by Angel Lawson
But that’s not new.
“Hey,” I say, walking over and sitting on a bench. The weights in his hands are twenty-five pounds each. He lifts them easily, biceps and forearms straining, like they’re half the weight. There’s a calmness about him as he goes through the motions. Hawk is smart, but he’s ruled by physicality. He’s equal parts sexy and scary. I wouldn’t want to be on the other side of his punching fist, but my body wants to know what it feels like to be the intense focus of his energy.
Thoughts like that mean he’s not the only one overheated in the gym.
He finishes his count and rests them on the rack, wiping his forehead with the hem of his shirt. “Hey.”
“I wanted to talk to you about something.”
He grabs his water bottle and takes a gulp. “Sure, what’s going on?”
I tug at the sleeves of my long-sleeved shirt, pulling the fabric over my hands. “Tell me again what happened that night at the party.”
He lowers the bottle and sits on the bench across from me. His legs are so long our knees almost touch. “Not much. We took the pill, hung out for a while on the porch and you got woozy. After that, I got you out of there.”
There’s not a trace of a lie in what he’s saying, but I know he’s not telling me everything. “I remember kissing you on the porch.”
He swallows. “Okay. Yeah. That happened.”
“And I remember being in a bedroom or something.”
He holds my eye, jaw clenching. “Nothing happened, I promise you.”
“Something happened,” I say quietly. “I remember little flashes. We kissed. A lot. And there was some touching. And then last night when Gray and I—” That muscle in his jaw tics. I take a deep breath. “I have this memory of you being on your knees.”
He sits for a moment, unmoving, then places his bottle on the floor. “The drugs affected me too—not as much—I was fully aware the whole time but, well, Rochelle told me it’s called Happy. I get it. I felt great the whole time. Like top of the fucking world.” He runs his hand through his hair. “My skin felt alive and you were there, touching me, and I was touching you. I didn’t know how far gone you were or I would have stopped. I did stop once I realized it.”
“So, there was kissing?”
He nods. “Yes.”
“And some touching.”
“Over the clothes.”
I tilt my head. “And the rest?”
“Was PG. Well, PG-13. I swear.”
“I just…I feel like there’s more. Like there’s a chunk of something lost.” I close my eyes and see gold glitter. A face in the mirror. My face.
He reaches out and takes my hand. “When you said the next day you had no memory of the night before, I decided to leave it. I figured we’d both be embarrassed. I know you don’t feel like that about me and I didn’t want things to get tense.”
“You mean more tense,” I say. “Things have never been easy for us.”
His lips twitch almost pulling all the way into a smile. “No, they haven’t.”
I stand and look down at him. “I do remember you asking me to trust you and I do, which is why I didn’t worry about not having full memories of that night.” I wrap my arms around my body. “I just wanted to know the truth.”
“That’s everything.”
I believe him…almost. There’s a wrinkle between his eyes, something I’ve noticed he only gets when he’s worried.
“See you at dinner,” I say, not wanting to confront it now. We’d come a long way from our tenuous relationship back in Kingston, and after last night with Gray, I’m aware that anything is possible, including taming Sawyer Hawkins.
After rummaging through the massive kitchen refrigerator, I bring my vegetables up to my room. Fresh food wasn’t something we had at our house, so I found a recipe online and managed to prepare them in my small suite kitchenette. I’m popping an asparagus in my mouth when there’s a knock at my door.
“One second,” I call, biting the top off one of the stalks and walking over to the door. I open it and see Gray’s handsome face. Instantly, I blush.
“Hi,” he says, looking slightly bashful himself. I guess that’s what happens when you’ve had your face in a girl's— “I brought you something.”
“Oh yeah?”
“But first,” he says, leaning in and stealing a kiss. “I’ve been waiting to do that all day.”
My lips tingle and I have a feeling this could get out of control really fast. “So, what did you bring me?”
“Ah,” he says, eyes lighting up. He reaches to the hook hanging outside the door, revealing a dress. The dress. The one from the closet last night. “I thought maybe you could wear it to dinner.”
