“Harlow, you don’t understand. I’m trying to protect you.”
“Protect me? From what? Getting an education?”
“From being hurt. You were not safe there. Someone tried to kill you, twice!” he growls, “You’re a Lockwood, and as your father, it is my job to protect you.”
“Protect me from the truth? If there was really someone trying to kill me, then why wouldn’t you tell me? Why would you hide that information from me?”
“What do you want me to say, Harlow?” He tosses his hands into the air, frustration seeping into the space between us. “There was no way you would have healed if we had put you under more stress. I brought you home and kept things from you because I wanted to help you heal faster, and I wasn’t going to have you miles away from your family, only for someone to succeed in killing you.”
My heart sinks into my stomach, “I feel trapped here. If I was away at college, then that’s where I should be right now. That’s why I don’t remember anything…” My voice trails off, “I don’t remember anything because I wasn’t here. This place isn’t my home anymore. The doctor said I should be where I was before the accident, but I’m not.”
Something that resembles anger ignites in his gaze, “That’s a lie, and you know it. This is your home, and it will always be your home. You’ve lived here your entire life, why would you say such a thing?”
Truthfully, I don’t know, all I know is that if this place were home, if it was where I belonged, then surely, I would remember the simplest of things. As it is, I can’t even walk around the house without getting lost.
“I want to go back to college, and even if you don’t want me to, I’m still going.”
“And who do you think is going to pay for that, young lady?” he spits, and I have the sudden urge to stomp my foot. Him treating me like a child, makes me want to act like one.
“You will,” I snap back at him. “Because if you don’t, I’ll tell Mom about your affair.” Dad looks at me like I’ve just slapped him. A short silence settles between us, and I can see the uncertainty in his eyes, he’s trying to figure out what to say next.
“How did you find out about that?” he finally says, his voice oddly calm.
“I just heard you on the phone before I came in.” I don’t see the point in lying to him, I’ve got leverage now, and I’m going to use it.
“It’s not what you think…” He starts, but I interject.
“I don’t care who you’re with, or what you’re doing. All I want is to go back to Bayshore. I don’t belong here.”
“You do, but I wasn’t lying about being worried about you. Someone is trying to hurt you, and I can’t protect you from here. So, if you must go, then I’ll be sending two of my men with you.”
“Two men?” I’m bewildered, and I’m sure my face shows it. “What? Like as bodyguards?”
“Yes, exactly like that. You must think I’m stupid if you think I’m sending you there unprotected.”
Annoyed and thoroughly done with the conversation, I roll my eyes, “Fine, send who you want, as long as they stay out of my way.” I spin around and head for the door when he calls after me, making me stop midstep.
“Harlow, like any family, we have had some disagreements in the past. We are not perfect, but you must believe me when I say, I truly care about you and I don’t want anything to happen to you.” The sincerity in his voice is unmistakable, but still, I can’t fully forgive him for lying to me. If he’s lied once, he’s most likely lied before.
I stare at him, feeling an ocean of space between us. “You don’t lie to the people you care about,” I say, and walk out of his office without looking back. When I close the door behind me, I smile, because for the first time since I came here, I feel like I might just have a grasp on my life.
19
With my worn-out backpack slung over my shoulder, I walk across campus for the first time. Well, the first time that I can remember. I’m not sure if it’s me or the two bulky guys following me that has everybody looking my way curiously. Either way, I feel a little like a walking sideshow with everybody gawking at me like this.
I try to ignore all eyes on me as I walk into the classroom. Thankfully, my two goons, Ernie and Bert, as I like to call them, wait outside the door. I take a seat all the way in the back and get out my textbook. It’s in the middle of the semester, and I have no chance of passing this or any other class, but that’s not why I’m here.
Flipping through my textbook, I’m waiting for the professor to start class when someone clears their throat in front of me getting my attention. I look up from my book, and for a second, I think I’m looking into Sullivan Bishop’s eyes… but I blink and realize it’s not him.
