Page 54 of Freefall

“This is exactly why I didn’t want you to come,” I hiss once we’re out of earshot of the Ls.

He slips his arm from my grip, then stops so abruptly I nearly walk into him. I have to step back, where I promptly bump into the wall. “Why is that?”

“People are going to ask questions.”

“So?” He’s not physically pinning me to the wall, but with the way his metallic stare bores into me, he might as well be. “Let them ask.”

“That’s easy for you to say. You don’t have to see them every day at drop-off.”

I expect him to argue, or maybe even tell me he would have been able to drop her off if he had known she existed, but I don’t expect his lips to curl into a smirk.

“What?” I ask. “Why are you smiling like that?”

His smile widens. “I think you know why, Harper.”

I roll my eyes before I can stop myself. “I really don’t.”

He closes the distance between us in two slow steps. “You didn’t have to sit next to me in there.” His palm lands flat against the wall above my head with a sharp smack, and now his large frame is caging me in. “You’re jealous.”

The denial is already on my tongue, but then he’s gone. His hand, his body—all of him walks down the hallway as if nothing happened.

I take a moment to gather myself, willing my pulse to stop thrumming out of control before heading to the cafeteria. I spot TJ right away. He’s sitting with a few of the other dads on the far side, laughing and slapping them on the back. Meanwhile, Nate is brooding in the corner, staring at his phone, as far away from any other humans as possible.

I feel like I’m in one of those cartoons where the signs are pointing in different directions, one reading “safety this way” and the other reading “certain death.”

And what do I choose?

TJ looks up the moment I start to walk toward Nate and lifts an enthusiastic hand in the air. I give him a small nod, wave back, and then continue to certain death. I don’t need to look back to know there’s a confused expression on his face. Nate’s nose is still buried in his phone when I reach him, so I don’t think he notices me until he speaks.

“Who was that?” He doesn’t look up right away. His attention stays fixed on his phone, thumb frozen against the dark screen, making it clear he isn’t even looking at anything.

“Who?”

“You waved to someone.”

“Did I?” I stop beside him, close enough to invade his carefully guarded corner but not enough to touch. Folding my arms across my chest, I mirror his posture. “Maybe you should ask Charlotte since you seem to be such good friends with her.”

He breathes out an exaggerated sigh. For a minute, I think he’s going to walk away again, but then a laugh slips out. It’s low and raspy, making my spine tingle. “Brat.”

Liquid heat pools in my belly at the word. “What did you call me?”

“I said—” He finally shoves his phone in his pocket and turns to me. His eyes drift to mine, the intensity enough to make the cafeteria disappear around us. “You’re a fucking brat.”

As if someone were slowly turning the volume back up with a remote, I hear parents chatting around us. Someone laughs from across the room, but I don’t move, and neither of us looks away.

I’m supposed to be angry with him. He showed up tonight without my permission or knowledge, backed me into a literal corner in the hallway where anyone could see, and doesn’t even know the meaning of the word boundary. Yet, for some inexplicable reason, I can’t stop the next words from spilling out of my mouth like oil, slick and impossible to gather back. “Then why don’t you do something about it?”

For a second, something flashes across his face. Not anger like I would have expected, but more like restraint. His gaze drops briefly to my mouth before snapping back to my eyes.

“Fuck it,” he growls quietly, leaning in close enough so that only I can hear him. “Here’s what’s going to happen. We’re going to go through the rest of the evening, and you’re going to be a good girl. You’re going to keep your head down and not say a word.” Every syllable that leaves his mouth thumps in my core like a heartbeat. “And the whole time, you’re going to be thinking about how I’m going to punish you.” His expression hardens, but something underneath it won’t quite settle.

The words hit harder than they should. A few nights ago, he’d looked at me with the same hunger, the same determination.

I swallow past the lump in my throat. “I thought you said the other night was a mistake.”

For the first time this all evening, his confidence falters. His gaze drifts over my shoulder to where the PTA ladies are cornering the principal with trays of baked goods, then back to me.

“Yeah,” he says. “Letting you come was a huge mistake.” He twists a lock of my hair around his finger, tugging so lightly, I’m not sure if any of this is even real. “I won’t make it again.”