“And ruin it?”
“No, you won’t. Put it on. I want to see you in it.” It’s not a command. It’s a request. I take the hanger from him and hold out the sheer, beaded flapper-style dress. The neckline is plunging, the hem low.
I really want to put it on.
“This, too,” he says, taking my hand and slipping on a gorgeous ring. It looks platinum and I’m pretty sure it’s a diamond.
“This will get us in trouble. Big trouble,” I say, looking behind him.
“It’s one night. I’ll return it the minute we’re done.” He smooths my hair. “I got the guys to dress up, too. Come on, if we’re having a fancy Thanksgiving dinner, we should go all out like we both know the Brats are doing at home.”
He’s right about that. The photos have rolled in on social media all day. Pictures of magnificent houses, food, and clothes from all our classmates like Rochelle, Morgan, and Stella. A few of the guys are in box seats at football games or tagged at swank country clubs, with plates piled high. While this is happening, we’ll be sitting at Sparrowood eating homemade food from the industrial-sized refrigerator.
“Fine,” I say, feeling a little rebellious. “But you have to put it back right after dinner.”
“I’ll even help you take it off if you need me to,” he says with a wink.
I push him out the door, still smiling from that cheesy line, and take the dress into my bedroom. The actual dress is sheer, made to be worn with some kind of slip. I go into Rochelle’s room and dig around her underwear drawer, finding a bandeau top and a pair of boy shorts. The beading covers my private parts, but there’s an illusion that draws your eye, seeking the intimacy beneath. I look at myself in the mirror hanging on the far wall. It’s tight and I have to suck in my stomach, but it fits.
I open up the door and walk into the living room, where Gray scrolls through his phone. He looks up and his eyes widen, raking down my body.
“You—”
“Shouldn’t be wearing this,” I say, feeling exposed from the sheer fabric. The beads are heavy and swish against my knees.
“That’s not what I was going to say,” he replies, walking across the room. His gait is determined. His eyes full of intent. I’m scared. Thrilled. Terrified.
“Breathtaking.” His fingers skim my neck and down my arm.
“I’m wearing a dead woman’s dress.”
“Better than she ever did, I’m sure.”
His drawl is sexy, his face handsome. Being alone with Gray is dangerous, and after last night I know exactly how much.
“Go get dressed,” I tell him. “Let me finish getting ready and I’ll meet you all downstairs.”
He kisses me once on the neck, soft and lingering, before walking out the door. I rest my hand on the edge of the couch, holding myself up. This boy, if I’m not careful, may not just tear down my walls, but my very foundation.
26
Theo
I tug at my tie, loosening it a little. The suit is only a few weeks old but with the amount of time I’ve spent in the gym and pool and the fact I’m eating now, I’m already close to needing a bigger size.
“Do we really have to wear these?” I ask for the fifth time. We're in the dining room, waiting on Eden. Someone, I’m assuming Gray, has b
een down here and set the table with fine china and crystal. Dude likes fancy stuff.
“Yes,” Gray says, frowning at me. “Trust me. It’ll be worth it.”
“Where’s Hawk?” I ask.
“Not sure. But I’m starving and when Eden gets here we’re eating, with or without him.”
Hawk had vanished sometime after coming back from the weight room and taking a shower. The suit hanging in his closet is gone. He couldn’t have gone far.
Gray pulls a lighter out of his pocket and leans over the table, lighting the silver candelabra. He then walks over to the large piece of furniture against the wall, opens a cabinet, and pulls out a bottle of wine. My friend is always prepared.
He’s pouring it into the crystal glasses when the sound and motion of a swish catches my attention, and I look toward the double doors, hands gripping the back of the chair I’m standing in front of. Eden pauses in the entryway, a glimmer of swaying beads and shimmer.
Every part of my body reacts to seeing her. My heart stutters, my breath catches, my shorts tighten. A primal instinct to touch her warm skin or brush back the loose strands of hair hanging by her ears, makes my fingers twitch. My lips ache to kiss the long column of her neck.
