“I’m going to head downstairs,” I hear the guy on the radio say.
“I’ll finish checking here and meet you down there,” replies the other one.
I keep still, our bodies close as I look down at her. “Why do you do this?”
She shoots her eyes up, her parted lips inches from mine. “You can’t tell anyone. No one will understand.”
“Who cares?” I shoot back. “Your friends are losers.”
“So are yours.”
“At least I don’t have to fake anything around them,” I grit out. But then I realize that’s not true. The guys I’ve been hanging out with don’t even know my real name, do they?
I push forward. “Why are you two different people, Ryen?”
“What do you care? You don’t know me.”
“Hey, who’s there?” one of the guards shouts.
Shit! I grab Ryen’s hand and we bolt for the classroom door.
“Hey!” he yells.
Ryen cries out as she struggles to keep up, and we rush into the hallway, turning left.
“Stop!” I hear him say, and I see the glow of his flashlight shining on us.
His radio crackles, and I hear him talking, but we’re already around the corner. Passing one of the exits, I notice it doesn’t have a chain, and I push it open, hearing the alarm go off. But we don’t leave. I pull Ryen the other direction and bolt up the stairs.
“Masen,” she gasps, breathing hard.
We could’ve just run, I guess, but my truck is on the other side of the school, and I don’t know where her Jeep is. We might not make it without being recognized. Hopefully, with the alarm going off, they’ll think we bolted, though.
I pull her into the library and let the door close softly before rushing up the stairs, hearing her struggle behind me. We hurry to the back, hidden behind stacks and rows of books, near the couches and chairs. The library is dark, only the faint moonlight coming in from the windows high above. Our steps are soft, thanks to the carpeting, and I drag her behind a shelf, far, far above and away from the doors in the front.
We’re secluded.
The alarm still goes off, but it’s faint.
She collapses into me. “Masen…”
She breathes fast and hard, only able to take in shallow breaths, and I wrap my arms around her, feeling her go limp.
What the fuck?
Worry floods through me, and I cup her face as she fights for air. Her lids are hooded and she looks like she’s in pain.
“My bag,” she breathes out.
What? And then I widen my eyes, remembering. Oh, fuck. She has asthma. That’s right.
I shoot down to her backpack on the floor and dig in the front pocket, pulling out a red inhaler.
I stand back up, wrapping her in my arms and holding her up. “Here.”
She leans into me, her head resting on my chest as she takes a puff and waits a moment before inhaling another one.
Her chest rises and falls fast, and I lower one arm, wrapping it around her waist as I hold her to me.
Her weak body sinks into me as her breathing starts to slow down and she’s taking in deeper breaths.
Dammit. She tried to tell me as we raced through the school, and I didn’t listen to her.
What would I have done if she’d dropped her bag somewhere, and I couldn’t find her medicine?
I hug her close, feeling, for the first time, how small she is in my arms. Ryen is always so large around me. Never backing down, her confidence always appearing larger than life.
I hold her head to my chest with the other hand and bury my nose in her hair.
“You’re okay,” I say gently. “I got you.”
“My heart won’t stop pounding,” she says, her fragile voice starting to come around.
“I know.” I smile. “I can feel it.”
The beat of her heart is hitting my chest, and I can feel her body slowly get stable as her breathing calms.
What am I going to do with this girl? Just when I think I have her figured out, she pulls at me a little more.
Just when I think I can’t stand her, and I can leave, never looking back, I turn right around and want to make sure nothing hurts her.
Her arms, hugged close to her body as I hold her, start to drop as she pulls away from me.
She raises her eyes, looking a little embarrassed and not saying anything as she kneels down, grabbing her backpack.
Standing up, she purses her lips and looks around.
The alarm stops, and I have no idea what’s happening out there—if they think we left out the door or what—but she’s not leaving yet.
“You don’t tell anyone about tonight, and I won’t tell anyone you were here, either,” she says. “Got it?”
She turns to leave, but I grab her hand. “I think people would enjoy this version of you.”
“My friends would hate me.”
“They already hate you. Everyone does.”
For a split-second, I see a frown cross her face, but it quickly disappears. She faces me, a light brown eyebrow arched in defiance.
“Why fake it?” I charge. “Why compete with people and play the games?”
She takes a step, trying to leave, but I pull her back. “Don’t walk away from me.”
“This is none of your business!” she whisper-yells, yanking her hand free and scowling at me. “You don’t know me.”
“Does anyone?”
She looks away, her eyes suddenly glistening. After a moment, she speaks, her voice low. “I don’t want to be alone,” she admits. “They may hate me, but they respect me. I can’t be invisible or laughed at or….” She trails off and then continues. “I don’t know why. I just never had the courage to stand apart. I always wanted to fit in.”
“Everyone wants to be accepted, Ryen.” Does she think no one’s ever had those same feelings? “Why do you write on the walls?”
She stands there, staring off and looking like she’s struggling to find words.
“Misha…” she says, trailing off again.
I tense, my heart picking up pace.
But then she shakes her head, letting the thought go. “It doesn’t matter. I just had ways to vent before, a way to be heard, and now I don’t. I just started doing it a couple of months ago.”
A couple of months ago. Shortly after I stopped writing her.
I blink long and hard.
The fake friends, the hovering parent, the worry and stress of wanting to fit in just like most any other person out there… I was her bouncing board.
I was so caught up in my own loss and anger, I never stopped to think how suddenly abandoning her after seven years would hurt her. Not that I’m responsible for her actions, but I am responsible for mine. She relied on me.
“Why are you here?” she asks, turning it around on me.
I look at the duffel bag in my hand, unashamed I needed a shower, but then that answer would lead to more questions. Why am I living at the Cove? Where are my parents?
“Mmmm,” she gloats, a fake smile on her pretty face. “So others have to own up to you, but not the other way around, huh?” She backs away toward the stairs. “My mom is only a phone call away. I’ll get taken straight home with a slap on the wrist. Hope you enjoy your long, hard night in a cold cell,” she taunts and then calls over her shoulder. “Oh, Mr. Security Guard? Help!”
She spins around, and I reach out and grab her, pulling her back into me. “Shut up!” I growl, clamping a hand over her mouth.
But she immediately slams her elbow into my stomach, trying to get away, and I stumble backward, pulling her with me. She loses her footing, falls into me, and we both tumble to the floor.
I grunt, my back hitting the ground and my arms still around her struggling body. She lies on top of me, her back against my chest.
She squirms, trying to get away, the friction of her ass pressing into my groin. I tense, heat blanketing me.
Fuck.
She pulls my hand away, gritting under her breath. “Let me go.”
“Stop moving then.”
“You don’t get to judge me,” she goes on, turning her face to me, her breath falling on my cheek. “Or jerk me around or make demands. I’m none of your business.”
Her body struggles in my arm, and her ass rubs against me again, making me groan.
But then I hear something.
I take her jaw, forcing her still as I whisper against her ear. “Shhh.”