Page 41

CHAPTER

THIRTY-ONE

REMI

I feel Storm’s eyes on me when I walk in after Cortland, closing the door softly behind me. I take a breath, facing the door, catching the scent of marijuana in the house and it instantly reminds me of Van.

But I force that thought from my mind because he’d kill me if he knew I was here.

I’m not even entirely sure what the hell I’m doing here. It’s stupid, and walking past Cortland’s truck in the driveway, Storm’s WRX that he had in high school, thinking of what they did to me, it was a reminder of just that.

“You want a drink?” Cortland asks quietly, and I force myself to turn around. Not run.

I glance around the house. I saw none of it when I was running from here after that first party.

I didn’t look back, either, when I left.

But now I see it’s neat and tidy, and in the dark outside, I made out two stories.

White siding. Modest, but for a college student, nice.

For all I know, too, they own it. Both of them come from wealthy families.

It was part of the battle I was fighting when they were charged.

My eyes find Storm’s wicked blue ones, and I watch him inhale from his vape, his feet flat on the floor, one arm slung over the back of the worn leather couch. He exhales a cloud of smoke through his nose, obscuring the hoop through it for a second.

“Remi.” Cortland’s voice is laced with irritation.

I fist my hands at my side, force my gaze from a smirking Storm to Cortland, in the doorway of the kitchen, his backpack off and on the floor by the couch. He’s glaring at me, his head cocked while he waits for my answer.

It’s two in the morning. I want to say that, say we should sleep, ask Storm why he’s up but I already have this feeling I’m not going to class in the morning.

Might as well make the most of it.

“Sure,” I tell Cortland, wanting something to distract me from the reality of what I’m doing. I need to text Sloane. I already told her I was at the library for an assignment, and I’m sure she’s sleeping now.

But I don’t know what lie to tell her.

Cort darts a glance at his best friend, still watching me, then he jerks his head to the kitchen. “Get over here,” he says, and I’m reminded of that night all over again.

Before it all went to hell. When he told me to sit in his lap.

I swallow down my fear, cross the floor, hardwoods creaking under my white Chucks. When I reach him, he grabs the strap of my backpack, pulling it off of me, tossing it to the floor beside his.

“Thanks,” I murmur, and he nods, heading into the kitchen, all white cabinets and white floors, a fridge to match. I run my hand down my opposite arm, wishing I was in something besides my oversized hoodie and sweats.

I can still feel Storm watching me.

And just as I go to follow Cortland, already opening up the fridge and grabbing juice to set beside a bottle of vodka on the counter, Storm says my name.

I turn to face him, see his black shirt clinging to his lean body. He blows out another cloud of smoke, setting down his vape on the coffee table. My eyes find the tattoos along his neck, one edging up to his jaw.

He leans back, staring up at me, his eyes narrowed. “You know what you’re doing here?” he asks me, his voice quiet. I know at some point his family moved from the suburbs of Virginia, near D.C., and his accent is neutral, a far cry from Cortland’s Southern drawl.

I glance at Cortland, see he’s got his phone in hand, and his fingers are flying across the screen. A pang of jealousy curls up in my stomach, and I turn my attention back to Storm. “What do you mean?” I ask him, shoving a lock of hair behind my ear before I slide my hands into my hoodie pocket.

He arches a brow. “You’re either here to fuck him up, or you’re here to get fucked up.” He shrugs, running his tongue over his teeth. I glance again at Cortland, but he’s engrossed in whoever he’s texting, and I can’t help but think of Maya.

Is he still with her? He said he was mine for now.

The thought of him being with her is like a punch to the gut. But why does it matter? I shouldn’t even be here. I’m the one in the wrong.

It’s not just my friends that would flip if they knew I was here.

Chase, Brinklin, probably Storm, too… they’d all lose their minds if anything serious ever happened between me and Cortland. We’re just getting closure. That’s all this is. Sick and twisted closure.

So why does it feel like a reopening?

“Which one is it, Remi?” Storm presses, Cortland still typing on his phone.

I swallow down my nerves as I stare at Storm. “You don’t know a fucking thing about me.”

He smiles, scrubs his hand over his face before he drops it to his lap.

He looks away a second, and I take in his sharp jawline, smooth skin.

“I know you’ve figured out what attention tastes like, and now you want more of it.

