Hannaford Prep: The Complete Series

by J Bree

  “I'm sorry I didn't give it to you sooner. I don't even have a reason, I just didn't. Like I said, please just forget I ever had it.”

  “Lips, this is… I've been trying to get this back for years.”

  I blink away tears of my own as I turn away from him. I wish so much that we had met under different circumstances and we could be friends. The fierce, protective nature of him draws me in like nothing else. I want him, but I want to be in his circle more.

  I hear him moving behind me, but I don’t want to look back at him. I should have slipped the necklace into his bag while he wasn’t looking or given it to Ash to pass along instead. I feel the heat of his body press up along my back as his scent envelopes me. I freeze, and my heart stutters in my chest. It takes me a second to realize he’s not attacking me, he’s not trying to hurt me or get some sort of revenge, he’s just close to me. I clear my throat like I’m going to speak, but I don’t know what I would say to him. He’s everything I wish I had, and it pains me to have him this close and to know it’s only going to last for a second.

  He leans down and brushes his lips to my cheek softly. My eyes fall shut, and I struggle to stop myself from leaning back into his warmth.

  “Thank you,” he whispers into my ear, and then he disappears, closing my door quietly behind him and taking his heat and delicious smell with him.

  I feel gutted.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  My whole world has shifted on its axis a little after Harley’s visit to my room.

  I don’t see him for the entire spring break, even though I eat every meal in the dining hall. I barely sleep, because I’m too busy freaking out about how much I actually like him. Like, not just wanting to ogle him or even consider making out with him, but to actually keep him. It’s disturbing. I hate crushes so much, because they really do crush you.

  When class goes back after the break, I make the perilous decision to trust him at his word, and I go down to the dining hall for breakfast. The lure of the incredible French toast is strong enough to let me test him out. I notice the difference the second I leave the safety of my room.

  There’s no whispering.

  I’ve grown so accustomed to the constant gossiping that happened around me, because of me, that it’s jarring to have the other students ignore me.

  Avery Beaumont really is an evil dictator.

  The dining hall is teeming with students, and I have to use my elbows as weapons to get a seat. I ignore the looks from the girls around me at the size of my plate—six pieces of French toast, thank you very much—and dig in like it’s my last meal on death row. I’m starting my third slice when Blaise sits down across from me and actually looks at me. In the face. I wipe my chin in case there’s syrup or cream splattered all over me, and I swallow roughly, trying not to lose what I’ve just eaten.

  “Did you know that for the first time in my academic career here at Hannaford, I am sitting on a solid C in math? My dad called me yesterday and offered to buy me the Ferrari of my dreams if I get a B by the end of the year.”

  It takes me two tries to speak to him. It’s far easier to speak when he’s not grinning at me and being charming. “So you want my help to get the Ferrari?”

  He smirks and makes a slashing motion with his hand. “Fuck the Ferrari. I can buy my own if I want one. I negotiated with him, and if I get a B-plus he’s going to let me take three weeks away during the summer holidays to record my next album. I need a B-plus, Mounty. My career and my very soul need to get away from all of my parents’ bullshit.”

  I nod sagely and sip at my drink, feigning a nonchalance I definitely don’t feel. He looks at me expectantly, and when I don’t fall over myself to offer my services to him, he sighs.

  “What’s it going to cost me to get you to help me?”

  A favor, Matteo’s voice says in my mind. What would I even ask of him, though? I put down my cutlery and push my plate away, giving my food a mournful look. I can never eat around these guys, and the look on Blaise’s face has butterflies dive-bombing deep in my gut.

  “No cost. You need to ask for extra credit though; you don’t have enough time left to bring your grade up without it. You’ll need to come to every study session, on time, for the rest of the year, and you’ll have to ask Ash very nicely if he can stop pretending he needs my help so I can focus on helping you.”

