Page 7 of Between Passion and Revenge, Part One (The Griot Chronicles #1)

STORM

T here’s no good reason for Bambi to be on the Asheford campus, so I’m confused as fuck and a little annoyed she called me after my first class of the day to meet her in the cafeteria.

She attends Pennington College—a women’s university near Champaign—and when she’s not in school, she rarely leaves her parents’ house next door to my childhood home if she can manage it.

But her mother has just entered rehab, and I guess Bambi needs someone to talk to.

My immediate instinct is to blow her off. I’ve got way too much shit on my to-do list, like stealing Stratos back from my goddamn uncle, to worry about caring for Bambi’s delicate ass.

But there aren’t many people Bambi trusts, so on some level, I’m glad she at least has me. She really doesn’t have anyone else, and after all my family has done to her, it’s the least I could do.

“Do you want something else?” I ask her, watching as she pushes the dry salad she’s been working on for forty-five minutes around with the plastic fork.

We’re in the Commons, which makes the scene even that much more absurd as what feels like a thousand pimple-faced freshmen move around our table.

I check my watch, and my knee bounces up and down.

“No,” she says, her voice small. She looks collapsed on herself. Even her dark hair, which is usually done to perfection like her mother modeled for her, hangs lifeless around her shoulders.

Bambi lifts her head and smiles at me, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. She looks pale and fragile, like she might break at any moment.

A flash of Bambi at fourteen, curled into a ball on the floor of Rainn’s old bedroom, bleeding everywhere as her abortion medicines began to work, nearly knocks me back into my chair.

I hold back a wince at the memory.

I don’t often think of that night or what she confessed: how her mother helped her terminate the pregnancy created with my much older brother.

I don’t usually think about the fact that my twenty-year-old sibling, a man whom teenage Bambi thought she was in love with, was manipulating her into sex and had impregnated her.

Only to die in a fiery car crash before he could ever take accountability for his actions.

Perfect Rainn wasn’t so perfect after all.

I check my watch again, fighting the urge to pull out my phone. I know Bambi’s been through hell, but I can’t seem to shut down the checklist running through my head.

Bambi stirs the few remaining leaves, her fork scraping against the plastic bowl.

“Have you talked to her?” I ask, presenting the question cautiously. She shakes her head and then, after a pause, she nods.

“I haven’t spoken with her directly, but she did ask the facility to contact me to let me know she’ll miss me.” Bambi’s face twists, and dread fills my stomach.

If she cries… fuck.

My leg starts to bounce in double time.

Bambi leans back in her chair and sucks in a breath, gratefully stopping her tears from falling.

With a forced smile, she says, “Let’s get out of here and get some fresh air. Maybe go catch a movie or something?”

Hope is heavy in her tone, but the idea of dragging this out beyond the time I’ve already invested causes a headache to form behind my eyebrows.

I grimace, making a show of looking at my watch.

“Damn, I wish I could, Bambi,” I say, stacking on the regret. The truth is, my next class isn’t until this evening, so I have a solid five hours before I have to be anywhere.

But there it is like a brick to the face: the list of things I have to do rolls through my mind like one of those old-fashioned till registers.

“Class and work,” I offer, shrugging.

She smiles again, but it’s a little less bright this time.

“But look, if you need anything—anything I can bring you or do for you—just let me know,” I say, stacking our trash so we can hurry up and get the fuck out of here. But when I reach for her bowl, she stops me with her small hand on top of mine.

“Thank you, Storm,” she says, and tears pop to her lower lids. “You’re always there for me, and you don’t know how much I appreciate it.” She smiles again and blinks, lifting her free hand to catch the single tear that starts to fall to her cheek.

“Don’t mention it,” I say. “That’s what friends are for.”

I smile.

“Right,” she says. “Friends. The best of friends.” She finally lets go of my hand.

I grab our shit and stand, which prompts her to do the same.

Walking in unison, I hold the door for her and point us in the direction of the campus’ front entrance, where her driver will be waiting for her.

It’s about a ten-minute walk across the campus to get there, and I will the time to be enough for her to get back in control of her emotions.

As we make our way across the quad, I’m only half-listening as Bambi talks about her classes and roommates back at Pennington when my focus lands on a familiar figure heading toward the library entrance.

Shae Rivers.

With her head down, she stares intently at her phone, looking like she’s in her own world.

And she probably is. Shae Rivers operates in her own world.