” He doesn’t look at me as he speaks. “You were always in this shell at West, scared of your own shadow. Hiding behind Sloane.” Those words are low, and he turns to face me, his arm over the back of the couch.

“We fixed that problem for you, didn’t we, Rems? ”

He was almost clinical, that night.

And I was almost grateful.

“You didn’t fix me, Storm,” I say, gritting my teeth. “I wasn’t broken.”

“Don’t kid yourself.” He shrugs, glancing at the floor. “We’re all a little fucked up here. It’s how you found your way into our clutches anyway.” He looks up, meeting my gaze, and for some reason, I think of Brinklin’s words.

“I’ve heard about your dad.”

He couldn’t have heard much. I never told anyone about my dad.

Not Sloane, even after I realized something was very wrong with the way Silas parented after seeing the happiness of her own family.

They fought but it was nothing like the way Silas cut me down.

And Sloane was never scared of leaving a mess or not making her bed.

The Stevens didn’t have as many things as we did, but they had a lot more of…

everything else. I kept that secret locked up tight.

I didn’t tell the girls on the team. Not even Van knows and him and Silas are—barely—related. I sure as hell didn’t tell Cortland.

Because if I did, if I had, he might know other things too.

About the morning after. About what Silas tried with me.

I cross my arms, guilt winding its way through my heart and squeezing. I try to ignore it, because it doesn’t change anything. What happened after doesn’t change what happened during.

“Wolves run in packs, Remi,” Storm continues, turning his gaze to me again. “They’re protective of their own. And that night… we made you one of us.”

I glance at Cort and see he’s still on his phone. Irritation winds its way through me.

“Your wolf metaphors are annoying me,” I snap back to Storm. “You’re only human, and brave ones don’t need to run in packs.”

I never asked to be one of them. Never wanted to be anyone’s but Cortland’s.

I hear him snort, from inside the kitchen, finally putting his phone away. “Nice, baby.”

Storm cocks a brow and doesn’t say anything, but I see a smile pull on his lips.

Then Cortland is pushing a drink into my hand. I take it and bring it to my mouth without asking what’s in it. It’s strong, and it burns, not mixed with much juice, but I don’t care. I swallow half of it down before I pull the cup away, catching my breath.

They’re both staring at me, a beer in Cortland’s hand. He raises his brows at me, tipping his beer back and swallowing, his gray eyes full of something like amusement. “You thirsty?” he asks with a smirk, those full lips turned up into a smile.

I feel my face flush red, but I don’t care. “Yeah.” I shoot a glare to Storm, find him watching me with amusement, too. “I am.”

Cortland wraps his arm around my shoulder, and it feels so normal that when he starts walking us around the chairs and to the couch beside Storm, I don’t even think twice about it.

It’s like that summer. Those few weeks we had to just be.

I don’t know if it was young love, or just a hardcore crush, but it was something.

For me, it was a welcome escape.

For him, maybe it was just passing the time.

Whatever it was, he made me feel alive.

A new world was on the horizon. I was leaving Silas for college, even if it was just up the street because the scholarship I’d earned was too good to pass up.

I’d be out from underneath him, and maybe then I could just be without constantly looking over my shoulder, worried I wasn’t doing enough.

Being enough. That I’d forgotten to clean something or cook something or hide something.

Then everything fell down around me.

And Silas loathed me more than he ever had.

The emptiness that came after everything, I’m not sure I could survive that again.

I push those thoughts aside as Cort and I sit down on the worn leather sofa. Somehow, I end up between him and Storm, and my skin feels too tight, hot all over in the middle of them.

I set my drink on the table and pull my phone from my hoodie pocket, opening up a message to Sloane, but I don’t know what to tell her. The guilt eats at me, yet I know I can’t feel too badly about it because I’m still doing it.

It’s something I wrestled with after that night. Maybe Cortland didn’t want everyone to have me. Maybe he just got caught up in the moment, and his hands cupping my face were a way to apologize. But even as I held onto that thought, I knew the truth.

People do what they want to do.

That’s every person on the planet’s motivating factor. Their own desire. If someone wants to call, they’ll call. If they want to text, nothing will stop them from getting to their phone and sending that message.

I told Sloane the same thing last year when she was messing around with a fuck boy she met in her marketing class.

He gave her excuse after excuse about why he couldn’t call or text at certain times on certain days and turns out, he was married.

People always do what they want.

And I’m no different.