  “Done.” Blaise grins at me and then starts eating his breakfast. I don’t know what to do with myself. I’m debating if I should get up and leave when Harley steps into the dining hall with Avery’s arm tucked firmly into his. He sees us immediately and he frowns, his eyes darting between us both. I give him what I hope is a reassuring smile, but it only makes his frown deepen. Avery rolls her eyes, grabs a tray, and shoves it into his chest. I watch, curiously, as he fills it up for them both. I’ve never seen him dote on her like this. Usually Ash is the one who carries her things, but he’s nowhere to be seen.

  They walk past us, and Avery only pauses long enough to kiss Blaise’s cheek and murmur a good morning to him as she passes. She doesn’t bother to look my way. Once Harley has Avery all set up and their food is portioned out, he stalks back over to us. Avery glares and shakes her head at him as he sidles up beside me.

  As I glance up, the light from the chandeliers catches on the necklace around his neck, and I swallow. I don’t know why I’m shocked that he’s wearing it. If it means so much to him that he’d gotten choked up, then it makes sense he would want to keep it close. I can’t pull my eyes away from it until he speaks and breaks the spell.

  “What are you two doing eating breakfast together? People will talk.”

  Blaise leans back in his chair and looks every inch the rock star he is. He usually hides it well, like he puts away ‘Blaise Morrison: Lead Vocalist for Vanth Falling’ when he arrives in the gates of Hannaford and becomes the spoiled rich kid everyone expects him to be. I’ve only ever seen the brash musician when he’s around his friends. I get the feeling that this is the mask he wears to survive, that he protects himself and his music from this place, the way Avery protects those she loves.

  “The Mounty has just offered to be my own personal tutor for the rest of the year. We’re going to be practically inseparable; doesn’t that sound fun?”

  My cheeks flush, and I give him a look. A don’t-fuck-with-me-after-I’ve-agreed-to-help-you look. The cocky grin I get in return is something poets could write sonnets about. It’s stunning and terrible and hot and heartbreaking.

  “I could’ve helped you. Why didn’t you ask?” Harley grumbles. I look up at him, and he looks away from me quickly, like he didn’t want me to catch him staring. He is the most confusing guy I’ve ever met.

  “No, you really can’t. What’s the problem, man? Avery’s lifted the speaking ban. Any other reason I should be staying away from the Mounty?” His voice is too smug, and the smirk he levels at Harley makes my heart stutter. It’s almost as if…they can’t be fighting over me. They both have made their feelings toward me perfectly clear this year. Harley shrugs coolly—aiming, I think, to look unaffected—but I can see his fists clenching. He puts his elbows on the chair next to me and leans forward like he’s going to whisper at Blaise. He’s loud enough that the students around him here every. Goddamn. Word.

  “Just thought you’d be more afraid of spending that much time alone with your stalker.”

  The blood drains from my head until I’m left feeling dizzy. There it is. There’s the reason I shouldn’t ever speak to Blaise without classwork in front of us. The sounds of sniggering and laughter start up around us from the students shamelessly eavesdropping. I stand up abruptly and grab my bag. Harley chuckles under his breath at me, but I refuse to look at him. He was right all those months ago. I need to bury my nerves better when it comes to him and Blaise. And Ash. Goddammit.

  “Just get the extra credit work. I’ll help you during the tutoring sessions, but don’t talk to me otherwise.”

  I stomp out of the
dining hall to the sound of Harley’s roaring laughter and Blaise swearing up a storm at him.

  I decided to arrive at our study group late.

  Well, I actually decide to skip the tutoring sessions altogether, but then I think about my college submissions and I cave. I don’t want to have to face Blaise again so soon. His opinion of me shouldn’t matter. I’m the Wolf, for fuck’s sake, but hot shame washes over me whenever I think about him. He really does think I’m a sad little groupie. Not an awesome, sexy groupie. I’ve met girls like that before, I’ve been to gigs and seen girls that are so powerful with how they hold themselves up and live their truths.

  My truth is I’m an inexperienced, blushing idiot with responsibilities no student at Hannaford would ever understand.

