St Mary's Academy Series Box Set 1

by Seven Steps

  “Been there. Done that.”

  “Ariel, I want you to listen to me very closely.” He takes my hands in his and my entire arm goes hot. He stares deep into my eye, and I can’t pull my gaze away.

  “A family is the greatest and hardest relationship you’ll ever have. They test you, they expose you, they irritate you. Sometimes they make you want to walk away. But those times when you want to leave are the times when you have to fight the hardest because when they’re gone, they’re gone, and they can’t come back. It’s up to you to decide whether you’re going to be left with regret or happy memories.” He swallows. “You can’t just throw someone away because they hurt you. If you love them, and they love you, you have to fight for it. That’s what life is. That’s what love is. Loving someone even if they shatter you.”

  “How do you know if it’s worth it?” I watch his Adam’s apple bob.

  “If you love someone, and they love you, then it’s worth it.”

  My lungs tighten. Suddenly, it’s hard to breathe. Hard to think. Hard to do anything else but stare into Eric’s beautiful blue eyes.

  He brushes his knuckles softly against my cheek. It takes all I have not to press his hand to my face and keep it there.

  A million emotions swirled inside of me. My head throbs with them.

  “Ariel,” he whispers. His hand moves to the back of my neck, gently pulling me close. His eyes drop to my lips. I lean in. “Fight for us.”

  Our faces are only inches from each other. He breathes out. I breathe in. He takes up my space. I remember his soft lips. How I’ve enjoyed the way his rough stubble felt on my face. How his thumb would rest on my chin, while his big hands cupped my cheeks. How he tasted like gum and man and love.

  His eyes rise to mine.

  Asking me. Waiting for me.

  The ball is in my court now. I have to make the first move.

  To kiss or not to kiss. All it will take is one more inch.

  Someone clears their throat behind me, and I practically jump out of my skin.

  Duckie’s standing there, hands on her hips, a little smile on her face.

  Both Eric and I let out a breath at the same time. I pull my hands to my sides so neither Duckie nor Eric would see how they tremble.

  “Eric,” she says. “Nice to see you again.”

  I don’t turn around to see his expression. I’m sure mine is a mixture of guilt and desire. My face feels hot, and I know my cheeks are probably beet red by now.

  “Duckie,” he says calmly.

  My world is ripping open, and he sounds like he’s taking a leisurely stroll around the park.

  That’s when I realize it. Eric called her Duckie. No one outside of my family called Aquata Duckie. Then I know. It’s because Eric fit into my family from the start. My sisters adore him, and he loves them right back. Even my father likes Eric, and he barely tolerates anyone.

  “Dad wants you two to take pictures. I told him I’d come get you.” She looks from one of us to the other. “I’m guessing I came a little too early.”

  “No,” I say, too quickly to be innocent. “Eric and I were just talking.”

  “Talking. Interesting.”

  “Duckie,” I hiss.

  She puts her hands up.

  “Fine, fine. Just get inside before Dad sends a search party. And you”—she turns her eyes to Eric—“don’t be such a stranger.”

  I groan.

  Why is my sister so embarrassing?

  Eric doesn’t reply and neither do I. We both stand and follow Duckie back inside of the building, down the stairs, and back into the apartment.

  My lips are buzzing. He hasn’t even kissed me and my lips hum for him. It’s a good thing Duckie showed up when she did. It cooled my overheated body and gave me time to think.

  Fight for us.

  Is that what Eric was doing with his kind words and actions? Was he fighting for us? Does that mean I was fighting against him?

  We walk back into the penthouse and are immediately perched in front of my dad to take a gazillion pictures. I’m sure my red cheeks and smudged lipstick will be all over the newspapers and social media by tomorrow morning.

  Great.

  37

  I crack open one eye and look at the clock on my nightstand.

  It’s one in the morning and my mind is so busy that sleep is the last thing my body wants to do.

