Sparrowood Academy (Book 3): Bully Romance

by Angel Lawson

  “And you’re okay with that?” Hawk asks.

  “Yeah, I am.”

  She glances over his shoulder. I look back and see Tyson in the doorway, talking to some guests. “Go.”

  I lift my chin. “Not without her.”

  She sighs. “The last time I saw her she was in the study off the dining room. Get her and her skanky friend and get the fuck out of here.”

  Hawk hesitates, obviously willing to linger and finish what he’d started with Tyson’s brother. Theo touches his arm. “This is not what we came for.”

  We came for Eden. To repair what we’d done. This is an apology mission. Not a takeover.

  I nod at Hawk, letting him know I agree. I’m not one to run from a fight, but this is about something bigger. He relents, walking the long way around the deck to get back to the house, avoiding Tyson entirely.

  From what Hope just said, Eden may need us more than ever.

  5

  Eden

  He appears from the crowd, tall and broad. His handsome face is freshly bruised—worse than I remember. He’s out of place—as much or even more than I am. The muscle in his jaw tics while his eyes roam over my body, assessing.

  I wait for the venom. The I told you so. The hurt that I see lurking behind the gray of his eyes. I brace myself with every ounce of strength I have left, which isn’t much, for the wrath of Sawyer Hawkins.

  “Come on,” he says, as much to Rochelle as me, “let’s get out of here.”

  His hand slips in mine, warm and strong. No questions. No accusations. I follow because I need a shield, and he’s a big one. In the hall I sense two others as they fall into line; blond hair and broad shoulders lead the way. Casual ease swaggers behind. I glance back, and Gray winks.

  Just like at Sparrowood, the seas part, divided by a force. One that despite everything that happened, everything we said, all the betrayals, is still standing.

  I don’t speak on the way back to Rochelle’s. The hope, desperation, anger, and fear that had been holding me together while I searched for my sister slowly begins to fade. The resulting emotion is a numbness, like I’m submerged.

  “Tell me what you want to do,” Rochelle says from next to me. Her expression is worried. Something I’ve never seen before.

  “That’s the problem,” I reply. “I don’t know.”

  The boys are inexplicably silent. Inexplicably, because there’s a million things to say.

  The driver arrives at Rochelle’s, and the boys follow us inside the pristine lobby, still decorated for the holidays, and up the walnut-paneled elevator to the top floor. Gray touches the paneling on the way out, impressed, and Theo’s energy shifts, curious about the penthouse. Even Hawk’s stoic expression alters as he takes it all in.

  “And I thought the Cohen brothers had money,” Gray says, whistling at her foyer. Two weeks ago, I was just as impressed. After living here for two weeks, it strangely feels like home.

  “Oh, they do,” Rochelle says. “Old money. The kind that funnels political campaigns and coups all over the world.” She leads us to the living room. “It’s another reason they treat me the way they do. My father is 'new' money. They find all this garish and fleeting.”

  “My grandfather is old money,” Theo says, with a grin. “I’m sure he’d have opinions about all the white and gold in this room.”

  Rochelle sits on the pale gray couch and the boys follow, Gray touching everything he passes. Hawk lingers behind me with his hands in his pockets, like a security detail.

  I look back at him. “Are you expecting me to run?”

  “It wouldn’t be the first time.” His eyes hold mine, but I don’t see the anger in there anymore. “We spoke to Hope.”

  “So you know the truth, then. She was never missing.” I sit on a leather chair. “You were right. I was obsessed with someone that didn’t care. I spent all that time and energy chasing someone that wanted to be left alone.”

  “You were fighting for your family,” Gray says. “No one can fault you that.”

  Theo looks at me. “Rochelle asked you in the car; what do you want to do now?”

  My eyes flick to Hawk’s. He’s still blocking the door.

  I sigh. “I want to run—get the hell out of here and never come back.”

  “Then let’s go,” he says. “Wherever you want.”

