Page 23 of Freestyle (Boys of Frampton U #2)
Rowyn
A s the sleek black Audi glides through the night, I can’t help but feel a mixture of awe and dread.
The polished exterior reflects the streetlights, casting fleeting shadows that dance across the leather interior.
I sit in the front seat, my heart racing, trying to process everything that’s happened in such a short time.
The quiet hum of the engine is almost soothing, but it does little to calm the storm brewing inside me.
Gray is behind the wheel, his jaw set in a determined line, and I can feel the tension radiating from him.
It’s suffocating, yet oddly intoxicating.
In the backseat, Nix leans back, his presence a constant reminder of the unyielding grip they have on my life now.
The silence stretches between us, heavy and thick, and I can’t shake the feeling of being trapped in this luxurious prison.
My thoughts spiral as I consider my job at the bar, the late-night shifts that barely covered my tuition. I had been so focused on making ends meet, on proving I could handle everything on my own. Now, it feels like I’m standing on the edge of a cliff, and the ground beneath me is crumbling away.
What have I gotten myself into? My fingers tap nervously against my thigh, the rhythm echoing my anxiety. My mind drifts to the pony I found, a disfigured creature meant to scare me, I believe. It mirrors my own feelings of vulnerability, of being exposed and unprotected.
I glance at Gray who seems focused on the road, but there’s an intensity in his demeanor that sends shivers down my spine.
Suddenly his hand rests on my thigh, warm and possessive.
I can feel the heat rippling over my skin, igniting a mix of emotions within me—anger, confusion, and a strange thrill that I can’t quite comprehend.
“You’re safe with us,” he says softly, though the words feel like a double-edged sword. How can I feel safe when I don’t even know what they want from me?
The city lights blur past us, each passing moment intensifying my introspection.
My life has shifted from mundane routines to this chaotic whirlwind of possessiveness and desire.
I can’t help but think about how quickly everything has changed.
Just hours ago, I was working at the bar, and now I’m here, caught between the boys’ world and my own.
As the mansion looms ahead, its imposing structure stark against the night sky, my breath catches in my throat. It’s a fortress, a stark contrast to the cramped dorm room I call home.
“You passed my dorm!” I suddenly exclaim, panic creeping into my voice.
“You aren’t staying there tonight.”
“What the hell, Gray? I have class in the morning!” I snap, feeling a tight coil of anxiety creeping in.
“I’ll send someone to get your things,” Nix chimes in from the back seat. He’s been silent the whole ride, but now he decides to voice his decisions.
The car pulls into the driveway of the mansion, and I can feel my heart racing faster. The sprawling estate looms like a fortress against the night sky, and I can’t shake the feeling that stepping inside is crossing a line I can never uncross.
“No! Lyndsy doesn’t know about this.” I gesture between the three of us.
Gray parks the car, and the weight of my decision presses down on me.
I’m caught between the familiar chaos of my old life and the unknown that lies ahead.
As Gray’s hand remains on my thigh, I can’t help but wonder what the future holds for me.
Am I truly safe with them, or is this just the beginning of something far more dangerous?
“Actually she does. We went there this morning,” Gray states matter of factly.
“What! How could you? Fuck!” I cover my face in my hands. “She probably hates me now,” I whisper more to myself.
Gray leans over the middle console and pulls my face to him, cupping my bruised cheek.
“She doesn’t hate you, sunshine. I promise.
” That’s probably the nicest thing he’s ever said to me, which is sad, seeing as I’ve slept with them twice.
Why the hell do I keep coming back for more?
Did my childhood fuck me up so bad that I throw caution to the wind and jump straight into the fire?
Gray and Nix exchange a glance, a silent understanding passing between them. I know there’s no escaping what’s happening, and as I open the door to step out, the cool night air hits me like a splash of cold water.
Nix is the first to move, stepping around the car and extending his hand toward me.
“Come on, let’s get you settled,” he says, his voice low and commanding.
I hesitate for a moment, but the look in his eyes leaves little room for argument.
I take his hand, feeling the warmth of his grip as he leads me toward the mansion.
The front door swings open, revealing an expansive foyer with marble floors and high ceilings. The opulence of the place is overwhelming, and I can’t help but feel small in comparison. Nix guides me through the hallways, the soft glow of chandeliers illuminating our path.