  I wish I hadn’t stayed quite so far away from guys back at Mounts Bay. Not that I wish I’d had sex with anyone, but if I’d dated guys or, fuck, kissed anyone before coming here, maybe I wouldn’t be so awkward about this. Maybe Joey’s little sweep wouldn’t have been such a big deal. I can’t think of a single girl in my last school who wouldn’t jump at the chance to fuck a Hannaford guy, and maybe even get some cash for her troubles.

  Ash and Blaise are already at our table when I get to the library. There’s no laughing or joking going on this time, and Ash is taking stacks of paper from Blaise and flicking through them. My eyes narrow. It’s all just more evidence that he’s been lying about needing my help.

  Blaise looks up at me with stark relief, and I take the chair next to him without a word, unpacking the bare essentials from my bag. “Thank God, Mounty, I thought—“

  “I’d rather not have this conversation. Give me everything you have from the math class, and I’ll work out a plan of attack.” I hold out my hand and focus my eyes on a speck of dust on the tabletop.

  Ash raises an eyebrow and hands me the stack. Blaise is twitching in his chair, but neither of them try and make conversation. We sit in total silence until I’ve flicked through everything he’s given me. I glance up to see they’re having a conversation entirely with their eyebrows. I’m oddly impressed.

  “Here. Do this page so I can see where you’re up to.” I slide the page across to Blaise, and he murmurs a quiet, sure under his breath. I start to write out notes for him to study at night and to use during tests. I have to focus to keep my scrawling handwriting neat enough to be read by mere mortals.

  Not that I think Blaise is mortal.

  Or mere.

  He gets straight to work. He’s quiet, subdued from his usual flirty manner, and I give myself a second to breathe. It’s hard to do, because I can feel Ash’s calculating eyes on me. I wonder how much Blaise told him while they were waiting for me to show. I’ve always arrived at the sessions at least ten minutes early, so I would think Ash would have made a smart comment about my tardiness.

  Ash begins to tap his pen in his hand as he says, “You should have asked Blaise to pay you for your tutoring. He’s a millionaire and, someday, he’s going to be the sole recipient of a billion-dollar empire. You’re an orphan, Mounty, who has lost everything. There’s only a few weeks left of the school year. Charge him, say, a grand a week. That’s literally nothing to us.”

  I pause long enough to glare at him, but he just waves me off. “I’m not being an arrogant asshole, I’m just stating facts. Avery dropped more cash on hair products this week than what I’m suggesting he pay you. It’s a business transaction. A legitimate one. You can replace all of your shit, and Blaise can stop moping around like a kicked fucking puppy because you’re being nice to him for no reason.”

  Ash grunts as Blaise’s foot connects with his shin. I think about it for about three seconds. I could increase my bank balance by thousands of dollars for doing something I’ve already committed to. I’m not going to lie, it’s tempting. Then I think of something better. This is my moment to prove a point.

  I set my pen down and fold my hands together, letting my face drop into a serene mask before I speak. “You’re going to be a man of business someday, Beaumont, and I’m here to help Blaise out with numbers. So, let’s look at some real world facts.” Ash tilts his head at me and motions me on. “I have a full ride scholarship that covers food, shelter, and clothing for thirty-six weeks of my year, which leaves me with sixteen weeks to have to financially provide for myself. I have a hundred grand in the bank. At my current rate of spending, by the time I graduate Hannaford and move on to college, I’ll still have more than seventy grand in the bank. I will get a scholarship for college, full ride just like this one because we all know I’m that good, so that money is going to keep sitting in the bank. When I start out in the career of my choice, I'm going to hit the ground running.”

  I pause. Ash is staring at me, rubbing his chin absently, and so I continue. “I know that to you that amount of money may sound pathetic, but to me, and to most people, I’m set. Major, catastrophic disasters would have to happen for me to have to touch the money I’ve got. So, I don’t. Want. Your. Fucking. Money.”

  I pick up my pen, expecting the conversation to be over. Blaise certainly thinks it is. He’s frowning down at the numbers like he’s waiting for them to give up all their secrets. Ash snatches the pen out of my hand.

  “Inheritance?” he says.

  I shake my head.