  “I want to, but I can’t. It’s time for me to admit running doesn’t work for me. Every time I try, I fail. Something holds me up.” I look at Theo. Finding him that night may have been the best thing to happen to both of us.

  “You’re saying you want to go to back to school?” Theo asks.

  “It means that I realized something.” I take a deep steadying breath. “Fighting for Hope was dumb. Allowing myself to be manipulated by Trip was even worse. It’s time for me to focus on myself and what I want, and I think that you should, too.

  “We’ve been given an opportunity to attend a top private school. It can be a stepping stone—not to living in the shallow world of the Brats, but doing something better with our lives. Something we’d never get in Kingston.”

  “So you want to go back to Sparrowood,” Theo says clarifies, “but actually focus on being a student?”

  “Yes.”

  A small grin appears on Gray’s lips, and Theo’s shoulders seem to relax. Hawk holds up his hand. “I think we can all agree to this plan, but if we’re starting over, let’s do it the right way.”

  “What does that mean?” I ask.

  The guys glance at one another, a ripple of understanding passing through them. Hawk speaks. “We’d like to, um, date you.”

  The statement tries to penetrate my muddled mind. The K-Boys? Dating? What does that mean? Nights at the movies? Kisses by my dormitory door? Corsages and dances?

  Rochelle speaks first. “All of you? At once?”

  The idea makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. Hawk is still looking at me, his eyebrows raised. “What do you think?”

  The numbness from before fades a little and a fire ignites in my belly. I don’t know if it’ll work or if it’s even a good idea, but something makes me want to try. “I think that if we’re truly starting over, then if you want to try to date me I’m not going to stop you, but I can’t wipe away the past. We’re going to have to work through some things first.”

  Rochelle laughs. “My girl is going to make you work for it.”

  “Challenge accepted,” Gray says, speaking for the group.

  “Holy crap, it’s almost midnight,” Ro says, jumping up and running out of the room. “Ruby! Where’s the champagne?”

  There’s rummaging in the kitchen, and she returns a moment later followed by the older woman, carrying a large tray stacked with champagne flutes. Rochelle holds two bottles by the neck. “Come on,” she says, leading us out to the balcony.

  “You don’t have to do this,” I say, more to Ruby than to my roommate, who hands one bottle to Gray while she starts to unwrap the seal from the other. Theo thanks Ruby, takes the tray, and carries it outside.

  I stand by the door, a little unsure.

  “I left the party of the year for you,” Ro says, “the very least you can do is watch the fireworks with me and drink a little champagne at midnight.”

  “Fireworks?” I ask. My interest is piqued.

  The town of Asherville is below and visible from the patio is Ashe Lake, off in the distance. Theo pulls out his phone and says, “Two minutes.”

  I feel a chill, either from the wind or the excitement of embarking on a new adventure. This time one following my own rules and desires. Fuck Trip. Fuck the Cohen brothers, and as much as I hate to say it, fuck Hope.

  A warm body moves behind me and blocks the wind. I turn and find Hawk, standing close. He looks down at me and says, “I should have told you. I failed, and there’s no bigger regret in my life.”

  “You should have,” I admit, “but my search for Hope kept me from seeing what was right in front of me. It
made me lose my priorities. Demolish my self-respect. We both screwed up.”

  “One minute!” Ro says, popping the cork of the champagne bottle. Fizzy liquid runs down the side of the bottle, and she laughs gleefully. Gray uncorks the second, and they start to fill glasses then push them into our hands.

  “Thirty seconds!”

  Liquid drops down the side and I find myself licking my thumb with my tongue. Hawk watches me closely, my hands, my mouth, my tongue.

  “Ten, nine, eight, seven…”

  Gray and Theo walk over, huddling close.

  “Four, three, two…”

  Rochelle joins holding her glass in the air, crying out, “Happy New Year!”

  The first pop hits the night sky—out in the distance, over the water. It’s followed by the screams and explosions that light up the night sky.

  “Happy New Year,” I say, clinking my glass with my friends, doing my best to forget my family not too far away. “Here’s to new experiences.”