  I’ve been tossing and turning for two hours, my brain filled with thoughts of my father and Duckie, the RPX Gamers Convention in a few hours, and the twins’ party after that. But mostly, I think about Eric.

  I miss him.

  Talking during an online game isn’t enough. I want more. I want what we had. All this time, I told myself it was impossible for us to be together because of our past.

  But maybe I’m wrong. Maybe all I need to do is fight for us. To forgive him and move on with him by my side. And, if I can forgive him, then I can forgive Bella too. The thought of me and my crew back together brings me a sense of peace I haven’t felt in a long time.

  I miss my old life. My old friends. My old love.

  Maybe it can be new again. Maybe it’s time to stop running from my life and, once again, start living it.

  38

  The inside of the limo smells like coffee.

  Eric has stopped by Starbucks on the way to pick me up and gotten me a venti caramel macchiato with extra pumps of vanilla. My favorite. Purity sits across from Eric and me, but she doesn’t look at us. It feels like she’s giving us some space, and I appreciate the gesture.

  After we’ve been driving for a while in weird, uncomfortable silence, she finally puts down the tea she’s been sipping—I can see the string hanging over the edge of the coffee cup—and crosses her legs at the ankles. She’s so prim and proper. How will she ever survive in New York?

  “So, does Michael live around here?” Her hands are clasped around her knees, and her face is open and friendly. It puts me at ease, now that I know she’s not a she-devil.

  “He’s not coming,” I say.

  Eric takes a sip of his coffee. I can see he’s hiding a smile.

  Purity’s mouth forms a brief O shape.

  “Is he sick?”

  “No.” I spin the warm cup in my hands. “We talked yesterday and decided it’d be best if we stayed friends.”

  “Friends?” Purity’s leans toward me, as if she doesn’t want to miss a word of what I’m saying. “And friends don’t go to video game conventions together?”

  I lean back in my seat. I don’t answer her question.

  Her eyes flick to Eric, then back to me.

  Then she sits back and takes a long sip of her tea.

  “This tea tastes so strange.” She swirls the cup a little. Her face is tight, like she just sucked on a lemon. “I hope the milk isn’t curdled.”

  Eric reaches out a hand for the tea.

  “I can check.”

  Purity waves him away.

  “Oh no. If I’m sick, I don’t want to share it. That would be unkind.”

  She plops the tea in the cup holder and sits back in her seat, a small, odd smile on her face.

  I like Purity, but is she always this weird? Maybe this is how all Southern belles act. Formal with a dramatic flair.

  “So,” Eric says, “is Team Lightning ready for action?”

  “I hope so. I hear that Thumbs Mitchell is going play in the tournament.”

  Eric’s eyes go wide with amazement.

  “No way. Thumbs Mitchell. I didn’t even know he played Ogre Wars.”

  “Neither did I, but I read this morning he jumped from Star Fleet to Ogre Wars after the last update.” I put down my coffee and turn my body to face Eric. He does the same. “I’d love to meet him.”

  “I’ll let the event planner know. Maybe she can set something up.”

  “No way. You hired an event planner to go to a video game convention?”

  “She got us the tickets, we’re going to go to the front
of the line at all of the meet and greets, we get a special lunch, and priority seating for the tournament. It’s going to be amazing. And…” He reaches into a box that has been sitting between his legs and pulls out a piece of black fabric. No, not just fabric. It’s a shirt with Team Lightning spelled out in white letters with lightning all around it.

  I snatch the shirt from him and examine it.

  “No way!” My butt bounces in the seat, and my mouth is agape in excitement. “T-shirts?”

  “I wanted us to be official.”

  Overcome with happiness, I throw my arms around him.

  “This is going to be the best convention ever!” I cry.

  And then, as if just recognizing what it’s doing, my body goes hot. Eric and I are chest to chest, cheek to cheek. His arms settle on my lower back, while mine are wound around his shoulders.

  My breath catches, and, though I know I should, I don’t want to move away. He’s so warm. So inviting. Neither one of us breaks our hold. In fact. He squeezes me tighter.