  “Gambling? Are you a secret poker savant?”

  “Nope.”

  “Shame. I could have used the pointers.” Ash lets out a little gasp and leans in. His torso is long enough that he easily covers the distance between us. “Did you steal it, Mounty?”

  I smirk and lean in to him. Once my chest is pressed against the table and my lips brush his earlobe, I whisper, “I earned it from a dead man.”

  I lean back and see that he’s staring down the front of my blouse, where the small amount of cleavage I have is pushing up lusciously.

  “Why, Mounty, I didn’t think you were the type,” he drawls, and I don’t know if he means my chest or my money-making methods. There’s this little grin on his face that makes me want to scream. I think he enjoys the push-pull banter we slide into the moment we’re near each other. I have no idea how to flirt, but I think this might be it.

  I open my mouth, unsure of what I’d even reply, when we hear a scream.

  I jerk around in my seat to look toward the sound at the back of the stacks. Students start moving en masse, but the librarians are nowhere to be seen.

  “Avery?” says Blaise urgently, and Ash replies, “Harley took her down to her ballet class.”

  There’s another shriek and I’m up and out of my chair, pushing past students to find the source. I have a sinking feeling as I make it through the crowd, Ash and Blaise pushing through behind me, and I stop dead.

  Joey is standing over another student.

  A dead student.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Joey’s chest is heaving.

  There’s a sheen of sweat on his forehead and his eyes are glassy, bouncing around the room like he can’t focus on anything. I spare him a second before I grab Ash’s arm and haul him over to the dead student. Joey begins to laugh. It’s an awful sound, too loud and hyper, and tears stream down his face as he clutches at his chest.

  I’ve learned a lot of important, life-saving shit while in Mounts Bay, but I don’t know if there’s a damn thing I can do for this guy. He’s a freshman—I recognize him from my French class—with mousy brown hair and a dimpled chin that makes him look younger.

  “Call 911, Ash,” I say firmly. Ash startles away from me. He’s watching Joey’s every move like he’s waiting for him to strike again, but he fumbles his phone out of his pocket and makes the call. Only seconds have passed since we got to the kid, but I know exactly how critical time is. I check his airways, clear, then his breathing…nothing. His throat is already looking mottled.

  Joey has strangled him.

  Ash starts talking down the line to the operator, and I start CPR. I’m focused entirely on the kid, counting comp
ressions and singing the stupid song in my head to keep time. When I stop to do the breaths, Ash switches his phone onto speaker and takes over the compressions.

  “Like this?” he asks, and I start to sing Staying Alive by the Bee Gees softly, just loud enough for him to catch the rhythm. I hear a scuffle behind us, but I ignore it. No, I trust Blaise to keep Ash and I safe while we try and help the kid.

  No other students step forward to help.

  I lose any respect for them, any shred that I had, because only a monster would step away from this without helping out.

  He’s just a fucking kid.

  The 911 operator tells us the ambulance is at the gates, and I bark at the crowd to send someone down to lead them up. The scuffle gets louder, swearing and spitting and wood snapping, and then a palm touches my shoulder blade. I flinch and look up to see the EMTs have arrived. I slide away from the kid and Ash stops the compressions. As his hands leave his chest, I hear a wet, sucking, gurgling noise, and then a moan.

  He’s alive.

  I scramble away and Ash catches me by the elbow, lifting me off the ground. I can’t take my eyes off the EMTs while they load him up and start working on him.

  “What’s his name?” I say, and Ash pants back, “Matthew. Matthew Steiner.”

  When they’re wheeling him away, I finally look over to where Joey was standing. Blaise and Harley have him pinned to the ground, but just barely. Blaise is bleeding profusely from a deep gouge in his forehead. Avery is standing over them, scanning the crowd with a keen eye. She’s making her assessment, planning out the damage control required to minimize her brother’s attempt at murder. I see red—seething, maniacal, bleeding red—and I step forward only to be stopped by the vise grip of Ash’s hand around my wrist. He doesn’t look down at me, but he gives it a little squeeze.