“Then perhaps you should get the fucking memo,” his fist bangs on the table. Every vein in my body tightens, pinning me immobile in my seat.
It’s ridiculous, after all the years I’ve spent hardening myself into something unshakable, that his voice can still instil this old fear. That the whispers can crawl along my spine, the memory of pain licking my skin as if the wounds are raw. Sitting here beside a man who doesn’t lower his head, who doesn’t crumble against my father’s tone, reminds me of who I’m supposed to be. How I wanted to be.
“Harper needs protecting, and until we’re in a position to do that at the academy, we’ve come here,” Clayton states coldly and cleanly. “Will you permit us to stay?” I pin my gaze on my father, watching the way he ticks over Clayton’s manner. I’ve spoken to my father in a similar tone before, but always in public. His jaw ticks, his fingers tapping rhythmically.
“This is between my son and me,” he huffs, his face pinched in the way that normally precedes the removal of his belt. “Why are you here again?” Clayton sits back in the armchair and smiles without any warmth.
“Support.”
“For whom?” My father raises his brow.
“Harper, mostly, but Rhys too. Your son may be an asshole, Mr. Waversea, but he’s growing on me.” My father clicks his tongue, a darkness sweeping over his features as he points a finger between the two of us.
“If this is some gay poly shit–”
“It’s not,” I jump into the conversation, putting an end to that notion. My father’s glare zeroes in, hunting for any hint that I’m lying now. Heaven forbid any more scandals should put his precious reputation on the line. I’m sure there’s been a media storm after the birthday gala that ended in a swarm of police cars, and my frat house trashed by my own hand.
Finding the conclusion he’s looking for, my father sighs and pushes to his feet. We follow suit, standing shoulder to shoulder to face down the monster of my nightmares. I hate to admit, there’s something comforting in not being in here alone. It doesn’t shift the gnawing ache in my chest, but it dulls the edges. My father ignores the companion at my side and focuses on me again.
“I am already behind schedule thanks to this circus, but when I return in five days, we are going to sit down and discuss the sorry state of your life. A conversation we should’ve had years ago. Your…friendsare to be gone by then. That is not a request.” The room is quiet long enough for my pulse to start throbbing in my ears. My father has always made it abundantly clear that this house is his domain, and I’m an inconvenience he is burdened to deal with. His threats no longer impact me the way they once did.
“Fine.” I nod once, pushing the lie through my teeth. It’s easier to do wrong and take the punishment than to argue for permission beforehand.
My father dismisses us with a wave, muttering something about schedules and wasted mornings, but I barely hear him. The pounding of my heart increases instead of slowing, rooting itself in the simple fact that I’m walking out of this room unscathed. I can find my calm in the midst of pain, but relief? That’s a whole other ballgame of anxiety I’m not familiar with.
When the door clicks shut behind us, the quiet hits me like a blow. I brace a hand against the wall because my legs do thatstupid, traitorous thing where they remember being smaller, being shoved out of that room, being told to get out of sight.
I stumble for half a second, exhaling a breath I didn’t realize had been strangling in my chest. With just the barest tilt forward, my forehead touches the cool, carved paneling against the wall. It’s pathetic, but it’s better than seeing Clayton’s expression. I dread to think what’s going through his mind, if he’s making comparisons between me and my father.
“Where is Harper?” I demand too harshly. It’s not the ideal outcome of what could have been a bonding experience, but if he expected gratitude, he’s picked the wrong guy to bolster. Twisting my head, I capture his steady gaze, not seeing half as much pity as I anticipated. The open stare grates on me even more. I’m not used to being seen like this, stripped of all the bullshit I hide beneath.
“I set her up in the library with a first edition of Pride and Prejudice, and told her I’d grab some snacks,” he says, calmly ignoring the emotional landmine building in my chest and threatening to blow. “She’ll be mad that I lied, but let’s face it. Once that book opened, she probably hasn’t even realised I’ve left.” Pulling myself upright, my eyes narrow to slits like I can cut answers out of him.
“You said she sent you to sit in with me.”
