Storm

by Brigid Kemmerer

  So she swung at him.

  He brought a hand up to deflect her hit, which she expected. But he used her momentum to trap her wrist and pin her arm behind her back.

  None of it hurt. And it put her chest right up against his, his face right above hers.

  The chiffon was thin. She felt the line of his body matching her own. He had to be able to feel her heartbeat.

  He smiled. “Now what are you going to do?”

  “Gouge your eyes out with my keys.”

  Hunter laughed. “I should have trapped both hands. I didn’t realize you’d be such a lethal date.”

  “The night’s still young.”

  “The pretty ones are always the most dangerous.” He reached up with his free hand and brushed a tendril of hair off her forehead. “And you look very, very pretty.”

  That made her blush. He still hadn’t let her go, and she found her body relaxing into his. She rested her free hand on his shoulder. “This is nothing. Wait ’til you see Quinn.”

  “So you’ll let me keep my eyes a little while?”

  “Maybe.” She hoped she didn’t sound too breathless. “If you promise to be good.”

  “I’ll try.” And he kissed her.

  His mouth was soft, gentle. An innocent kiss. But the pretend fighting, the banter, the heat of his body—it lit her up like a live wire. Her lips parted and her hand tightened on his shoulder, sliding to his neck, pulling him closer.

  But he broke away, turning her loose, holding nothing but her hand.

  He tapped a finger on her lips. “You can’t make me promise to be good, then do that. We’ll never get to the dance.”

  She almost didn’t care. She actually almost said that, but then her brain kicked into gear.

  Hunter must have gotten the gist anyway, because he chuckled and kissed her palm. “Come on, beautiful.”

  Then he turned to move down the steps, and, attached to his hand, she followed right behind him.

  Every year, the school tried really hard. But no matter what they did to it, the gym still looked like a gym, just with the halogen lights turned off and red and blue streamers everywhere. The acoustics sucked for a band, but the deejay seemed to have a handle on the sound system, because Becca could actually distinguish lyrics from the throbbing bass line.

  Becca spotted Quinn right off, her friend’s dance skills on full display. She and Rafe had carved out a space near the center of the dance floor, and the jewels on her dress caught the light and flared with color.

  Becca leaned into Hunter and said, “See what I mean?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said. “That’s totally subtle.”

  Rafe took Quinn’s hand and spun her, and the dress flared, generating plenty of catcalls and a few insults.

  “She’s crazy,” said Becca.

  “She’s just having fun. Come on.” Hunter pulled her into the crowd of people.

  Neither her dress nor her dance skills were enough to buy Becca the kind of room Quinn enjoyed. Kids pressed in around them, nameless faces she barely recognized under the strobe lights. Hunter didn’t seem to mind, keeping her close for fast songs—and closer for slow ones. She had no idea if he was a good dancer. She just liked the feel of his body against hers.

  Like that live wire feeling on the porch, she felt electric tonight, charged by the music or the energy or the emotion in the air. It reminded her of that moment when Nick sent wind whipping across her driveway, like something tangible flickering just out of her reach. All she had to do was grab hold.

  “What’s with you tonight?” said Quinn when they had a moment alone. The boys had gone to fetch sodas, and she and Quinn were giggling and swaying to some eighties hit by the side of the crowd.

  “I don’t know,” said Becca. “What?”

  “You’re, like, glowing or something—wait. I know.” Quinn reached out and took her chin, tilting her face up and down, then sideways, as if looking for something. “You’re happy. I didn’t recognize it.”

  Becca knocked her hand away. “You’re crazy.”

  “Pine all you want for Chris, but New Kid actually put a smile on your face.”

  “Damn it, Quinn, I’m not pining for—”

  “Oh. Okay. So it won’t bother you if I tell you he’s over there with Monica Lawrence?” Quinn pointed.

  Becca whipped her head around before realizing it probably wasn’t a good idea. Quinn was right. There stood Chris by the edge of the indoor bleachers, his face half in shadow. He had a drink in one hand, and Monica had her entire body up against his.