  Gray swallows his drink and steps forward, slipping a hand behind my hair. “To new experiences,” he says, before kissing me gently, tasting of expensive champagne.

  I feel a hand on my hip and Theo spins me around. “Happy New Year, Princess.” His mouth is warm. His lips soft. My fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt, holding onto him.

  He releases me, walking over to the railing to stand with Gray and Rochelle. When I look up I’m a few feet from Hawk, who tips the glass of champagne into his mouth, consuming the last drop. He licks his lips, and I wonder if he’ll want to seal the New Year with a kiss. My heart pounds, from the boys, from the way he looks at me. We’re entering new territory. No games. No arrangements. Just us.

  It’s terrifying.

  He takes a step closer, but still doesn’t touch me. He leans toward me. “I’m not going to kiss you, not tonight. Not until we’re on better footing. Not until you really want me to.”

  My heart, my skin, my brain…it’s all telling me that I want him to, right now. Right here on the balcony. I swallow and say, “Happy New Year, Hawk.”

  “Happy New Year, Princess.”

  He places his hand on my lower back and guides me over to the others. As we watch the fireworks burst in the sky, I feel the sense of renewal wash over the four of us. The Cohen brothers may have a special knack for breaking people that cross their paths, but we’re not just people. We’re from Kingston, and it’s time to show them what we’re made of.

  6

  Eden

  “Just remember,” Rochelle says as we walk into the dining hall, “half the girls in this school have seen Trip Cohen’s dick. The other half wish they had.”

  I give her the side-eye and try to quell the nerves rampaging in my stomach. “I’m not sure that’s actually true.”

  She shrugs. “You know what’s true? Every girl in this school, including yours truly, would give their left tit find out what it’s like to be in the middle of a K-Boy sandwich.” She grins at me. “You can take that to the bank.”

  “Can we stop talking about tits and dicks? I’m losing my appetite.”

  Once we’re in the room, I keep my eyes focused on the table in the back. The one where the K-Boys sit. In the past this would have been a set-up, an elaborate plan to make the school think we were a united force. This time we are a united force, but plan-less. We’re taking this naturally. Organically—

  “Slut.”

  “Cocksucker.”

  “Whore.”

  “What did you call me?” I ask, trying to pinpoint the venom. It could be one of a dozen girls, each milling about the serving area. “Does someone have a problem they’d like to take up with me?”

  My hands are on my hips, and I feel the heavy weight of an arm sling over my shoulder. The warm, rich scent of cologne assaults my nostrils and I fight back a gag.

  “Are people bothering you, Princ—” I elbow Trip in the side. He grunts. “Uh, Eden?”

  “Get your goddammed hands off of me, or you’ll have more than a black eye and bruised ribs, Cohen,” I say, flicking my eyes south. “I’ll Lorena Bobbit you before you force another girl to look at your pathetic cock.”

  I must sound convincing, because he holds up his hands and winks at a passing girl. “Calm down, sweetheart. I just wanted to see if you needed any assistance.” In a low voice he adds. “I know the girls here can be a little catty when they’re jealous.”

  I roll my eyes. “You’re delusional.”

  “And you’re adorable when you’re angry. You face turns all red and your neck. I bet it travels down to your—”

  Thwack.

  His head snaps back, and I hit him in his barely healed jaw.

  The commotion that follows is instantaneous. Chairs scraping on the floor, shouts from the students. Three bodies inch behind me. I hold out my hand. This is my fight.

  “Warren. Cohen. That’s enough,” Coach Dawson says, coming from the faculty table.

  “He started it—” I cry.

  Trip just grins like a maniac. “Leaned to fight back, did you? I like it.”

  “Shut your mouth, Cohen,” Coach Dawson says. “Whatever is going on between you has to stop, or you’re both getting kicked out of here.” He stares at us for a moment then shakes his head. “Follow me.”

  “What? Where?” Gray asks.

  Dawson’s eyes flick to the K-Boys. “You may as well come, too.”

