It’s almost a relief when Austin settles next to me with his tray. “Hey.”
Other than my brother and Everly, I’m surrounded by people who aren’t really my friends. It’s a little bit like swimming with sharks. Even though there’s relative calm, you’re constantly on edge with the realization that the situation has the potential to turn deadly at any moment. A stress headache brews at the back of my skull.
“Hi,” I murmur.
His narrowed gaze searches my face. A few seconds of eye contact is all it takes for a silent communication to pass between us. Unaware of the tension that brews beneath the surface, Everly unpacks her lunch and eats her PB and J. I don’t bother going through the motions of emptying mine. It remains untouched on the table in front of me.
When the guy next to Everly engages her in conversation, Austin whispers, “Did you talk with him yet?”
The him in question doesn’t need further elaboration.
Kingsley.
I shake my head.
A troubled look passes over his face as his lips flatten into a tight line. Although that doesn’t stop him from wolfing down his cheeseburger and fries. There isn’t much that gets in the way of Austin’s appetite.
“Hawthorne,” I jump to attention when one of the guys at the far end of the table yells, “where’s Rothchild?”
All eyes turn to me with interest, as they collectively wait for a response.
My mouth turns cottony as I attempt to swallow down my nerves. “I’m not sure.”
They might be oblivious to the circumstances that surround the deal struck between our families, but everyone knows we’re together. It only makes me wonder what would happen if that weren’t the case. Would these people continue to accept us, or would Austin and I be relegated to outcast status in a school that was founded by our family?
It’s a scary prospect. One I don’t want to contemplate. Although instinct tells me that I’ll have to. Sooner rather than later.
Chapter Eleven
The second half of the day passes much like the first. Kingsley remains elusive and the tension brewing inside me rachets up until it becomes almost unbearable. Any moment, I’m going to splinter into a million pieces. I have no idea if he was here for anything other than first hour. I stopped texting after I realized he wouldn’t respond.
It’s like he fell off the face of the earth.
Or maybe I did, and I haven’t realized it yet.
How is it possible that we had sex last night, doing things to each other that I would have never imagined I’d be comfortable with, only to end up like this twelve brief hours later?
It doesn’t make sense. No matter how many ways I come at it, I’m at a loss. I don’t know where we go from here. Am I supposed to stop by after football practice and demand answers? How much longer do I sit on my ass and wait for Kingsley to clue me in on what changed?
My brain races as I slide behind the wheel of the Mercedes and drive home. The obnoxious beat of the music blasting through the sound system isn’t enough to take my mind off Kingsley. I pull into the drive, surprised to find Dad’s pearly white Volvo SUV parked near the garage. I’ve become used to the long hours he puts in at Hawthorne Industries. To find him home at three o’clock in the afternoon now seems out of the norm.
A strange feeling of foreboding fills me as I sit in the car and stare at the sprawling stone mansion. It takes effort to shake it away as I grab my backpack and head to the front door. As I turn the handle and push open the heavy wood, raised voices fill the air and have me skidding to a halt. Unease crawls across my skin.
“You’ve fucked with my family for the last time, Hawthorne! When I’m done with you, there will be nothing left!”
There haven’t been many occasions to hear Keaton’s voice, but I would recognize the deep timbre of it anywhere. After our bizarre first encounter, it’s been singed into my memory.
Why is he here?
“What did you really expect?” Dad shouts back in a voice that echoes off the high ceilings and leaves me cringing. “That we would just hand over our daughter?”
“The terms were laid out clearly in the contract. If they were so repugnant to you, then you shouldn’t have agreed to them. Quite frankly, I would have been more than happy to take you to court and bury you under a mountain of debt.”
He knows.
Keaton knows that Dad was looking for a way out of the contract.
But how?
How did he find out?
It’s tempting to back out of the foyer and pretend I haven’t stumbled upon this volatile situation. As difficult as it is, I force my feet forward. The two male voices continue to escalate, rising higher as I put one foot in front of the other until I’m hovering at the threshold of the dark wood panel study. I’ve never been a fan of this space. It reminds me too much of Hawthorne Prep.