Page 3 of Don’t Say You’re Sorry (Hawthorne University #2)

EASTON

Easton

This isn’t funny. When are you coming back?

PRESENT

H e’s back.

I shake the tremor out of the hand I just hit him with.

Motherfucker.

He’s back .

Peeking at my bloody knuckles, I keep moving and slink up to Frankie’s side where she’s talking to some girl at the bar. “We need to leave,” I whisper in her ear.

“What? Why?”

“Because I just punched someone, and my stepmother can’t know it was me.”

A knot forms between her brows as she looks up at me, then down at my hand.

Nodding, she excuses herself from the girl she was flirting with and wraps her hand around mine, hiding it from sight as we make our way toward the exit.

I feel eyes on my back as we wait for the valet to bring my car around, but I don’t turn back.

I won’t give him the fucking satisfaction.

My car finally arrives, and I hastily open the passenger side door for Frankie.

“Easton!”

Jesus Christ. That voice. That goddamn British accent. My name on his lips…

I almost stop. Almost turn around and fucking run right to him.

I get in the car. I still don’t turn around, but I can’t resist the rearview.

He’s just standing there, frozen, outside the double doors.

His dark hair is longer than it was the last time I saw him, falling over his hazel eyes, and his upper lip is smeared with blood, his fists clenched at his sides as if he’s having to force himself to stay put.

He doesn’t chase me. He won’t make a scene. He can’t . Not here. But still…

Come on. Fucking chase me, you asshole.

He doesn’t. Of course he doesn’t.

“Easton, who is that?” Frankie asks, turning in her seat to look at him.

Curling my fingers around the steering wheel, I tear my eyes away from the mirror and press down on the gas. “Adam,” I breathe his name. “My stepbrother.”