“Jackson doesn’t have friends,” he says dryly. “He has flunkies.” His mouth twists faintly, then smooths out again. “Not that I’m one to talk. I don’t have friends either.”
He says that like it’s not a big deal, but I know better.
I think back to the fight yesterday. How none of his fraternity brothers cheered for him or congratulated him. There’s always distance with Carrson. He stands out of reach, even when he’s close. Nothing about him ever relaxes, like letting someone in isn’t even an option.
He’s alone. Even in a house full of brothers. Even as he leads them.
It should make me step back, but if anything, it makes me want to close the distance between us.
Maybe because I recognize it.
The empty space where someone is supposed to stand.
“That’s not why we fought, though.” He exhales, drawing my attention back to him. Carrson kicks at a rock on the ground, watches it roll away. “It’s hard to explain.”
“Try,” I say, my hands twitching as I resist the urge to reach for him, to check the bruising to see how far it goes.
“At Ashford House,” he says, after a pause like he had to think about his answer, “we fight for leadership.Literally. Whoever wins leads.”
My eyebrows lift at that. My gaze moves past him, landing on the battered bag, the knives embedded deep into the trunk, the bark around them shredded.
“That’s why you’re out here,” I murmur. “You’re training.”
He nods once.
“Well?” I ask. “Did you win?”
“The fights?” His lips tug into a small, self-satisfied smirk. “If there’s one thing you need to know about me, it’s that Ialwayswin.”
I roll my eyes at that, and he lets out a small laugh, like he knows he’s bragging.
“I beat Jackson last night,” he continues, his tone shifting. “That doesn’t mean he isn’t a threat.” His eyes fix on me. “That’s why you shouldn’t be here. Definitely not alone. I don’t trust him. Now he knows who you are…” A pause. “There’s a good chance he comes after you. Even if it’s to get back at me.”
I think about that, about hiding, shrinking my world around someone else’s danger, and I don’t like it. I push back hard.
“I think you underestimate me,” I say, lifting my chin.
“Oh, really?” His mouth tugs, and he lifts one eyebrow, not dismissive. Interested.
“Yes.” I flick my hair over my shoulder, playing it up because he’s watching. “I can be pretty ruthless when I want to be.”
“Can you now?”
He’s smiling, more openly than I’ve seen before, and it does a strange thing to my chest, knocks something loose. Makes me want to keep going.
“Totally,” I say, feeling confident. “I can avoid Jackson. Plus if he finds me, I’ll run.”
“Run.” He repeats like he’s testing the word and finding it lacking. “That’s your plan? To run?”
I nod,completely serious. “I ran track in elementary school. I’m fast.”
“Are you.”
It’s not really a question.
Before I can decide what that means, he steps closer. Not enough to touch, but enough that the space between us nearly disappears. He leans in. “If you’re so speedy…” his breath hits my ear, hot and dizzying, “prove it. Let’s see how long it takes me to catch you.”
“What?”I manage, but my voice comes out way too high, almost a squeak.
