Page 36 of Freestyle (Boys of Frampton U #2)
Grayson
T he campus is quiet at this time of night, just the soft hum of streetlights and the crunch of our footsteps on the gravel path cutting through the quad. I’ve always liked the silence. Lately, I hate it.
Nix walks beside me, hoodie pulled up, jaw tight. We haven’t said much since we left the house, but the tension between us hasn’t faded. If anything, it’s worse now that Rowyn isn’t there to distract us from it.
“She’s not okay,” he says finally.
It’s not a question. It’s a challenge. Like if I dare to disagree, it means I haven’t been paying attention.
I nod once. “No. She’s not.”
The wind picks up, carrying the scent of pine and chlorine from the gym pool. It always smells like that this time of night. Familiar. Like the calm before a dive.
“She’s hiding something,” I add. “Not just from us. From herself.”
Nix exhales, low and frustrated. “If we could just get her to talk—”
“She won’t,” I cut in. “Not until she decides we’re safe to tell.”
He snorts. “We’re the ones trying to protect her.”
“Yeah. That doesn’t mean we haven’t hurt her.”
We fall into silence again as the dorms come into view, low amber lights glowing through their windows like tired eyes.
“Right now, we get her bag, talk to Lynds, and get out.”
But the whole time, I’m thinking about Rowyn in my room, curled in Nix’s hoodie, probably pretending she’s not scared and how much I want to tear this entire campus apart until I find whatever shadow’s chasing her.
We reach the dorm and climb the front steps. The building glows from inside, cozy and too quiet. I don’t like that.
Lyndsy’s already waiting when we get there.
She cracks open the dorm door before we even knock, hair pulled into a messy bun, hoodie slouched off one shoulder, phone still glowing in her hand. She looks from me to Nix and raises both eyebrows like we’ve just interrupted her favorite drama.
“Well, well,” she says. “The bodyguards return.”
Nix doesn’t respond, just lifts his hand in a lazy wave. I offer a thin smile. “Rowyn said she would text you.”
“She did.” Lyndsy steps aside and lets us in. “Told me you’d be coming to grab some stuff.”
I glance at Nix but he’s scanning the room already, probably for signs she left something behind or forgot to mention a detail. I keep my eyes on Lynds.
“She okay?” she asks, crossing her arms as the door clicks shut behind us. “And I mean actually okay. Not that ‘Rowyn-smile-while-drowning’ kind of okay.”
“She’s safe,” I say carefully, heading toward Rowyn’s room. “We’ve got her with us for a few nights. That’s what matters.”
Lyndsy sighs and leans against the wall. “Does anyone even know why she looks like she’s about to bolt every time someone breathes too loud?”
That lands sharper than it should.
“She’s not ready to talk,” I admit. “But we’re watching her. Closely .”
Lyndsy softens just a little. “Good. Because I swear to God, if either of you let something happen to her…”
Nix finally speaks, voice low. “We won’t.”
She studies him a beat longer, then nods once. “Her bag’s in the closet. I added her migraine meds and two of those snack bars she hoards in her drawer. Don’t forget her charger. She panics when her phone dies.”
I nod. “Thanks.”
“And Gray?” she adds just before I turn.
I meet her eyes.
“She might not be saying it, but she’s counting on you.”
It hits like a slap and a benediction all at once.
“I know.”
Nix grabs her charger while I crouch beside the desk drawer she left half open. It sticks slightly when I pull, something is wedged in the back, behind her notebooks and gum wrappers.
I reach in.
And freeze.
It’s a folded stack of pink notes, creased, worn, the edges soft from being handled too many times. I flip one open and feel the bottom drop out of my stomach.
Scrawled handwriting. No name. No return address. Just words that crawl under my skin.
“I like when you bleed for me.”
“I’ll find you, even in the dark.”
A chill runs through me.
“Gray,” Nix says softly, across the room. I look up, and he’s holding something in his hand. His face is pale.
A small plastic toy. A pink pony. Cracked down the side. And its eyes…
Gouged out.
No. Carved out.
“Jesus,” I whisper. I stand, notes in one hand, the pony in the other. “This is what she hasn’t been telling us. She’s been dealing with this alone.”
I tuck the last note deep inside the side pocket of her bag, right beneath the charger and the stupid pink hoodie she always swears she’s outgrown.
I can’t stop staring at it, the handwriting still burned into my memory, jagged and smug. That A at the bottom feels like a brand.
Nix is by the door already, pacing slow, fists clenched and jaw ticking like he’s chewing on a scream.
“She kept them, Gray,” he mutters. “Every single one.”
“Yeah,” I say, voice low. “And she never said a word.”
He looks at me, eyes sharp. “Would you have?”
And there it is.
I look away.
Because no, I wouldn’t have. Not if I thought the people I trusted would fly off the handle. Not if I thought they’d weaponize my fear like a reason to go to war.
We thought we knew what we were protecting her from.
Turns out, we didn’t know a damn thing.
“She was never going to tell us,” Nix says, quieter now. “Not unless it got worse.”
I sling the bag over my shoulder. “It has gotten worse.”
We leave the dorm with the weight of her silence slamming against my ribs like a second heartbeat. The night outside is thick, and the wind has teeth.
As we cross the lawn, I keep thinking about that pony, those hollowed-out eyes. About the notes. About the ghost she’s tried to fight alone.
And I know, with a kind of fury I’ve never felt before, that the monster that left those messages…
They don’t get to haunt her quietly anymore.
“We’re going to find him.”
He doesn’t ask who. He doesn’t have to.
Alberto.
The name tastes like metal in my mouth, old blood and memory.
He thought he could crawl back in and scare her into silence, leaving gifts like traps. Signing his name like a curse. Like she’s still his to ruin.
He was wrong.
This time, the battlefield isn’t hers to walk alone.
It’s ours.
And when we find him?
We won’t bring mercy.
We’ll bring fire.