I’ll pop by his place later,” I concede.

  “Good.” She smiles, thinking Chad can make all my sorrows disappear.

  There was a time when he could do just that. One smile from him, one tender word, one small caress, would be enough to make everything in my messed-up world seem better.

  But lately, just looking at him hurts, bringing forth more suffering than my frail heart is equipped to handle. Like me, Chad would love nothing more than to sweep what happened in Aspen under the rug and pretend everything is fine. Unfortunately, it didn’t take us long to realize that living in denial wasn’t an option for us.

  I guess it’s true what they say.

  Once you’ve opened Pandora’s box, you can’t seal it shut again.

  Especially because my heart is just as torn as his.

  Saint is the only one of us that’s remained real since day one.

  Ironic he is the best of us.

  I want to hate him for what he did. I want to blame him for everything, but I can’t. All three of us have been playing this merry-go-round for long enough.

  No one will come out the victor in this game.

  All I see are losers.

  With that depressing thought living rent-free in my head, I rush to put on my winter coat and get out of the manor. The instant the cold air bites into my cheeks, I relish the discomfort. The small pain makes the larger one inside me subside for a bit. I find myself walking around Central Park half an hour later, the place inundated with laughing children and their parents enjoying the snow day. You would think their loud shrieks of happiness would sound normal to my ears, but it’s the contrary. Their blissful happiness feels so foreign to me.

  I never had this type of normal.

  Neither did my brothers.

  Not after she left us.

  My feet lead me to the Alice in Wonderland statue and to the spot on the green that my mom and I used to picnic at. Although the ground is covered in muddy snow, I still sit down, uncaring of the wet chill that is sure to seep into my bones. With a deep inhale, I hug my knees to my chest and close my eyes, trying to picture the last time Mom and I were here. The last time I had a parent who loved me. Or at least tried to.

  The memory is so faint now. As if diluted into small pixel fragments, leaving behind a foggy puzzle that I need to piece together to get a glimpse of the woman she used to be. Sometimes it’s hard to even remember the soft timbre of her voice. Or her expensive Parisian perfume that tickled my nose every time she leaned in to kiss my forehead. If it weren’t for old photographs and homemade movies, would I even remember what my mother looked like?

  These troubling thoughts always bombard me when I come here. Maybe that’s why I stay away. Or maybe it’s because a part of me still resents her for leaving my brothers and me alone with him.

  “He’s gone, Mom. It’s over. Are you happy now? Can you find peace knowing he’s finally out of our lives? Can I?” I ask out loud.

  But she doesn’t reply.

  She never does.

  Yes, our tormentor might have met his demise, but the damage he’s done to our lives prevails. And a part of me fears that the worst is still to come.

  There is something my brothers have been keeping from me. Something they refuse to share. It’s been there, hidden away just under the surface for months now. My suspicions were confirmed when we got the call from the hospital announcing that our father was awake from his coma. For the briefest of seconds, neither Rome, Ollie, nor Ash could hide what truly lay dormant in their hearts. And it wasn’t the feeling of disappointment I was expecting.

  It was fear.

  The weirdest thing was that I caught the same glimmer of dread in Holland’s gaze, too.

  What are they withholding from me?

  What could possibly have happened for the people I love most—my own brothers—to lie so unashamedly to my face? And when did they get comfortable enough to think they could get away with it anyway? I’m not upset that they are keeping something from me. What’s really pissing me off is that they think I’m foolish enough not to notice that they are. Because even if it’s only a lie by omission, it’s still a lie in my book.

  And I’m so weary of lies.

  Exhausted of living each day with them.

  But I guess if I want to live a life where lies have no place in it, then it’s time I face the biggest liar of them all—the boy who let me believe his heart belonged only to me.

  When I knock on Chad’s door, Saint’s aunt, Mags, is the one to open it.

  “Elle,” she gasps, bringing me into a full-fledged hug. “I heard about your father. I’m so sorry, sweetheart.”

  “Thank you,” I reply on autopilot.

  What can I say?

  That I’m glad he’s gone?

  That I had wished a million times over that he would die and leave us be?

  That would make me as much a monster in people’s eyes as he was in mine.

  “Is Chad home?” I ask, awkwardly pulling away from her embrace.

  “Yes. He’s in his room. Do you want me to get him?”

  “No, that’s okay. I’ll go find him,” I reply with an anxious smile.

  “Well, he’ll be over the moon that you’re here. He’s been pacing back and forth since we got the news.”