  Heart pounding, brain on overdrive, I finally manage to reclaim control of my body and, slowly, I pull back my face so I’m looking into his eyes.

  “Thank you,” I say. “For everything.”

  He grins so adorably that I wish we could stay like this forever, wrapped in each other’s arms and gazing into each other’s eyes.

  “You’re welcome.”

  Out of the corner of my eye I see Purity smiling at us like a Cheshire cat, and I pull away, placing my hands beneath my butt so she can’t see them tremble.

  The limo is thick with weird vibes now. Suddenly, I don’t know what to do with myself. Sit on my hands. Jam them in my pockets. Pick up my coffee. There’s so much nervous energy rushing through me that I can barely think.

  I don’t feel like myself again until we arrive at LaGuardia airport and finally climb out of the limo.

  Eric’s private jet is white, with blue and gray stripes running across the center with a sharp nose and lots of windows. It almost looks like a fighter jet. Not like Daddy’s plane. His is triple this size, with a round nose and red stripes.

  Eric walks to the plane and climbs the first step. Then he turns and reaches his hand out to me.

  “Your carriage awaits, my lady.”

  His formal, old-fashioned manner makes me giggle, and I cover my mouth with my hand.

  Purity’s voice comes from behind me.

  “Ugh, you know what?”

  I turn around and find her hanging out the limo, gripping her stomach. Her face is contorted, like she’s about to puke.

  “I’m not feeling too well,” she says in a voice that sounds like her mouth is full of cotton. “You two go ahead. I think I’m going to head home.”

  Head home? That means Eric and I will be alone all day. The thought thrills me more than it should. My skin flushes, and I rock back on my heels.

  “Are you sure?” Eric asks, his hand still reaching for me. “What’s the matter?”

  “It was probably the milk. Nothing a little peppermint tea and butter crackers won’t cure.” She pulls her body back into the limo, shuts the door, and rolls down the window. “Mama once hosted an entire ball with a sour stomach. No one was the wiser.”

  “Maybe I should call Grim to come and see you home.”

  She waves his offer away without considering it.

  “No. No. Granddaddy Grim needs his rest. I’ll just have the driver take me home. Have fun, you two.” She coos and waves her fingers at us.

  Somehow, I don’t think she’s really sick. I think she just became the greatest wing-woman ever.

  Eric lets out a breath above me.

  “Well, it’s just me and you then.” One black brow lifts in challenge. “Still up for it?”

  I look into his eyes for a long time. There’s an energy between us. Some primal force that makes my pulse quicken and my stomach flutter. Something powerful that makes me want to be near him no matter how much it hurts. This is the reason I can’t stop playing video games with him at night. I miss our connection, even if it’s through a video screen. I’m addicted to Eric Shipman, and I’m one hundred percent certain I don’t want a cure.

  His blue eyes sparkle. His skin is smooth and clear. His smile is bright.

  I place my hand in his, and I know there’s no place else I’d rather be than on this plane with Eric by my side.

  “Sure.”

  His shoulders relax and his smile widens. Hand in hand, we walk up the stairs, ready to start our great gaming adventure.

  ∞∞∞

  The small plane is separated into three compartments. First is the cockpit. Second is the middle compartment, decorated with cream and black couches, recliners, and tables, along with two black-rimmed televisions. The farthest compartment is separated from the first by an egg-shell-colored curtain, currently pulled open. Beyond the curtain are two more recliners and two more televisions. The place smells like new carpet and fresh chocolate chip cookies.

  I walk to the back section of the plane and sit in the recliner by the window. The felt material is soft and smooth. I sink into it with a relieved ‘aaaahhh’ and push a button for the footrest.

  “Somebody’s getting comfortable,” Eric says, sliding into the recliner next to me.

  “These chairs are amazing.”

  “Custom made in Taiwan. The material is alpaca or something.”

  “Alpaca recliners? I didn’t even know that was a thing.”