It’s just someone who looks a lot like him, same russet brown hair, the same shade of blue eyes, and even something about his soft smile is familiar.
The similarities between the two are startling.
“Harlow,” my name falls from his lips as if he’s said it a million times before. “We were really worried about you,” he continues, taking the seat beside me.
“Do I know you?”
He nods, his smile widening, “I’m Banks,” he introduces himself, extending his hand out to me.
“I’m Harlow, but I guess you already know that.” I lift my arm, reaching out to shake his hand. The moment we touch it feels like a lightning bolt shoots through my body and straight to my brain…
“Shh, Princess. We didn’t say you could speak. Keep your mouth shut, otherwise, we’ll find a better use for it...” Clear as day, Banks’ voice rings in my ears. Another snippet of a memory starts invading my mind. My back pressed into his chest as he whispers the threat into the shell of my ear. Panic rises up inside of me like a volcano, and I push the memory away. I don’t want to remember this.
Pulling my hand away, as if his touch burns my skin. In the same motion, I get up. The chair falling over behind me, the sound of it making every head in the class turn in my direction.
“What’s wrong?” Banks asks, his face etched with concern, while I gather all my stuff and shove it in my backpack.
“I… I’ve got to go, wrong class…” I mumble. Grabbing my bag, I scurry out of the class, my heart pounding like a jackhammer against my chest.
Escaping the room, I run past the two guys standing guard at the door without looking back.
“Hey, where are you going? Did something happen?” One of the guards calls after me.
“I just want to go back to the dorm.” I don’t bother explaining myself any further. It’s none of their business anyway. I know they’ll follow behind me, but I don’t really care. I drown out everything around me and speed walk across campus and back to my dorm.
When I burst into the room, I’m disappointed to find Shelby standing beside her bed, a pile of laundry before her. I had hoped to be alone.
She’s mid-fold, her eyes widening when she sees me.
“Hey, you’re back early?” she greets, and when I don’t respond right away, and instead walk over to my bed, she asks, “You okay?”
“Yeah, just couldn’t take another second of class,” I mumble tossing my backpack onto the floor before throwing myself down on the twin-size mattress.
“And why was that?” she questions.
I’m about to start telling her about Banks and about the snippet of memory I recalled, but I get this churning in my gut that tells me not to. Something in the back of my mind tells me to keep this to myself until I know the whole story, so instead, I decide to lie.
Groaning, I say, “I just didn’t get anything the professor was saying. It’s useless, I’m not remembering anything.” The lie glides off my tongue easily, one would think I lie all the time, and maybe I did, before.
“I don’t know why you go anyway. I mean, I know why, but you can do other stuff around here to jog your memory. College isn’t all about classes.”
“Then what’s it about? What else can I do to help?”
“I told you already,” she rolls her eyes, “We went to parties before. We should go to parties now, it might help you remember something, and if it doesn’t, maybe it’ll help to meet people, to get out and about.”
I remember her telling me these things, but honestly, I don’t want to go to parties, and it’s hard to believe that I enjoyed going to them before. But Shelby has no reason to lie to me, so it has to be somewhat true. Gazing up at her face, I can see the excitement growing in her eyes as if she knows that I’m about to give in and agree to go with her.
A second later, I say the words, “Okay, I’ll go with you.”
And she breaks out into a giggle, slamming down onto the mattress beside me.
“Yes! This is going to be so much fun. I swear, Harlow, you loved dressing up and going out. Gah, I can’t wait to help you choose your clothes.” She wraps her arms around me and hugs me tight to her chest, “I missed you, Harlow, I really did, and I’m so glad that you’re okay.”
It takes a little finagling to get out of the dorm without my bodyguards finding out. Thankfully the university told them that they can’t stay inside the dorms, so after a short while they leave to head to their rental, and that’s when Shelby and I make our break.