  He didn’t exactly look like he was fighting her off.

  “Is it me, or is she humping his leg?” said Quinn.

  “Shut up,” Becca muttered. Then Hunter was back, holding out a cup of soda. She drank the whole thing in almost one swallow.

  Hunter watched this feat with a bemused expression on his face. “You know that’s just Diet Coke, right?”

  “Maybe I’m just warming up,” she said.

  And then she kissed him.

  She caught him by surprise—but that didn’t last long. His lips parted for hers, and her fingers tangled in his hair, holding him close. Hands caught her waist, strong and sure through the thin chiffon.

  She could swear she saw starbursts, like that night on the bridge. Wind in her hair, fire on her lips, the ground beneath her feet, parquet over concrete stretching into the earth below. And water—water everywhere. The first flare of sweat on her skin, the taste of Hunter on her lips, the ice in the cup hanging from her fingers.

  Ice. She felt that same cord of power she had felt with Nick’s wind in the driveway.

  Chris.

  She jerked back from Hunter.

  His breathing sounded a bit quick, his cheeks flushed. The entire front of her body felt warm.

  Just how closely had she been pressed up against him?

  “So, Bex,” said Quinn, her voice kind of strangled, “most people wait until they’re in a room—or at least in the dark—”

  “I’m sorry,” said Hunter. His eyes were wide.

  He was sorry? She’d practically mauled him in front of the whole gym. At least most of the people around them seemed to be following their cue. Not that she wanted to watch half her classmates make out, but it was better than them watching her.

  She remembered that connection she’d felt, the ice in her cup. Had Chris done something? Had his brothers?

  Becca looked for him in that darkened corner. Would he be making out with Monica, striking her back for the little show she’d just put on with Hunter?

  No, but Chris was leaning close, brushing hair away from Monica’s ear to whisper something—then looking very deliberately in Becca’s direction.

  Monica giggled and clung to him. They walked away from the bleachers and disappeared into the crowd.

  Becca swallowed.

  This was stupid. She wasn’t some wallflower to be mocked—she was here with Hunter.

  Hunter, who was stroking a thumb across her cheek now, leaning in to brush his lips across hers very gently. “Don’t do that again,” he murmured, and she heard a smile in his voice.

  “Why?” she whispered back, feeling her heart leaping around her chest. “Don’t tell me you’re scared of kissing me now.”

  He hesitated, then laughed against her lips. “Your kisses just might be addictive.” Then he caught her hand and spun her into the music.

  She wondered if someone had spiked the soda. Her body felt weightless yet strong. She kept up with Quinn, dancing with her friend when the boys ran out of stamina.

  “Becca.”

  The voice spoke from over her shoulder, perfectly timed for that break between songs. She couldn’t tell whether it was Hunter or Rafe since the crowd was so loud, but she was glad of the distraction. Her perfectly curled tendrils had dampened with sweat, and hair clung to her neck in places. She could use a soda.

  So she turned, ready for just about anyone.

>   Except Drew McKay.

  Drew’s face was still bruised from the beating Gabriel had given him, a dark wash of shadow across one cheek and around one eye. He’d paid good money for that suit, but it seemed to hang from his frame awkwardly, as if he’d lost some weight or some muscle or just couldn’t be bothered to button it right. He looked pathetic.

  “Gee,” she said loudly, over the music of the new song. “That black eye looks really painful.”

  He fidgeted for a second. “Becca, I need to talk to you.”

  “You need to leave her alone.” Hunter must have come up behind her, and now she felt his hand on her shoulder.

  She hadn’t told him about Drew, but the rumor mill must have carried the story full circle. She was tempted to let Hunter chase him off. It would be easy.

  But she’d already done this the “easy” way. And Hunter wasn’t her keeper—he wasn’t even her boyfriend yet. She suspected that the new attitude she was getting around school had more to do with Gabriel Merrick’s reputation than her own. If she kept letting guys defend her, she’d never find the type of respect she desperately needed.

