by Eva Ashwood
There’s someone chasing me, pulling me back, but I don’t know who it is. I can feel the shadows breathing down on my neck, trying to force me back into their darkness.
But then the hall ends abruptly, at the top of a flight of stairs, and I feel rough hands on the back of my shoulder, pushing me.
And then I fall.
I wake with a start, my heart in my throat as I gasp for breath. My whole body jolts up from the bed, arms reaching out to try to stop my fall before I realize I’m not falling at all. I stare around the room for a few seconds, blinking in shock at my surroundings. Then I collapse back to the mattress with a groan.
Ugh. So fucked up.
I hate dreams like that. It’s already starting to slip away from me, the details vanishing back into my subconscious, but the emotions remain, churning in my gut until I feel sick.
I throw the covers off. My tank top and shorts stick to my body, which is slick with a cold sweat. The dorm is chilly since I usually leave my window cracked open at night, but the last thing I want is to rush back into the warmth of my covers and fall back asleep. I can’t fall back asleep.
I know what I have to do.
Making my way into the little alcove I’ve turned into my art area, I yank open the thin curtains to let in the ambient light from the streetlamps that dot the campus grounds. It’s not much, but it’s enough. I don’t bother to turn on the overhead lights as I place a fresh canvas on the easel and blindly begin pouring paints onto a palette.
I don’t think. I don’t breathe. I just paint and paint and paint as the sun rises and the skin on my back begins to warm with it, until the dreams that were vivid just hours ago are faded thoughts in my mind, bleeding onto the canvas in front of me in a dark splash of colors and shadows.
When the painting is done, I step back and stare at it, trying to figure out what it means. The paint is still wet on my fingertips and smudged on my face as I try to decipher those shadows and harsh angles.
This is the first piece I’ve finished in a while, and the style is dark, even for me.
What does it mean?
I touch the wet paint, dragging my fingertips through it and smudging my work. What are you trying to tell me?
I’m not quite sure who I’m asking. And I guess it doesn’t really matter, because no answer comes.
I usually like to display my art, but there’s something particular about that piece. I’m not quite sure what it is that haunts me, but it gives me chills just looking at it. I haven’t dreamed since the night I woke up and painted it, and that was several nights ago.
“You okay there, Blue?” Elias asks, concern in his voice. He dips his head in front of mine so that he’s in my line of vision, and I snap out of my reverie, realizing that Declan and Max are also looking at me.
“You okay?” Max asks, repeating Elias’s question.
“Oh. Yeah,” I say quietly. “I’m good. Just thinking, that’s all.”
“You’ve been doing a lot of that lately.” Declan’s gaze is also tinged with worry.
“Yeah, well.” I shrug and paste on a lame half-smile. “I’ve got a lot to think about.”
Declan wraps an arm around my waist, tugging me toward him as he reaches up to tuck a small lock of hair behind my ear. “Don’t think about things that aren’t worth it,” he murmurs softly.
I know what he’s talking about. Or rather, who he’s talking about. Declan has turned out to be surprisingly protective for someone who’s generally pretty easy going. Maybe I should’ve expected it though. Even all those weeks ago, when he came back to my dorm to check on me after Gray kicked him and Elias out, wasn’t that what he was doing, whether either of us were ready to admit it or not? He was looking out for me.
“I won’t,” I promise him, leaning forward to kiss his full lips.
I don’t know quite what it is about him, but kissing Declan always feels like coming home. Like he could ground me in even the most turbulent storm.
When Declan and I break apart, Elias kisses me too, dipping me a little and making me laugh. Max pretends not to think it’s adorable, but she raises her eyebrows at me before we all split up to head our separate ways.
Lately, the four of us have been meeting at a quiet little spot on campus between our separate morning classes. I’ve asked Max how she feels about hanging out with the guys, and I think now that she’s seen how serious they’re being, she trusts them enough to be chill with them.
I’m glad. I don’t know what I would do if Max hated Declan and Elias and there was another division between friends. I’m sick and tired of having to choose.
Declan was right. I’ve been caught up in my thoughts a lot lately, and they continue to swirl as I head into Wyman Hall for my next class.
I’ve done my best not to think about Gray at all, but it’s hard as hell. Even without managing to chase me off campus, he’s still haunting my thoughts.
I haven’t seen him since the fight between him and Declan. He hasn’t even shown up to the one class we share for the past few days, and I’m not sure if it’s because he’s avoiding me or he just hates me so much that he doesn’t want to look at me.
“Fuck.” I stop in my tracks as I reach the usual door to my fourth-floor classroom.
I was so distracted, I totally forgot that the professor said we’re meeting in a different room today. Dammit.
Spinning around, I stride back down the empty corridor, retracing my steps. I’ll be late, but hopefully I won’t be the only one who forgot.
I took the elevator up to this floor, but I figure the stairs will be faster, so I push into the stairwell at the end of the hall. The small space is quiet as I head downward, and as I turn onto the second floor landing, voices carry and echo up from below, making me stop in my tracks so fast I clutch onto the handrail to keep from tumbling forward.
