“What is Kenneth being charged with?” I ask bluntly. My sassy friend swallows hard, seemingly unsure whether she should answer.
“Kidnapping, false imprisonment, possession of a firearm, stalking, se–” Addy stops herself, giving Rhys a quick glance over the sofa. I raise a brow, waiting for her to continue. “Sexual assault and exploitation.”
“Excuse me?” I ask far too calmly, despite my stomach dropping like a lead weight. “Kenneth never touched me. There’s nothing…he didn’t,” I shake my head. Addy reaches out to stroke my arm with one hand.
“You don’t need to be physically touched for sexual assault. Photographs and videos taken without permission count. I don’t know the details. The news says there’s a witness willing totestify.” My brows knit together at this as a wash of ice-cold filters through my veins.
Brushing off Addy’s hand and pushing to my feet, I turn to the man staring me down from the doorway. My expression must be murderous, because he finally takes a step inside, his clenched fists unfurling.
“Tell me it’s not you. That you’re not the witness.” I demand. Although Rhys’ expression doesn’t change, his shoulders soften. Approaching, he stops on the other side of the sofa, using the furniture as a barrier between us.
“Kenneth hacked Clayton’s webcam, filmed you without your consent, and played it for the entire academy to see,” Rhys speaks slowly, venom lacing his words. I hold my chin high and meet his wrath head-on.
“You don’t know that was him. It could have been whoever is orchestrating this. Whoever blackmailed Peterson into starting the fire.” A tic beats in Rhys’ jaw.
“Kenneth drugged both of us, stripped us down and took pictures.”
“Excuse me?” Addy stands, her eyes wider than I’ve ever seen. I wave off her concern.
“Firstly, you weren’t supposed to be a part of that. And secondly, he didn’t have access to his medication at the time. He’s not well…” I trail off. The glimmer in Rhys’ blue eyes illuminates, his patience on the edge of breaking. I don’t back down, I face the fuse and dare him to light it. We can both go down with this ship if he wants.
“Don’t. Defend. Him.”
“How can I not?” I throw my hands out, stomping around the sofa to shove Rhys’ chest. “We made him this way. We could have prevented all of this. He was hurting and grieving and not fully himself. All he wanted was a friend. All he wanted was for you to stop calling him Dickerson,” I shove Rhys again, andhe catches my wrists. Addy shifts, unsure what to do, but Rhys stuns us both by dragging me into his body and wrapping his arms around me.
“Stop. I don’t want to fight you, not on this.” His chest rumbles beneath my cheek. Tears spring to my eyes, an overload of emotion slamming against my ribs.
“Rhys,” I plead desperately, pulling against his hold, but he doesn’t let me create an inch between us. “Kidnapping alone carries a sentence of at least twenty years. I know what he did was wrong, but he was scared. I just…I don’t believe he deserves to spend the rest of his life in prison over this. He can be rehabilitated.”
Rhys doesn’t answer right away, not verbally, anyway. His whole body goes rigid, like my words hit a switch he’s been desperately trying not to flip. His arms stay locked around me, muscles bunched beneath my hands. I feel his heartbeat through his T-shirt, thundering an uneven rhythm against my ear. He’s trying to be calm for me, but he’s coming apart at the seams.
“We’re all scared, Harper. We don’t know what’s happening or why we’re being targeted. Until we know who’s pulling the strings, I can’t protect you. And I can’t let him get away with it.” His voice is barely a scrape of sound, and he presses his nose to the top of my head like he’s trying to ground himself against my scalp. Addy hovers by the arm of the sofa, one hand half-lifted as if she’s not sure whether to intervene or back away slowly. Rhys keeps his arms clenched so hard that his biceps tremble. I swallow thickly and fist his shirt.
“Rhys. You know I accept you for who you are,” I breathe, managing to push a tiny space between us. “But how can you condemn a man who was blackmailed into hurting others, when you used to do it for fun?”
The quiet around us closes in, time standing still at the sound of my cracked voice. Addy makes the smart choice and silentlyslips towards the door as Rhys’ head raises to look at me. His left eye twitches, his pupils blown wide as indecision writhes behind them. The tightness of his lips punctuates the pink scar where his lip ring used to be. He looks like a man standing in front of a burning house, torn between running inside and dragging me away from the flames.
“It was never fun. It was… necessary,” Rhys frowns as if he doesn’t quite believe that anymore. That lie he’s lived by is no longer true. I tilt my head, a pinch of sympathy in my cheek. I can’t tell how long we stand there, but I don’t try to retract. I stand in Rhys’ arms, weathering the storm taking place behind his features. At times, his grip on my back tightens, then it shudders. His throat flexes as he swallows, like he can’t decide whether to be furious at me or break down entirely. Finally, he clears his throat and shakes his head.
“People don’t change.” I fight the urge to roll my eyes. Lifting my hand between us, I cup Rhys’ jaw and angle his head down so our noses are touching. I want my eyes to be all he can see.
“How can you stand here, holding me, protecting me, and still say that?” Rhys flinches, literally flinches, as the words strike him. I hold my breath, wondering if this is the moment where he finally sees himself the way I see him. Where he starts to accept he’s not the monster he’s always believed. His hands slide from my back to my waist, his breath shaky against my lips.
“Your bleeding heart is my weakness.” His thumbs stroke in shaky circles, like he’s trying to soothe himself more than me. “But that doesn’t erase what he did to you.”
“I’m not asking you to forgive him,” I say softly. “I’m asking you to understand that we’re all products of those who have crafted us. I’m asking you not to fight me while I try to get him a second chance.” Still holding his jaw, Rhys’ skin is hot beneath my palm, the muscles twitching as if he’s fighting himself. His eyes flick to mine, back down to my mouth, then away ina restless, conflicted spiral. Eventually, he drops his forehead against mine and gives a tiny nod.
“Okay, Babygirl,” his breath stutters. “You win as usual.” I open my mouth and close it again. Relationships aren’t about winning and losing, or putting me on a pedestal where I always get my way, and Rhys kneels at my feet. It should be an equal partnership, but something tells me he’s reached his limit for revelations this morning. Luckily, there’s a scuffle in the doorway to distract us.
I peek sideways to see Addy has reappeared, her hands gripping Clayton’s forearm as she drags him into the room. Upon seeing that Rhys hasn’t trashed the room or torn me to shreds, Addy audibly exhales. Clay looks between us all, confused with blurry eyes and ruffled hair that suggests he was napping. He blinks like he’s rebooting, then rubs a hand over his face with a groan.
“So much for giving her space,” he mutters. Rhys lifts his middle finger in Clay’s direction without even looking at him. Peeling away from Rhys, I share a look with Addy about pigheaded men, but slide my hand in his to keep him close anyway.
“Hey, isn’t there a snooker table down the hall?” I ask, instantly breaking the tension. Addy’s face lights up, and she claps her hands, already buzzing with victory. I wince, and she promptly stops, signing a quick sorry before disappearing into the hallway. Clay follows after her, although he doesn’t have the same skip in his step.
I start to follow, tugging Rhys’ hand gently, but he doesn’t move. His fingers tighten around mine, halting me just three steps from the doorway. When I turn back, his expression is so far removed from what I expected to see. Vulnerability is painted across his features, his eyes softened and unbearably raw. Thebreath in my throat catches without even knowing what I’m seeing.
“Harper,” he murmurs, and the way he says my name makes my heart stutter. His own chest rises and falls in an uneven rhythm, as if he’s trying to steady something inside himself. “There’s, uh…something I want to say, but I don’t really know how,” he swallows hard.