  Guilt instantly assaults my bruised hea
rt. Of course, he was worried about me. Just because we’re both on the outs doesn’t mean the feelings we have for each other have disappeared. If anything, their existence is the reason why we’re in this mess.

  Once I reach his room, I see that his door is ajar. Gently, I push it open and find Chad sitting on his bed, head bowed down, focused on the phone he has in his hands. When I feel my own phone vibrate in my pocket, it’s a safe bet that there is another message from him in my inbox.

  “Hi.”

  “Elle! Jesus Christ!” he shouts, jumping off the bed and rushing toward me. He wraps his arms around me, and for a few minutes, I let myself enjoy his warmth. My eyes begin to water, trying to recollect the last time I even let him touch me like this.

  I’ve missed this.

  I’ve missed him.

  I miss us.

  “Are you okay? Why haven’t you been answering my calls? I’ve been worried sick.”

  “I just needed some time.”

  He nods as if understanding what I mean by that.

  But how can he when I can’t make heads or tails of anything anymore?

  “Come sit,” he says, pulling me onto the bed.

  I sit down at the edge, his arms refusing to let me go.

  “Do you want to talk about it?”

  “No.”

  He nods again, but I feel the waves of his sadness run through him at my refusal to open up to him.

  “When is the wake?”

  “Tomorrow. Rome is setting everything up at our house.”

  He pulls my chin up and stares at me, his emerald green eyes leaving a mark on my destitute soul.

  “What can I do? Tell me how I can fix this?”

  I don’t know if I should laugh or cry at his question.

  He can’t fix this.

  He can’t even fix what he broke.

  “Elle, you’re shivering,” he states all of a sudden. “Why are your clothes all wet?” he questions worriedly, picking me up from his bed and ushering me into his bathroom. “Here,” he says after he’s grabbed some clothes out of a drawer. “Go and change. I’ll get your clothes washed and dried for you.”

  “It’s fine. I’m fine.”

  “I wasn’t asking, Elle,” he retorts with a firm tone, silencing all my excuses.

  My shoulders slump, taking the clothes from his hands since I know he won’t budge until I do as he says. Once I’m inside his ensuite, I strip off my wet clothes, suddenly very aware of how cold I truly am. All of me shivers as I step into his shower, trembling away until the jets of scalding hot water do their job of warming me up. I’m not sure how much time passes, but when my olive-toned skin morphs into an ugly shade of red, I turn the water off. When I step out of the shower, the wet clothes I had left on top of the hamper are no longer in sight. Chad must have come in to grab them once he heard the water running. Not that I would have noticed his presence with the steam clouds in the room. I change into his basketball jersey, forgoing his sweats since they wouldn’t fit my small frame anyway. Then I comb my wet hair with my fingers, just enough to untangle it and put it into a messy bun. I do all of this while going to great pains not to look at my reflection in his bathroom mirror. I don’t need a reminder of what a hot mess I must look like. It’s bad enough that I feel like a disaster.

  When I finally walk out into his room, I find it completely empty. Feeling like I’ve just been hit by a Mack truck, I pull his duvet down and settle myself on his bed, Chad’s scent instantly soothing my tired soul. I must have dozed off because when I open my eyes, I’m enveloped in a warm cocoon, Chad’s arms holding me tightly to his chest. I turn around to face him, his loving gaze already on me.

  “I fell asleep.”

  “You did.”

  “What time is it?” I yawn, wiping the sleep away from my eyes.

  “Almost midnight. Don’t worry, I called Rome and told him you were here.”

  “Thank you.” I nod.

  “How is my heart?” Chad asks, running his knuckles up and down my cheek.

  “Broken. Confused. Hurt.”

  He lets out a long exhale.

  “He’s gone now, Elle. He can’t hurt you anymore.”

  “He’s not the one who is making me feel this way.”

  Misery coats his gaze as he removes his hand from me.

  “I never meant to hurt you,” he explains in a somber tone.

  “But you did.”

  “I know. And it kills me.”

  “You could have told me how you felt. I didn’t have to be blindsided,” I lament with a razor-sharp edge on my voice.

  “You mean how I was in regards to you and Saint?”

  My eyes immediately lower in shame at his remark while his turn away from me.

  He’s right.

  Chad might have withheld his true feelings for Santiago, but then again, I wasn’t very forthcoming with mine either. The only difference between us is that I didn’t know what I felt for Saint before Aspen happened. I honestly believed that the only thing that existed between the black-eyed devil and me was animosity and hate. Hate brought up by loving the same boy—him.

