My heat at your back?
My hands on your skin?
And, unfortunately, it doesn’t stop there. Who thefuckis this guy?
Do you still grunt and bite your lip when you come?
I can't wait to feel your body convulse around me.
My cock misses your ass.
I’m gonna fuck you raw.
The time stamps on the text messages show a few minutes passed before the final one.
See you at home.
Home? Nausea hits me square in the gut, my head clogging with the truth, a reality that I never would have imagined was a possibility for my generally happy, wise-cracking, intelligent boyfriend.
D must be Damien. His stepbrother. Archer hasn’t talked about him very much. I remember him telling me that the atmosphere at home was toxic after his stepmother and stepbrother moved in. Once Archer mentioned that the name Damien fit the guy, because he’s the spawn of Satan, like the boy in the movieThe Omen.
My head swivels to Archer’s profile, but he continues to woodenly stare at the table. “Look at me,” I grit, my eyes trained on him.
Archer finally, slowly meets my questioning gaze. “Don’t. Please don’t ask.” A world of pain and embarrassment resides inside those eyes. A hurt so deeply disturbing, it makes me ache for him. Without another word, he shoots out of his seat and races up the steps to the patio.
THIRTY
ARCHER
Things I’ve buried deep are aboutto creep and crawl into the light of day to make themselves known. I shouldn’t have let Kingston read those text messages. I don’t have any idea what conclusions he’s drawn, but he’s no dummy, and the more I allow the things Damien sent me to play back through my head, the worse they seem. The truth of my past is ready to vomit forth all over my life here at Hawthorne Hall, potentially damaging the relationships I’ve built and the image of the normal college-aged guy I’ve tried so hard to maintain. No one was ever supposed to know.
My heart thunders as I hit the upper patio, then cut right and hurry across the lawn. I don’t know what to do or where to go, but I couldn’t sit there any longer. Things were clicking into place, and I’m terrified to see disgust in Kingston’s eyes. When Elliot finds out… perhaps there’ll be pity, and there’s no way I can handle that. And Cannon? I don’t know what the hell he’ll think. How much is too much before he texts a bigWhat the fuckand walks away.
I just fucking can’t.
When I reach the creek, I slow, my chest crushing my lungs so hard I can’t catch my breath. This is it. I’ve set something in motion I can’t take back. Every step I take away from these people I love, there’s a chance they won’t follow. That’s what I’m most scared of—disappointing them.Losingthem. I’m not the person they thought I was. Damien’s texts are a harsh reminder of that very fact.
My chest shudders with every indrawn gasp of air. Lifting my arms, I grasp my hair in my fists and tug frantically as I look out across the creek into the vast nothingness of the trees beyond the water. For several seconds, all I hear is my heavy, tortured breathing and the relentless drumming of blood in my ears.
And then, behind me, I hear footsteps—and not the light cadence of one person approaching cautiously, but what has to be multiple people. My face heats and sweat drips down my back in lazy rivulets, sticking my dress shirt to my skin.They came.Followed when I wasn’t sure they would.
“Archer.” Elliot’s hand meets the small of my back, and I swallow hard, unable to answer her because I don’t have a clue what to say. She steps into view on my left, Cannon on her other side, but when she slips her arm farther around my waist, her warm, soft body presses tightly to my side, and I flinch hard and twist, pulling away. Elliot’s shocked gasp rings in my ears like gunfire. In my peripheral vision, I see Cannon pull her close. Kingston holds an arm out toward me, but I ignore it, unable to accept his offered hand.
I walk away from all three of them toward the bank of the creek. Freeing my hair of the death grip I had on it, I instead bring my arms down to hook my thumbs behind my suspenders. When I get to the very edge of the grass, where it meets the mud, I turn around to face them. My eyes travel over these three people I feel so much for, and I don’t know what to say. I can’t do this. Hanging on tightly to the suspenders like they’re my lifeline, I stare down at the ground between us and try to find the courage to say something. If I were stronger, I’d just blurt out my misery. If I knew how they’d handle it…
Kingston doesn’t pull any punches. He steps directly in front of me and grips my biceps. I struggle until he finally lets go of me, hands up, palm out. “Come on, Arch. It’s me.”
I let out a tortured sound and put my hands to his chest, ready to push him away from me, but then my fingers claw at his shirt, clutching at it. I can’t look at him, so I squeeze my eyes shut and try to breathe.
“Listen to me,” Kingston murmurs an inch from my lips, “You don’t have to say a fuckin’ thing. But we’re here, and we aren’t going anywhere.” He pulls in a deep breath. “So, if you want to stand here and face off all night, we’ll do that. If you want to sit and talk, we’ll listen.”
“No judgment,” comes Cannon’s raspy, deep voice out of nowhere. I turn my head, ever so slightly, unsure what I expect to see, but the compassion in his eyes and Elliot’s, and then in Kingston’s, has me taking a shuddering breath.
“I-I don’t know if I can do this,” I finally gasp.
“Then don’t,” Kingston replies, low and sure. “But I know what I read, and I think you have some shit bottled up inside that’s killing you. Whatever happened to you made you leave home early, thinking that would help. But it wasn’t enough. Your past still fuckin’ plagues you to the point where you can’t sleep, and you drink way too much. I know I’m not wrong.” Then in the same breath, Kingston pleads on a rasp, “Tell me I’m wrong, Arch. I’d rather be wrong.”
I try to swallow around the growing lump in my throat, but I fucking can’t. This thing I’ve hidden, it’s too big, too— My hands go to my head again, fingers threading through my hair in frustration. They won’t understand. They can’t possibly.