  For her own good.

  So she turned and looked up at Hunter. “I can handle this.”

  He stared back at her. She could tell he was remembering the altercation in her driveway, their discussion at lunch.

  Then his eyes flicked to Drew, and she read the dislike there. Hunter dropped his hand. “All right.”

  “Besides,” said Becca, turning back to Drew, “I’m not going to listen long unless he’s going to start spouting an apology—”

  “I am.”

  He didn’t even look at her for those two words, and they sounded like they’d been choked out of him.

  “Let’s hear it,” she called over the music.

  Now he looked up, and she caught a hint of his familiar scowl. “Can we go outside or somewhere I don’t have to yell? I don’t really want to announce this to the whole school.”

  “Too bad,” snapped Quinn. “I think we should do a public castration right here—”

  “Quinn.” Becca sighed.

  “Hey,” called a guy in the crowd, some senior that Becca didn’t know. “Look. It’s McRapist.” Then he punched Drew in the shoulder, hard.

  “Yeah,” said another guy. “I liked the hottie’s idea of a little public payback.” Then he shoved Drew.

  And suddenly more students were crowding them, full of catcalls and anger.

  Drew set his jaw and glared, but Becca saw him flinch.

  And something about that spoke to her. She knew exactly what it felt like.

  “Come on,” she said to him. “You have five minutes.” Then she looked back over her shoulder at Hunter, who already stood poised to follow. “Stay.”

  The night air had chilled a few degrees, full of dampness that promised rainfall wasn’t far off. Dozens of kids were on the quad, so despite the darkness, she didn’t feel alone with him. Still, Becca shivered and wished for a sweater.

  Drew’s hands were shoved into his pockets. He was walking along the face of the building, and she kept pace with him, glad to be moving.

  He didn’t look at her. “You know half the school thinks I’m a rapist.”

  “Huh,” she said. “What’s that like? For half the school to think something about you that isn’t true?”

  “Don’t be like that, Becca.”

  Unbelievable. What an asshole. “This is one hell of an apology, Drew.”

  “Just what are you telling people?”

  She rounded on him. “I’m not telling anyone anything,” she snapped. “I’m not like you. I don’t spread lies about people.”

  “Yeah, poor baby. You know what you did. And now you’re walking around, acting like I didn’t do exactly what you wanted.”

  That stung, like he’d struck her.

  He started walking again, toward the dark corner by the edge of the building.

  She paused before following him. There were still kids out here, a few standing under the trees smoking.

  “Why’d you do it?” she demanded. “Do you know the last six weeks have been hell for me, Drew? Do you know people think I slept with half the school—”

  “Maybe you did, Becca. Who knows?”

  “I do.” She pointed to her chest, feeling her eyes burn. “I know.”

  He glanced off into the darkness. “Whatever. Like it matters.”

  “It matters to me.” Her voice broke. There had to be a reason why he’d done it. Had to be. Would he have spread such vicious lies for nothing more than a stupid whim? That was almost more crushing than everything else.

  She swiped at her eyes and forced her voice to be strong. “It matters to me, Drew.”

  He didn’t say anything. She heard the distant thrum of music from inside the gym, occasional bursts of sound as students came and went. Wind looped between the buildings to lift her hair and cool her neck.

  Just when she was going to give up and go in, Drew spoke.

  “I thought you were going to press charges.”

  It took a minute for this to sink in. Then she wanted to explode with fury. “But I didn’t! I didn’t want anyone to know! And then school started on Monday, and everyone—everyone knew. They knew about you and me, and all your friends. But they thought we’d—they thought—” She shoved him in the chest. “Why would you do that? Why, Drew?”

  “Don’t be stupid, Becca. I have a scholarship to Virginia Tech.” His voice was cruel, his eyes hard in the night. “I wasn’t going to let some silly girl who couldn’t hold her liquor fuck that up.”

  Then she got it.