I wasn’t expecting her to challenge me in class, but that was because I wasn’t expecting anyone to challenge me. It’s not that I think I’m smarter than everyone else. I’m really not. But I work harder than most, which gives me an edge. I usually win because I go after it the hardest.

But Shae? I recognize the fire within her just as much as I recognize it within myself.

Except instead of being on edge all the time like I am, she seems happy. Well-adjusted.

Free.

Keep walking, Sandoval.

In contrast to my thoughts, my feet slow, and Bambi notices.

“What’s up?” She stops beside me, looking around us for what’s snagged my attention.

Except it’s not what, it’s who .

“Nothing,” I say, playing it off, but my feet don’t quite move as quickly as they should. “Actually, hold on. I just need to…grab something from a classmate. Won’t take a sec.”

Bambi pauses.

“All right. I’ll wait over there.” She makes a slow half-turn and gestures toward a bench under a nearby tree.

“Thanks, Bambi,” I murmur, already making my way toward Shae before she can ask any follow-up questions.

As I close the distance, I rack my brain for something— anything —that will sound like a good excuse to talk to her. By the time I reach her, she’s stowed her phone and looks up, catching sight of me before I can call out.

“Storm?” Her eyebrows lift, a surprised look on her face.

“Hey, Shae,” I say, managing to keep my voice casual even though my pulse feels a little too quick. “Didn’t expect to see you here.” I run a hand over my short waves, realizing how fucking lame that sounds as soon as the statement is out of my mouth.

Her lips twist, and I’ve never understood the idea of how someone could laugh with their eyes but damn it if Shae’s don’t.

“Well, I do go here, so…” She gives me a sideways look before darting her gaze toward the door.

Think of something, goddamn it.

“I was curious what other classes you’re taking this semester. If we had more classes in common, I was thinking we could share notes or something.”

There. That works.

“I’m sure you work and shi—er, stuff,” I add. But her face falls, hardens, and she takes a step away from me.

The way that sounds registers in my consciousness a split second before she speaks.

“Yeah. I work. But I’ve got it all covered. I don’t need any help managing my classes.” I’ve never felt more like a dickhead.

My eyes flick down to the stack of papers wedged against her abdomen.

“Canvassing the quad?” I ask. She raises her eyebrow.

“Something like that,” she replies, tucking a hank of hair behind her ear. She bites her lip, looking down at my feet for just a second before returning her eyes to mine. “In fact, you should come.”

She slides one of the pages from the top of the stack and stretches it out to me.

I grab the sheet, scanning over it quickly.

Community Action Committee. Allerson Hall. 6 p.m. September 24 th .

“Is this your group?” I ask, pointing at her with the flyer. Her chin tilts up, her smile growing.

“Yes, it is. And I think you should come.”

I tilt my head. “Why?”

Her face shifts, her eyebrows drawing down.

“Wait,” I rush to add. “I’d love to be there, but why do you think I should come?”

Her severe expression doesn’t change. “Because I think you could learn something. If you come and listen to what we’re doing and actually see the impact, you might understand why your philosophy on everything is kookydooks.”

She delivers this statement with the same amount of clear pragmatism as I’ve come to expect from her—until the end of her sentence.

It takes me a minute to process it, and when I do, I can’t help but throw my head back and laugh.

When I sober up, she smiles at me, looks down.

And giggles.

And fuck if the sound doesn’t twist me all up inside.

I’m fucked. I’m so fucking over my head.

“Okay, fair enough,” I reply. “Six p.m. tomorrow. I’ll be there to listen and learn.”

She nods, a sharp downward tilt of her chin. Our eyes seem locked together, and I’m aware of every second we stay standing here, and the light breeze that kicks up her citrus scent.

I don’t want her to leave. I want to spend more time with her. I want to hear her laugh more. I want to?—

“Ready to go, Storm?” Bambi’s soft voice is close to my ear, and something strange settles in my stomach when she places her hand on my biceps. But that sensation twists when I notice Shae’s watching the exchange.

Her eyes flit from mine to Bambi next to me, and I want to claw back all the assumptions I see swirling behind her gaze. She straightens her back, fidgeting with her tote bag, which causes her long skirt to sway.

My stomach drops when she steps back—away from me.

“Well,” Shae says, her voice bright. “I won’t keep you. See you tomorrow. Maybe.” She spins on her heel, and before I can say something more idiotic, she’s through the doors of the building.

Well, shit. That was not how I wanted that to go.