When Bridget speaks again, her words are surprisingly clear and sugary sweet. “Actually, there is one thing you can do for me. You can tell Mr. Rutherford he can come to the phone rightnow, or I will drive to his office drunk, make the best scene his firm has seen, and then plant my ass on his desk until he speaks to me.”
Pause.
“Yes, I’ll hold.” She looks over her shoulder. “Easton, darling. Will you be a dear and fetch Maria for me?”
Easton closes the textbooks in front of him and shoves them into his backpack. “Sorry. I have to go, and you should probably think about taking Dad’s hint.”
I arch an eyebrow and glance between the two of them. Bridget’s coffee is almost ready, but I get the feeling she’s in need of prescription pills more than a dash of brandy.
“Excuse me?”
Easton shrugs and pushes back his stool. “Just saying. Maybe getting off Xanax will be worth it. Not for Dad’s sake, but for yours.”
For my sake.Those unspoken words speak loudly in his vexed eyes, and the look presses on my chest. Even now, he wants so deeply for his parents to love him despite everything they’ve said and done. Steam heats my face as I pour Bridget’s coffee into her mug. I know I could love Easton. I wonder if I could love him enough.
Bridget’s response is a childish eye roll before she returns to rifling through the cabinets, and her cattiness pisses me the fuck off. She doesn’t deserve him. Family is supposed to matter. Who we choose to love, and how we choose to love them, will always matter. I slide the mug across the counter without a glance in case the disdain is written on my face.
Making my way to the fridge, I pause when a bright splash of orange on the island counter catches my attention. A full glass of orange juice. I drag my gaze to Easton. His focus is on my shirt, the shirt I forgot all about, and a heated flicker of amusement passes through his eyes as he takes in the uneven hem. He slides his gaze up to meet mine, but before silent words can be spoken, the loud slam of another cupboard jars the moment.
He clears his throat, picks up his backpack, and walks away.
I’m the first student to bolt out of my seat when the final bell rings. Not due to a certain teacher waiting to detain me, but because I’m that much closer to seeing a certain boy who freed me from said teacher.
Heading to my locker, I navigate through the rush of students and cringe when a girl’s shoulder brushes mine. People. They’re fucking everywhere.
I haven’t had a moment to speak to Easton alone, especially because Whitney has been clinging to him like a dryer sheet. Every time I caught Easton’s stare in the halls, she was suddenly there with narrowed eyes pointed in my direction. After what Easton and I did, her presence grates on me more than ever. She gets to touch him and talk to him in public, but as much as it burns me with jealousy, their cover helps hide what we have.
Aaandspeak of the Devil. Her red hair even matches his horns. #twinsies.
“Did they run out of clothes at the Salvation Army?” Whitney asks, eyeing my homemade shirt before she opens her locker.
“Unfortunately, once they found out I’m a witch, they wouldn’t let me in anymore.” I sigh. “I thought Christians were supposed to be nonjudgmental?”
She swallows hard, eyes cautious when she takes me in, as if I might actually be a witch.
“Oh, well.” I slide some books into my locker. “The homeless shelter gets rid of old clothes. Luckily, I beat everyone to the dumpster this morning.”
Whitney’s nose wrinkles, and when I grab my water bottle, she glances away, suddenly and strangely silent. I roll my eyes, twist the cap off, and chug it. Her gaze warms me as I put the lid back on, then her focus follows the water bottle while I put it back. She doesn’t look away until I slam my locker shut, startling her.
I raise a brow. “Thirsty?”
She clears her throat, pulls her shoulders back. “No, thanks. I like my water infused with lime, not children’s souls.”
I shrug. “Suit yourself.”
I lower to pick up my backpack when a blond ponytail swings into view. Whitney’s friend Miranda stops in front of her, eyes wide.
“Whit,” she says. “Oh my gosh. Are you okay?”
Whitney frowns, pulling a book from her locker. “I’m fine. Why?”
“Julie told me that Simon told her Jake saw you at the hospital last night.”
I’m zipping my backpack shut when I notice Whitney’s shoulders stiffen. She clears her throat. “I—he must have seen someone else. I was with Easton last night.”
This time, I’m the one to frown. I know exactly where Easton was last night, and it sure as hell wasn’t with her. But why lie?
“Are you sure?” Miranda asks, tilting her head. “Julie said Simon said Jake said he was totally certain it was you. His grandma is in the hospital, and he said he’s spotted you there a few times.”