“Where are we going?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper, the surreal nature of the situation settling heavily on my shoulders.
“To my room,” he replies simply, and I can’t help but feel a flutter of anxiety mixed with something else—curiosity, perhaps.
“Take care of her,” Gray booms from behind us. I turn to look at his stormy eyes before he slams his door shut.
Nix opens the door to his room, and I step inside, my breath catching at the sight before me.
The space is dark and intimate, cloaked in the muted glow of a single bedside lamp.
A king-sized bed dominates the center, its deep blue sheets rumpled, a stark contrast to the pristine elegance of the mansion beyond this room.
The air is thick with the scent of worn books and faint cologne—Nix’s presence lingering in every corner.
A desk sits against the far wall, cluttered with books and scattered papers, some curling at the edges as if they’ve been poured over one too many times.
Amidst the chaos, a single, neatly framed photograph stands out—an image I can’t quite make out in the dim light, but one that feels strangely out of place.
“Here,” Nix murmurs, pulling open a drawer and rummaging through it with practiced ease. His movements are smooth, deliberate. He emerges with a simple black T-shirt and a pair of sweatpants, holding them out to me. “Change into these. You’ll be more comfortable.”
I take the clothes from him, fingers brushing his in the exchange. His skin is warm, steady—grounded in a way I am not. The brief touch sends an unexpected ripple through me, a fleeting moment of connection or hesitation I don’t fully understand.
“Thank you,” I say, my voice quieter than intended. I don’t meet his gaze. The weight of the night presses down on me, thick and disorienting, and I can’t shake the feeling that stepping into his space is crossing some invisible threshold.
“The bathroom is through there,” he replies, his voice softer now, lacking its usual guarded edge. “I’ll be right here if you need anything.”
I nod and close the door behind me, the click echoing in the stillness.
The bathroom light flickers on, casting my reflection against the mirror’s surface—an image that feels simultaneously familiar and foreign.
My flushed cheeks, the faint tension in my brow, the uncertainty clouding my eyes.
I look like someone who has been thrown into a story I don’t fully understand.
I press my fingers against the cool porcelain sink, grounding myself in something tangible.
I change into the clothes Nix provided, the fabric soft against my skin, a welcome relief from the tension of the night.
The softness of the fabric is a stark contrast to the unease still thrumming beneath my skin—a quiet comfort amidst the chaos. The scent of Nix lingers faintly in the material, a subtle reminder of his presence just beyond the door.
For a moment, I linger, staring at my reflection. The bruise on my cheek is more pronounced under the fluorescent light. I trace it absently, exhaling.
I turn toward the door, gripping the handle. My fingers tighten around the cool metal, hesitation creeping in. Stepping out means facing him again, navigating whatever this unspoken tension is—uncertainty, curiosity, maybe something I don’t want to name yet.
Still, I pull the door open.
The dim glow of the bedside lamp filters in, casting soft shadows across the room.
Nix is leaning against the desk, arms crossed, his gaze flicking toward me as I step forward.
There’s something unreadable in his expression—thoughtful, assessing.
The silence stretches between us, charged but not uncomfortable.
“Better?” he asks, voice low, measured.
His question lingers in the air, carrying an intimacy I’m not sure how to respond to. Am I better? I should be. The fresh clothes, the quiet of his space—it should all help. But something in me remains unsettled.
I nod, though the movement feels slow, uncertain. “Yeah. Better,” I say, but even I can hear the hesitation in my voice.
I stand there, arms crossed, still caught in the tension of the night. My thoughts keep circling back to everything that’s happened, everything I haven’t had time to process.
“You don’t have to pretend,” Nix finally says, his voice low but sure. “Tonight was—” He exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair. “A lot.”
“I’m fine,” I murmur, but we both know it’s only half true.
Nix watches me for a moment, then exhales, pushing off the desk. “You need to sleep,” he says, straightforward, no room for argument.
I blink, thrown off by the certainty in his voice. “I’m—”
“Not gonna fight me on this.” His tone is calm but firm, like he’s already decided for me. “You’ve been running on adrenaline. That only lasts so long.”