“Jesus,” I mutter, feeling completely rattled. Now I understand the dress code.
Tit for tat.
“Where’s Hawk?” she asks, oblivious to the fact I’m about to burst out of my skin. She places her dishes on the table next to the ones we brought.
“Not sure—”
“I’m here,” Hawk says, striding in the room, holding a large platter covered in foil. He sets it at the end of the table and removes the covering. It’s an arranged plate of turkey with a container of gravy.
“You got turkey?” Eden asks, eyes bright. “And gravy?”
“I called in a few favors. I had to go down to the gate to pick it up.”
“You have a turkey supplier?” Gray asks.
“Trip’s not the only one with contacts around here.” He smiles and it’s nice to see his tough exterior fade a little. It’s at that moment Hawk notices Eden and her dress, eyes widening as he takes her in. He coughs and pulls out the chair for her. “Ready to eat?”
“Yes,” she says, smiling up at him. “Thank you.”
We take the same seats as the night before. I reach for a roll in the basket in front of me, while Gray shovels a lump of potatoes out of the bowl. Hawk has a spear of turkey on his fork. We’re all ready to dig in but Eden holds out her hands and says, “Wait!”
I drop the roll back in the basket and the guys pause mid-air and we all look down at the head of the table.
“Maybe, before we eat,” she says in a timid voice, “we go around the table and say what we’re thankful for.”
Hawk blinks and Gray looks confused. I nod, recalling similar moments in my childhood. Moments far away from where I am right now.
“Is this something you did with your mom?”
“Maybe?” she says. “I have vague memories of this, but they could be from TV.” No one looks convinced, but for some reason I feel the sudden need to share.
“I’ll start,” I say, all eyes shifting toward me. “I was in a shit place when I got here, you know that, and it’s still hard. Like, day-to-day I want to just cave. It’s fucking exhausting but coming here changed that.” I glance at Eden, whose eyes shine in the candlelight. “The swimming has really helped create some balance and I know you’ve all been looking out for me with Trip. I’m thankful for that.”
The room is silent for a moment, but Gray takes a gulp of his wine and says, “I’m thankful to not be in lock-up this Thanksgiving, unlike last year. Sparrowood may still be a sort of prison, but this is way better than wearing an orange jumpsuit and having to eat salty, processed food while watching my ass in the showers.”
Hawk nods in agreement. After last night’s refusal to speak, I’m stunned he’s playing along. “As much as it pains me to admit it, this is probably the best Thanksgiving I’ve had in years. The last couple were in foster care, which even if the homes were okay, it always felt weird to be there during the holidays. It’s a time for family and it becomes glaringly obvious that you’re just not really part of it.” He looks down at his plate. “Being here with you feels…”
He stumbles over his word and Eden reaches for his hand. Her voice is strong and clear when she says, “I don’t think I realized it, but I was lost back in Kingston. Consumed with grief over losing Hope. Angry with my mother. Numb about my father. I had no focus, no motivation, I was floating through life.” She takes a deep breath and exhales slowly. “As absurd as it sounds, I’m thankful for getting caught that night and for being forced into this situation with you guys." Her eyes linger over each of us. “Thank you for your protection.”
There’s a beat of silence and a million things left unsaid. What I feel for Eden goes way beyond protection and I’m certain the guys feel the same way. Before anyone else can speak, she holds up her glass of wine and says, “To family—the ones you’re forced into and the ones you create.”
“Sometimes those are the same thing,” Gray adds with a wink.
She smiles, and we reach to the center of the table, sealing the toast and bonding us in a way no one expected. We walked into Sparrowood as a bunch of juvies from Kingston Park.
But now? We’re family.
27
Eden
After too much wine and food, I carefully peel off the dress and ring, giving it back to Gray. Then I head back to my room and crash. It’s a good feeling; full, warm, and fuzzy. Probably the best Thanksgiving I’ve had. I wake late, already hating the fact everyone will be coming back to school in the next two days. The quiet got to me at first, but now I kind of like living in a little bubble with the guys.