  “Where are we going,” I ask, not really resisting. Dawson’s right. This does need to stop, and not that I think the administration will do anything to one of their precious Brats, but I want it all on the record.

  “To the office,” Dawson says. “Mrs. Banks isn’t going to appreciate being bothered before the winter term even starts, but,” he pushes open the door leading to the administrative offices, “this conversation was coming anyway.”

  The five of us sit in the waiting room, the three K-Boys holding back their rage. Trip examines his fingernails like he doesn’t have a care in the world, or like he doesn’t have three healing ribs under that Brooks Brothers shirt.

  Tensions rise as the minutes pass, as does the smug expression on his face. I’m contemplating standing up and slapping it off when the door swings open and two people walk through. Mrs. Banks, looking royally pissed, and Dorian, eyes assessing me right off.

  Emotions, humiliated and aroused, run through me like they do every time I see him. He looks away quickly and I will my pulse to slow.

  “Welcome back,” Mrs. Banks says. “I thought maybe you could get through one dinner without an aggravated assault, but apparently I was wrong.”

  “Mrs. Banks—” Gray starts in his most charming voice, but she cuts him off.

  “There’s the little matter of your behavior from before the break, as well as the consequences.”

  “Consequences?” I ask.

  She gives me a pointed look. “Follow me into my office, and I’ll let you know how the new year at Sparrowood is going to begin, and then you can let me know if you really want to stay.”

  Just because we’re staring down the school administrator doesn’t mean things are any less tense between us and Trip.

  “What happened before Christmas break was enough to get you all kicked out of school—if not arrested. Fighting, sexual misconduct, violations of our social media policies. There were instances of cheating, rumors about drugs, theft of priceless Sparrowood heirlooms, and a dozen other things I can’t remember right now.” Mrs. Banks, who has been calm and collected every other time I have seen her, looks like she may lunge across her desk and snatch us all by the hair. She takes a deep, settling breath. “But what I’m understanding is that this is part of a larger problem at Sparrowood—one I’m determined to stamp out. The toxic behavior ends now.” She eyes the four of us. “I’m giving you a shot at attending this school despite your background and financial situation. Don’t make me regret it.”

  Trip snorts and she turns her gaze on him.

  “Mr. Co
hen, now is not the time to show your entitlement and lack of respect to the school. Your father begged me to allow you to attend. I was hesitant, and I should have listened to my gut. I would toss you out right now if I didn’t know you’d just continue soiling the rest of society with your illegal and immoral behavior. I’m tired of sending kids like you back into the world with no consequences.” Her eyes narrow. “At least if you’re in here, I can keep an eye on you.”

  She glances at Dorian. “Mr. Miller, please detail their punishment.”

  Dorian has been standing behind Mrs. Banks with his arms crossed, looking way more like an enforcer than a social worker. His sharp jaw is set, his broad shoulders tense. On the outside he looks terrifying, and I see a sliver of fear on Trip’s face. I know there’s more to Dorian than he could imagine. Layers. Some deadly, others kind and loyal. I know doling out punishment to all of us has to be hard, especially when he knows the truth about how vile Trip really is.

  “Mandatory detention and school community service hours,” he says. “Each day you’ll come to room 302 and either complete an hour of study hall or an hour of needed service around the school.”

  “What kind of service?” Trip asks warily.

  “Whatever you’re asked to do,” Mrs. Banks cuts in. “Kitchen duty. Yard work. Janitorial—”

  “You want me to clean trashcans? Toilets?” he shakes his head. “That may be okay for these street rats, but me? Wait until my father—”

  “Your father knows,” Dorian says. “And gives his approval. You came in here on probation, Trip, this is your last chance.” He looks at the rest of us. “Any questions?”

  “No,” Hawk says, speaking for the group.

  “Fine,” Trip says, standing and adding sarcastically, “maybe you’ll manage to help me build some character.”

  Dorian, clearly holding his tongue, gestures for everyone to leave. Trip barges through, only stopping to give me a wink before heading out the door.