When we arrive at the frat house, the place is packed, even the front yard is brimming with people. Inside is even worse, and by the time we make it to the kitchen, I’m ready to turn around and go back outside. Shelby keeps a tight hold on my hand like she knows I’ll bail at any given second. As I look around the room, trying to take in the sights and see if anything about this place or the people here jolt an emotion or even a memory, I feel eyes on me.
Across the room, someone is staring at me. I know it. I can feel the heat of their gaze creeping up my back. Turning my head in their direction, and my gaze collides with chocolate brown orbs.
In the endless sea of people, it shouldn’t be all that surprising to make eye contact with someone, but this isn’t just someone, this person’s eyes are like melted chocolate, and brimming with concern. They captivate me, grab onto me, and refuse to let go. Breaking eye contact, I let my gaze roam over the stranger’s body, realizing he looks just like Sullivan and Banks.
Leaning into Shelby, I ask, “Who is that?”
“What?” Her eyes follow my line of sight.
“That guy standing in the far corner of the room with his arms crossed over his chest, who is he?” I ask again.
Shelby’s face sours, “Oliver Bishop. We don’t associate with them, Harlow. They’re trash.” Them. That makes me think of what Matt said, “Sullivan and his brothers,” I suppose that explains why they all look alike. Sullivan, Banks, and Oliver must be the brothers. Brothers I’m supposed to stay away from.
“Everyone keeps warning me away from them,” I bite my bottom lip, the memory from earlier entering my mind once more. Banks said we in that memory… were his brothers with him that night? Did they all threaten me? Even though I tried to forget it earlier, now I wish I had held onto it, maybe I would remember the whole thing then.
Still biting my lip, I feel compelled to look back over at the elusive Oliver, but as I do, I realize he’s no longer standing there. My heart skips like a stone skipping across the water.
Where did he go? Is the first question that pops into my head, and the second is, why do I care? A pop song filters through the speakers, and Shelby squeals with excitement, her eyes glittering in the bright lights.
“Oh my god, I love this song,” she shouts, either ignoring my question or having not heard it at all. As she bops her head to the song, belting out the lyrics, she tugs me along, until we reach the island that is scattered with cups and liquor bottles. There’s a beer keg centered in what would be the breakfast nook area with about five frat guys around it. They’re all laughing at something that one of the guys said, distracting me momentarily.
That is until I feel a heat creep up my back, it feels like the sun is beating down on me, and I release Shelby’s hand and whirl around, to find Oliver mere feet away, a smile ghosting against his lips.
Up close, he looks even more handsome, like an older version of Banks and Sullivan. Each of the brothers reminds me of those Roman soldiers from the 15th century, all muscled, and beautiful, only missing their togas, and a sword, and shield.
Their faces angelic-looking, with sharp jaws, and high cheekbones. Their teeth perfectly straight, and white, and their hair styled to perfection as if they just walked off the cover of a romance novel. No one should be able to look as good as the three of them do, and yet, they do.
“Nope, I don’t think so,” Shelby interjects, but Oliver rolls his eyes, ignoring her, and closing the distance between us in one single step.
“She can talk to who she wants to, you aren’t her keeper.” Oliver’s words are directed at Shelby, but he doesn’t look away from me as he says them.
“You’re trouble, Oliver, and Harlow doesn’t need trouble,” Shelby growls “go away.”
“I…. I know you…” I blink slowly, speaking more to myself than him. Inhaling slowly, the zingy scent of citrus, and rain fills my nostrils calming me almost instantly.
“Yes, you know me,” he smirks. His smile makes me want to smile, and I don’t really understand why. “Why are you here? You hate parties.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Oliver, and don’t tell Harlow what she likes and doesn’t like,” Shelby snaps at him like a momma bear protecting her young. “Come on, Harlow, let’s go outside,” she grabs my arm and starts pulling me toward the back door before I can even protest. A dark look crosses Oliver’s face, but he doesn’t make an effort to stop her. Not even a second later, I’m walking into the cool night air, a shiver rippling down my spine.