“You would have told me to get lost if you knew I was there off my own back,” he replies without a trace of regret. My frown deepens. Why would he do that? Why enter that room, putting himself in the crosshairs of my father’s wrath? The question gets stuck somewhere between my chest and my pride, and I realise with an uncomfortable jolt that I’m not sure I want to know the answer. Things are shifting between us, subtly but undeniably, and I don’t have the bandwidth to deal with that right now.
Shoving down the feeling clawing up my throat, I peel away from the wall and walk fast enough to make it look intentional,not like I’m running from the weight pressing into my lungs. My footsteps pound against the shiny floor until I’m taking the stairs two at a time, the thread between Harper and I pulling taut. I need to see her, to hold her, to bury myself inside of her.
As the weighted ball sitting low in my gut drags heavier, I practically fall through the library doors and hunt her down like an addict searching for his next hit. I need her. Not in the easy, flirtatious way I let people think, but in the bone-deep, oxygen-level way I’ve been fighting against since the moment she walked into my life. Harper is the only thing in this house that doesn’t make me feel like I’m being dragged backwards into a living nightmare. She’s the only thing that makes me feel like I might have a future after all. And right now, I need her more than I need my next breath.
Spotting her curled up in a large armchair with a book in her lap, the ball of stress inside me cracks wide open. She’s bathed in the kind of soft morning light that makes the whole damn room look staged, her legs tucked beneath her, hair spilling over her shoulder. Her lips move faintly as she reads, the tiniest smile tugging at them. It guts me how peaceful she looks in a house that has never once offered me peace.
It should be simple, so stupidly simple, to walk over there, press my forehead to hers, and let every guard I’ve ever built fall straight to the floor. It should be easy to love her, to let her see all the parts of me I hide behind bravado and curses, but she’s far too precious to be tainted by me. She deserves the entire world, and I only know how to survive mine.
Blinking up, I watch reality dawn in Harper’s green eyes. She smiles wider, waving her fingers and asking softly if I’m okay. I don’t have an answer for that, so I close the gap between us, slide my arms beneath her knees and back, and lift her into my embrace. My head finds the hollow of her neck as I inhale her scent.
“That bad, huh?” Harper sighs, melting into my hold. I don’t care for Clayton standing just behind, but nor do I care that he follows when I carry her out of the library and to my designated guest bedroom down the hall. Still in the borrowed pajamas I’ve told her to keep, I lower Harper into the bed and strip down to my boxers before joining her beneath the covers. Just before I curl myself around her lower half, I catch the worry in her gaze.
“I’m just tired,” I lie. “Read. I’m going to get some rest.” Harper leans against the cushions lining the headboard, opening her book as the mattress on her other side dips. I continue to ignore Clayton, mostly because I don’t trust the strength of my dislike for him right now. He did me a solid just now, and I don’t know how to repay him or why I even feel like I should. It’s enough that we’ve reached mutual ground where only Harper’s well-being matters.
I’ve bought us five days, and I don’t know what comes after that, but right now I need to anchor myself to something that isn’t fear or fury. Harper’s fingers push into my hair, absentmindedly stroking the strands while I pretend to sleep. I won’t be able to, but I don’t want to face the manor whilst my father is stalking around it either. I may have gotten away unharmed this morning, but it’s only a matter of time before his desire for blood comes calling. My father may not control me anymore, but he still owns me.
Chapter Sixteen
Night drapes across the manor like a heavy velvet curtain, swallowing the last traces of daylight as the three of us hover behind the tall window in Rhys’ guest bedroom. I watch the headlights carve two sharp lines across the driveway, the silhouette of Phillip Waversea’s luxury car shrinking into the dark until the gates swallow him whole.
Only when the taillights disappear completely does Rhys’ rigid spine soften, and Clayton finally exhales behind me as if he’s been holding his breath for hours. We’ve spent the entire day burrowed beneath blankets and half-hearted excuses, tangled limbs and whispered assurances. All three of us were content to pretend that staying in bed was some indulgence rather than a mutual attempt to avoid the man who poisons the air here.