  I guess the reason why I’m hurt is because Chad always knew how deep his feelings went for Saint and never once tried to tell me. He never tried to caution my foolish heart into not falling in love with him. In fact, he did the exact opposite. He gave my heart room to hope. Hope that one day, he’d be mine and mine alone.

  “I need you to tell me the truth. Did you ever love me?” I ask him, my voice cracking at the end.

  He snaps back to me, eyes wide, cupping my face in his hands.

  “I’ve never stopped loving you. Not once, Elle.”

  “Prove it to me. Show me that you love me.”

  His gaze falls to my lips, and before he has time to second guess himself, I kiss him. My tears threaten to fall as I try to find the boy that I gave my heart to.

  “Elle,” he says with a strangled groan.

  “Show me,” I whisper, jumping on top of him until he’s fully between my thighs.

  “Stop, Elle,” he grunts, even though the way his body is responding to mine tells me otherwise.

  I keep kissing him with wild abandon, grinding on top of him until I feel his need for me poking at my belly.

  “Elle,” he continues to groan. “We have to stop.”

  “Why? Tell me one good reason?” I retort on a ragged breath, my hand finding his swollen cock over his sweats.

  In one quick move, he flips us on the bed. His body hovers over mine, taking both my wrists hostage in his grip above my head to stop my advances.

  “Because…” He sighs, his temple kissing mine. “Just a minute ago, you said that you feel broken. Confused. Hurt. If we do this, I’ll just be adding to the chaos.”

  Hurt by his refusal, I push him off with my legs and turn to my side to conceal the tears stinging my eyes.

  “You said you loved me.”

  “And I do. God, Elle, I love you more than I could ever put into words.”

  “Not enough,” I murmur under my breath.

  He lets out a long exhale, and I feel him running his hand over his face in exasperation.

  “You’re barely seventeen, Elle.”

  “What does my age have to do with anything?” I demand in outrage. “As far as the state of New York is concerned, I’m perfectly legal to sleep with whomever I choose.”

  “Legal, yes. But young. Too young to know the consequences of your choices.”

  I turn around to face him, anger taking over me.

  “Don’t you dare fucking condescend me, Chadwick Murphy! You’re just a few months older than I am. You think that makes you wiser than me? More worldly? What do you know about the world? You’ve been loved and sheltered all your life. You have no idea what pain is. You never have.”

  He grabs my face and holds me to him.

  “I know pain. I know misery. Do you think these yea
rs have been easy for me? To love you with all my heart and soul and not be able to touch you. To care for you like I wanted. All because of…” when he stops mid-sentence, I know exactly who he’s referring to.

  “Say it! Because of Saint! Say it!”

  “Yes, Elle. Because of Saint.”

  I shake my head in fury, unable to keep my tears at bay.

  “No. Tell me all of it. Because you love him! Say that!”

  “Because I love him,” he confesses, defeated. “Because he’s as much a part of me as you are.”

  “Another lie.”

  “I’m not lying, Elle.”

  “Yes, you are, and I can prove it. You refuse to sleep with me, but you’ve slept with him, haven’t you?”

  When guilt coats his beautiful, bright green eyes, I feel like I’m dying.

  “You have, haven’t you?” I repeat again, pulling out from under his grip.

  When he has the audacity to nod, I slam my fists to his chest.

  “Don’t fucking nod. Tell me. I need to hear it.”

  “Yes, I slept with him.”

  “You lost your virginity with him, not me.”

  “It’s not the same thing—”

  “Yes, it is. Fucking is fucking!”

  “Stop being so damn abrasive. You sound like your brothers.”

  “No, I don’t. I sound like a Grayson. We don’t mince our words. We tell it like we see it. But that’s not the kind of man you are. You’re the type who likes to paint pretty pictures and make everyone around you think you’re this amazing good guy. But it’s fucking bullshit. You’re nothing but a coward.”

  “I’m the coward?! What about you?! Are you really going to lie there and lecture me about losing my virginity with Saint when you fucking did the same thing?! In my own fucking house, no less,” he spits out, his features red with rage.

  “Yes, I am! Because I didn’t hide it from you. I wanted you to know.”

  “That’s fucking cold, Elle.” His nostrils flare in disgust, making bile rise to the back of my throat. “I never thought you’d be that vindictive.”

  I push my nausea down and look him deep in his eyes.

  “I didn’t sleep with Saint out of revenge. I slept with him because I wanted to. Because I needed him inside me more than I needed my next breath. Is that too much honesty for you?”