  He’d thought she was going to report him. So he’d made her look like a tramp and got his friends to back it up. So if she ever tried to go to the cops, no one would believe her. He was Drew McKay, captain of the soccer team. Who was she?

  Just Becca.

  And all for some stupid scholarship.

  “Now everyone thinks I raped you,” he said, his voice vicious. “Coach kept me on the bench for the game. It’s my senior year. Vickers is on my case. People are calling the house, leaving messages. Someone spray painted my car, Becca—”

  “Sounds rough.” She started to turn.

  “Well, I’ve made a decision.” He grabbed her arm.

  She glared up at him, feeling his fingers pressing into the muscle. Other students remained nearby, and she made her voice strong and clear. “Let me go, Drew.”

  It worked. One of those figures by the tree straightened and headed their way. A cigarette flared red in an arc to the ground, where it died under a shoe. “Hey.”

  Drew’s hand tightened on her bicep. “I think it’s time to level the playing field.”

  “Let me go,” she said again. “Right now.”

  Another student moved toward them.

  Drew dragged her close, and for the first time, she felt fear slide around her chest and jerk tight.

  “Isn’t there some stupid saying?” he said. “Something like, ‘If I’m going to do the time—’ ”

  “Shut up!” She swung her free hand, driving her fingers at Drew’s throat the way Hunter had shown her. She felt the swing all the way up her arm, strength and power conspiring to put him down.

  But arms wrapped around her from behind, a hand sliding over her mouth, beefy hands trapping her arms. Someone large, strong. Way bigger than she was.

  “Hey, Becca.” Hot breath on her ear. She knew that voice.

  Tommy Dunleavy.

  She couldn’t see the others yet, but now she knew. Those weren’t just other students at the trees. Those were Drew’s friends.

  She screamed—or she tried to. That hand clamped down on her mouth, preventing any sound from getting out. She struggled, but he was too strong. They wrestled her around the corner of the building, where it was truly dark. The music from the dance was too loud. Even if she screamed here, no one would hear her.

  Drew stroked a hand down her side, the feel of his ha
nd hard through the thin material of the dress. She squealed and squirmed away from him.

  “Yeah,” he said. “If I’m going to do the time, I’m sure as hell going to enjoy the crime.”

  And then he grabbed hold of the front of her dress. And began to tear it free.

  CHAPTER 31

  Chris drained the soda from his cup and swirled the ice around the bottom. Monica was yammering about something to do with her nails or her dress or her friends, but he had a pretty low tolerance for stupidity, so he’d tuned her out fifteen minutes ago. The only reason she was hanging off his arm was because her dickhead boyfriend had stepped out for a smoke. Did she think Chris was so clueless he wouldn’t know that?

  He was only putting up with it because Monica made for a good cover.

  Becca had seen him. She’d seen him and then she’d kissed Hunter.

  Crystal clear.

  He had enough to worry about. He shouldn’t be watching Becca. He shouldn’t give a crap.

  He just couldn’t help himself. He’d watched the little drama unfold with Drew.

  Stalker, he’d told himself, but it didn’t matter, because Becca had Hunter. He’d stop her from going with Drew. Or follow. He’d keep her safe.

  Chris had waited, but no one followed. Becca had walked out of the gym with Drew while Hunter stood with Quinn and stared at the door.

  What a jackass. When it was obvious Hunter wasn’t going to do anything, Chris slammed his cup on the table and moved to follow.

  Monica giggled and hung onto him. “Wait—you wanna go watch or something?”

  God, it was like she didn’t have an off switch. He wished there were some way to take out her batteries.

  Then he realized what she’d said.

  He stopped and looked down at her. “Watch what?”

  She staggered a little and dug her nails into his jacket. She’d been drinking—a lot. “Ohmigod, I told Tommy we should get a video. Chandler thinks she’s the shit all of a sudden, but everybody knows the truth about her—”

  Chris shoved her away from him, making her sit down hard on the bleacher seat. “What are they doing, Monica?”

  She giggled again. “It was Drew’s idea, but it’s gonna be epic—”