The knock on my door surprises me—the guys made it clear they were spending the day watching football down in the lounge and eating junk food Gray found in the kitchen pantry. There was an open invitation to join them, but after the revelations of the day before, a little space may be best.
Prepared to tell whichever K-Boy is standing on the other side of the door to go away, I find myself gaping at my visitor.
Dorian.
“What are you doing here?” I blurt, completely taken off guard. He looks devastatingly handsome. Clothes more casual than normal. He’s in jeans and a long-sleeved hunter green shirt and a soft-looking black leather jacket.
“I have a surprise for you.”
“A surprise?” I blink. His eyes dart down and suddenly I’m aware of my outfit. Tiny sleep shorts and a thin T-shirt. I’m not wearing a bra, which is something I’m pretty sure he’s trying to pretend like he doesn’t notice.
“Get dressed. I’ll tell you about it on the way.”
With my arms now crossed over my chest, I say, “Wait, we’re going somewhere?”
“Yep.”
“Just us?”
He nods. “I promise. It’s a good thing.”
I invite him in, but he says he’ll wait in the common area—a good and appropriate decision that instantly makes me feel juvenile. He’s my counselor. An adult; even if he’s not that much older than I am, my attraction to him is ridiculous.
I change quickly, into something decidedly less sexy than braless; a sweater and leggings. I push on my sneakers and pull my hair up into a ponytail. I grab my phone and bag and meet him outside my room.
“That was fast.”
I shrug. “I’m not one of those girls that spends a huge amount of time getting ready.”
“You’re not one of the ones that need to.”
And that. That’s why I’m struggling with Dorian.
We reach the first floor, I pull out my phone and say, “I should probably tell the guys I’m going off campus.”
“Have you been spending time with them over the break?”
“Yeah, a little,” I reply, not sure what I can tell him about our adventures at Sparrowood. Half of the things we
did with Gray’s stolen key. I’m not sure even Dorian would be okay with that. I send a text through the group we have and slide the phone back in my bag.
We step outside the side door, one leading to a small parking lot, and there’s only one car in the lot. It’s a dark gray vintage Mustang.
“That’s your car?”
“Yeah, it was my dad’s. The only real thing he left me, except maybe my temper.”
He opens the door for me and the springs squeak, but the inside is clean—the leather seats re-upholstered. I get inside, closing the door behind me, and then he walks to the other side of the car.
The engine starts with a rumble and the whole car shakes with power. I can’t help but smile. He looks amazing behind the wheel. Perfect.
“Did you fix this up?”
“It’s what I do in my spare time.”
“I bet your girlfriend loves that.” I have no fucking clue why I said that.
He gives me a slow, slide glance as he backs out of the parking lot. “I wouldn’t know. I’m single.”
That makes me happier than appropriate.
The car cruises down the long driveway and at the gates he stops, pulling out his phone to check directions.
“So, what’s the big mystery? Where are we going?” I ask, halfway having fantasies that this is some kind of date.
“I hope you’re not mad, but I made an appointment.”
“What kind of appointment?”
Worry crosses his face and it’s contagious, anxiety settling in my gut. I’m not prepared when he answers my question. “To see your mom.”
The rehab facility is about an hour away, which gives me time to process that I’m going to see my mom and time for Dorian to distract me. We talk about a million things, but mostly the old days in Kingston, back when he was wild and I was young and impressionable. We laugh at stories about old man Kelly and his crappy corner store that sold the best slushies in the summer. How the humidity and heat drove everyone outside. That’s when people fell in love, got in fights, split into gangs. We lament the fact that Kelly’s closed, just another side-effect of the Brats and gentrification rolling into Kingston. The building is gone—a yoga studio set up in its place. We discuss the self-defense class and how a couple of girls have now come to him, reporting abuse, and how there’s darker side of Sparrowood, one with tentacles that threaten to strangle all the good out of everyone that passes through the iron gates.