  “They came with a matching alpaca sweater.”

  I snort. “Lucky you.”

  “Yeah.” His eyes sweep over my face, and he tucks a wayward strand of black hair behind my ear. “Lucky me.”

  A breath forces its way past my lips, and I drop my eyes.

  “When did you start doing that?” he asks, his voice soft and rumbly.

  “Doing what?”

  “Looking down. Covering your smile. The Ariel Swimworthy I know doesn’t hold back anything. Not even a smile.”

  I raise my eyes to him. My entire body feels tingly, like electric current is running through me.

  “There’s my Ariel,” he says. “Didn’t I see you take on two girls in a fight once?”

  “It was four,” I reply cockily.

  “And if I remember correctly, you were winning.”

  “I was winning until you pulled me off of them.”

  “I had to. I was afraid you were going to do some serious damage.”

  “What can I say? No one messes with my friends, or my man.”

  Crap? Did I just say that out loud?

  I clear my throat and lean back in my chair, pulling my hair to one side and braiding it. My hands are nearly out of control, shaking with nerves.

  This is getting way too intense.

  I have to get control of myself, or else Eric and I would go spiraling out of control and I’m not ready for that.

  He’s broken me once. If I give him my heart again, I want to be a hundred percent certain it would be safe.

  I need some distance. Some space.

  I cross my legs so my body’s turned away from him and regard the blank television screen.

  “So, are we just going to stare at an empty TV for forty minutes?” My voice is gravelly and deep, like I’ve just caught a cold in the last five minutes. I clear my throat again.

  When Eric doesn’t respond, I glance his way.

  He’s examining the armrest of his recliner, rubbing at something with his thumb.

  “Eric?”

  His brows are scrunched, his mouth turned down. One of his legs is bouncing, and his thumb keeps rubbing at the armrest. He suddenly seems so distracted. Is it something I did? Something I said?

  “Yeah, uh, the remote is in the chair.”

  Maybe this trip wasn’t the best idea. Oh well. It’s too late now. I’ll just have to put on my big girl pants and deal with it.

  I examine my chair and, sure enough, there’s a remote built into the arm. I press the power button wi
th my thumb, and the screen comes to life. I begin flicking through the channels because it’s easier than trying to figure out how I’m going to get through the next several hours.

  The pilot comes out and tells us we’re taking off in five minutes and, sure enough, five minutes later, we’re airborne.

  I keep flicking through the channels, and Eric keeps quiet for a while. It’s not one of our companionable silences either. This one is heavy and tense.

  I wish Purity were here. At least she’d talk to me. Right now, Eric’s not even looking at me, and I don’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.

  There’s nothing on TV, so I look around for another way to entertain myself for the next thirty minutes. I spy a Monopoly box in the next compartment.

  “You play Monopoly?”

  He looks up from rubbing the armrest, then squints at the box. “When we fly, it gets kind of boring. Monopoly passes the time.”

  “You don’t seem like a Monopoly sort of guy.”

  “No?”

  “Nah. You seem more like a Risk kind of person.”

  One side of his lips lifts into a smile.

  “We have Risk in the back. Grim doesn’t play that one anymore. He says it’s too competitive.”

  I uncross my legs and shift in my seat until I’m facing him again.

  “Duh. You have to take over the world. Of course it’s competitive.”

  The cloud of tension begins to dissipate.

  “You want to play?” he asks, finally meeting my eye.

  “I don’t know. Can your ego handle it?”

  “Ego. What ego?”

  “Oh, you know. That ego when a guy asks a girl to play a game, then the girl wins, then the guy gets all butt hurt about it.”

  He scoffs.

  “Impossible.”

  “Why is it impossible?”

  “Because no one has beaten me at Risk before.” He jumps out of his seat, jogs into the next compartment, grabs the game from an overhead bin, then sits back down.

  “No one has beaten you because you’ve never played me before,” I say, snatching the top from the game and unfolding the board.