“Ugh, those Bishop boys are so annoying.” Shelby rolls her eyes. “Stay here, and I’ll go inside and make you a drink, and seriously, stay away from them, they’re nothing but trouble, plus you’re supposed to hate them.”
“Supposed to hate them?” I ask, but Shelby doesn’t answer me, and instead, walks back the way we just came. I stand there for a minute or two by myself, and when she returns with two red cups in her hands, I smile.
“Here, drink this, let loose, and let’s enjoy the night.” I take the cup from her hand and take a big sip, letting the fruity liquid soothe my nerves.
“Mhh, that’s really good,” I admit.
“Of course it is, it’s your favorite,” Shelby winks, and I take another drink, gulping half the liquid down without thought.
We talk for a bit, laugh, and dance, and before I know it, my cup is empty, and I’m feeling a whole lot better. As if the alcohol gave my mind a break from trying to remember something and make sense of everything, I feel a bit calmer, more at ease, and suddenly, I want another drink.
“What is this? I want some more,” I tell Shelby.
“I’ll get you some, stay here, girlfriend,” she laughs, clearly a little tipsy herself. I watch her walk back into the house before looking around the back yard. There are a ton of people outside, most of them playing drinking games. A few couples are dancing on the grass, the atmosphere out here seems more chilled than inside.
Scanning the crowd, I hope to spot Oliver again, but no matter how much I look, I don’t see him anywhere, it’s almost like he disappeared.
“Harlow?” An unfamiliar voice calls startling me, and I twist around faster than necessary, coming face to face with some guy that I don’t know. He’s holding a red cup in his hand, which he extends out to me, “Shelby asked me to give this to you. She said she’ll be right back.”
“Oh, okay…” I take the cup from his hand and watch him turn and walk the other way. Weird. Not dwelling on it, I take a sip from my new drink and look around for Shelby.
Where the hell is she?
I take a few steps toward the door that leads back into the house when someone steps in front of me, cutting me off and causing me to stop or run head-on into them.
“Hey, Sexy, gla
d to see you back on your feet again,” the guy that cut me off says. He looks vaguely familiar, but I can’t tell why. I think he was sitting at the table inside earlier. Maybe I even knew him from before, either way, I already don’t like him. Not only because of how he called me Sexy. No, there is something else about him that I don’t like. Something that leaves me feeling sick.
“Thanks,” is all I say as I push past him, trying to get inside.
His hand snakes out at the last minute, and he wraps his fingers around one of my wrists tugging me back toward him. “Not so fast, I wasn’t done talking yet,” he slurs.
Now that he’s close, I can smell the alcohol on him, it pours from his mouth, causing my nose to wrinkle with distaste. He smells like a damn distillery. “My friends and I want you to come back to our place. There are three of us, three fat cocks, just the way you like it,” he snickers, peering over his shoulder, at what I would assume are his friends.
His statement leaves me feeling sick, my stomach churning, bile rising up my throat.
He talks as if that’s something I like or something I did before.
No way would I have had a threesome, right?
“Let me go,” I growl into his face, wrenching my arm from his grasp. I take a few unsteady steps backward. “Don’t fucking touch me again, asshole.”
He holds his hands in the air as if he’s surrendering, but something tells me that if we weren’t at a party with a bunch of people watching us, this situation would have ended a lot differently. Turning, I walk away from him, and into the crowd, suddenly feeling safer there. I take another gulp of my drink, hoping the cold liquid will cool my heated blood. That guy’s an asshole, a douchebag.
For a moment, I close my eyes and forget about the world around me. I almost laugh out loud. I’m trying to forget when all I’ve been doing for the last few weeks is trying to remember. Sucking a deep breath of air into my lungs, my eyes flutter open again. I feel different. There is a weird feeling in my stomach that seems to be spreading throughout my limbs at a rapid pace. Taking a few steps, I notice how my legs are wobbly and unsteady, like a newborn fawn.
The Bayshore Rivals: The Entier Series Page 18