A jolt of shock makes my heart beat harder. It’s not the voices themselves that made me stop so suddenly, but the fact that I recognize them. I know exactly who’s below me.
My jaw clenches, anger twisting in my chest like a brutally sharp knife.
“Look, I’m doing what I can,” Gray says. He’s speaking in a hushed voice, but I can still fucking hear him, and it hurts more than I want to admit. “I’ve been trying my best, but I—”
“You’re fucking useless, Eastwood. You’re not holding up your end of the bargain like you fucking promised,” the second voice says, and if I thought hearing Gray speak made anger burn through me like a wildfire, this one is hell compared to that.
Cliff.
Fucking Cliff. Of course Gray is talking to Cliff, which means—
“Just give me a little more time,” Gray continues before I can finish my thought. “I promise I’ll get Sophie to leave.”
Cliff was the one Gray was talking to at the party.
My heart sinks. I don’t know whether to be pissed or feel absolutely fucking betrayed—even though I should feel neither, because I thought I’d finally convinced myself that Gray isn’t worth feeling anything about.
But this is like a silver bullet, like a torch being lit inside my body, burning like an inferno that I can’t just fucking put out with a little numbness. My hands ball into fists at my side, wanting to punch the wall, or better yet, Gray’s goddamn face.
But then Cliff mutters something under his breath about not wanting to fucking give him more time, and heavy footsteps start making their way up the stairs toward where I’m standing, eavesdropping on a conversation I shouldn’t be listening to.
Shit!
I pivot, doing my best to stay silent as I hurry toward the door to the second floor.
I push the door open and run out into the deserted hall, suddenly not caring that I’m already late for my class. I dive into a little corner and wait a few seconds, bracing for Cliff to come out of that doorway any moment. But he must have gone a flight higher, because he doesn’t show.
Good. I don’t want to see his fucking face right now.
Before I can think through whether it’s a bad idea or not, I’m shoving my way back into the stairwell and hurrying down the steps so fast it’s a miracle I don’t fall down another set of stairs. All I can think about is reaching the first floor, where Gray might still be lingering.
Just my fucking luck he is, and he’s not prepared for the shit storm he’s about to face.
I take him completely off guard where he stands, one arm braced against the wall and his head bowed.
“Who the fuck do you think you are?” I shout, the anger and frustration from weeks of his bullshit finally bubbling over.
Gray starts, so taken off guard for a moment that he doesn’t have time to hide the raw emotions written all over his face. Guilt, shame, pain, and… something else. Something that makes my stomach drop like I’m on a rollercoaster.
But then, just like every other time I’ve seen him since Christmas, his face goes hard. Blank. The poetry of emotions that was on his face seconds ago vanishes like it was never there, never real.
And I hate him even more for that.
“You,” I bite out, shoving him in the chest, “are a hypocrite and an asshole and a bastard. You’re a spineless son of a bitch for standing up to Cliff last semester and then joining up with him now.” His back hits the wall under the force of my hands. I know for a fact that he’s stronger than that, and the only reason I haven’t been shoved away myself is because he’s letting me do this, but I can’t give a single fuck right now. “You yanked me around. You made me fucking care, and then you had to wreck me like this. Destroy me.”
The words that come out of me are raw, tearing from my throat like barbed wire. I don’t let anything be buried, don’t let myself hide anything, because even though I know I’ll regret it later, I want him to feel everything I’m feeling right now.
“I. Hate. You.” I enunciate each word, my body shaking with rage.
Suddenly, like lightning, Gray moves.
He doesn’t shove me away like I expect him to. Instead, he grabs my wrists in an iron hold and flips us around so fast I barely have time to react before my back slams into the concrete wall, his larger form pressing into mine, caging me in. I can feel every fucking inch of that body I know all too well.
My heart gallops in my chest, my fight-or-flight instinct rising up in a flash. I’m about to shove Gray away, to lash out with a fist or an elbow, when words burst from his throat.
“Goddammit, Sparrow! I’ve been trying to protect you!”
13
I blink, my body going slack against his tight grip.
My eyes bounce between his, searching the depths of his green irises for something, some truth, anything that tells me he’s not just fucking with me again. All I see is a sort of wild desperation, something fierce in his expression that makes adrenaline flood my body.
No. I won’t believe him. Won’t let him in again. I can’t let him in again.
I can’t let him ruin me again.
I struggle against his hold. “Fuck you,” I rasp through gritted teeth. “I’m not letting you fuck with me again, you—”
He pushes back harder, straining to keep me contained. “I was trying to keep you safe,” he repeats hoarsely. “You don’t understand. I had to make a choice. And I did. Even if I hated it, it was the only choice I knew would keep you safe.”
“Then fucking enlighten me, Gray,” I bite out. “Because none of this seems like keeping me safe. It seems like you being a controlling asshole who likes to fuck scholarship girls then dump their asses as soon as they start messing with your social status.”
He has the decency to cringe, but his voice stays distant, cold, almost as if he doesn’t want to feel the weight of his words as he speaks.
“You don’t know how much influence Cliff’s family has in our circle. You haven’t been here long enough to know that his family has the power to destroy people with barely a twitch of their finger, and he’s threatened to use that power to destroy you.”
My heart thuds in my chest so hard I know Gray can feel it against his chest—because I can feel his heart too, responding to mine.
No. Don’t fucking let him back in.
“Cliff can ruin your life in ways you can’t even imagine, Sparrow.”
There’s sorrow in Gray’s voice, and I push at him again, needing to get away from his body, his scent, his words.
He doesn’t let me go.
“My family is powerful too. Wealthy and well connected,” he continues, his knee brushing between my thighs as he pins me against the wall. We’re both breathing hard, like two animals who have stopped fighting momentarily but are still circling each other, senses alert. “But Cliff’s parents are even more connected. They’ve got sway with just about everybody who matters in this town. I can try to keep you safe, but there’s no way I could be sure Cliff wouldn’t find a way around me and hurt you anyway.”
His face is barely inches from my face, his eyes pleading with me, begging me to hear him out, to listen.
To believe him.
“So I made a deal with him,” Gray says, his voice softening a bit. He doesn’t press into me as hard, but his gaze still pins me in place. “Cliff said if I could get rid of you within two weeks of school starting, he would back off and let you live your life in peace.”
My heart is at war with itself right now. What he’s saying doesn’t make sense, but the way he’s looking at me—fuck, he looks so goddamn sincere. So torn to shreds. So wrecked.
“He would have come after you, Sparrow,” he murmurs, and I turn my face away from his touch as his fingertips brush against my jaw, his eyes watching the movement with an intensity that I know all too well. “More than just bullying. He would have wrecked your life, put you in jail, or worse.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” My voice shakes a little, fury and something else filling each syllable. “You keep saying he could’ve destroyed me. Put me in jail. What the hell does that mean?”
“Does the name Brody McAlister mean anything to you?”
I flinch at the sound of my ex-foster father’s name. My gaze snaps back to Gray’s face, my eyes narrowing. “If you’re asking me that, then you know it does.”
“Yeah.” He sighs, and I notice for the first time how pale his face is, and how shadows seem to gather under his eyes. Has he looked like that this whole semester? And I’ve just been too pissed at him to notice? “His wife was named Melissa, but I’m sure you know that too.”
“I do.” I freeze, my brows pulling together. Gray and I are still pressed up against the wall, but I’ve stopped trying to shove him away. “Wait, was? What are you…?”
“She died. A few months ago.”
I blink, stunned to find out that my foster mother is gone. I was never close with her, so I guess I’m not surprised I didn’t hear about it. I liked her better than Brody, but I also hated that she married a lech and turned a blind eye to the way he treated me.
“So what?” I ask. I’m sure my words sound callous, but I don’t fucking understand how we jumped from talking about Cliff to the topic of my foster parents and Melissa’s death. What do those two things have to do with each other?
Gray hesitates for a moment, and I have a sudden awful feeling that he’s going to stop talking entirely. That even after all this, he’s going to refuse to tell me the truth.
Then he lets out a long breath, closing his eyes before opening them and refocusing on my face. “Her death was ruled accidental, but apparently there was some question about that. Cliff says he can frame you for her murder.”
“What?”
My jaw drops open, my entire body jerking in shock.
“I thought he was full of shit when he first made the threat, but he’s not kidding, Sparrow,” Gray says, his mouth twisting into a grimace. “Brody was apparently pretty obsessed with you, and Melissa knew about it. They had fights about it, arguments over email and text.”<
br />
“And he thinks he could use that to prove I killed her?” I’m shaking my head even as I speak. This makes no sense.
“I don’t know if he could, but he’s approached Brody and gotten him to agree to testify that you were in love with him. That he told you nothing could ever happen, and that’s why you went after his wife.”
My mouth opens and closes, but this time, no words come out. When they finally do, my voice is hoarse and strained. “Why would Brody… say that?”
“Money,” Gray says simply. “He knows it’s a lie just as much as Cliff does, but Cliff obviously offered him something he couldn’t refuse. If he doesn’t claim he had a sexual relationship with you, he can’t be charged with anything, but he can paint you in a light that might convince a jury you had probable cause. Brody’s got…” His jaw clenches. “He’s got pictures of you that he can claim you sent him.”
I don’t have to guess what kinds of pictures. My stomach turns. “I never sent him a single thing.”
“I fucking know that.” Gray’s voice is harsh with frustration. “I know this is all a lie. A setup. But Cliff’s smart, and the right people owe his family huge favors. I couldn’t take the chance that he would take this any further. I couldn’t let him do that to you.”
“Yeah?” My jaw clenches. I’m reeling from everything I just learned, torn between shock and anger. “If this is all true, then why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you fucking tell me all of this from the beginning?”
Gray’s gaze snaps to mine, his hand dropping away from my face.
“Why didn’t I tell you?” he repeats, something almost like a laugh following the words. “Because you’re a fighter, Sparrow. I’ve never seen you back down from a fight, ever. I knew you wouldn’t just go along with it if I said I worked out a deal to get you out of Cliff’s crosshairs, and I couldn’t let him hurt you. I couldn’t let you stay.”
“Why didn’t you tell Declan or Elias?” I demand, ignoring the almost desperate edge to his voice.