Page 1 of Stalked

1

LIA

FIFTEEN YEARS AGO…

Islam my textbook on the desk, not even trying to hide my irritation as Vane Blackwood saunters into AP Chemistry like he owns the place. Ten minutes late. Again.

“Nice of you to join us, Mr. Blackwood,” Mr. Peterson says, barely looking up from the equation he’s writing.

Vane smirks—that infuriating half-smile that makes the girls swoon and makes me want to slap it off his perfect face. He slides into the seat beside mine, the only empty one in the lab.

“Morning, Morgan,” he whispers, leaning closer than necessary. “Miss me?”

“Like a case of strep.” I shift away, focusing on my notes.

Mr. Peterson pairs us up for the experiment, and I contemplate the odds of accidentally poisoning my lab partner. Vane reaches for the beaker at the same time I do, his fingers brushing against mine. I pull back like I’ve been burned.

“Problem?” His green eyes lock on mine, challenging.

“Just wondering how someone who can’t be bothered to make it to class on time is going to contribute anything useful when they missed the assignment discussion entirely.” I measure the sodium hydroxide, refusing to look at him.

“I got the highest score on the midterm.” He leans against the lab table, arms crossed. “What's your excuse for coming in second?”

My cheeks burn. One point. He beat me by one point, and he’s never let me forget it.

I roll my eyes and return to the experiment, carefully adding the base to our solution. One point. It shouldn’t bother me this much, but with Vane, everything gets under my skin.

“You could at least pretend to care about your education,” I mutter, watching the liquid change color. “Some of us don’t have the luxury of skating by onnatural talent.”

Something shifts in his expression—a tightness around his eyes that I’ve never noticed before.

“You don't know anything about me.” His voice drops, losing its trademark cocky edge.

“I know enough.”

He laughs, but it sounds hollow. “You know what I let you see.”

I pause, pipette hovering over the beaker. There's something in his tone that makes me look at him—really look at him. He has dark circles under his eyes, and his face looks thinner than I remember.

“Everything okay at home?” The question slips out before I can stop it.

Vane stiffens. “Spectacular. Xavier's working double shifts at the garage, Landon's a freaking psycho, and Knox set the kitchen on fire trying to make dinner last night.” He shakes his head. “But hey, at least we're not in an abusive foster home anymore.”

The casual way he drops this information stuns me into silence. I knew the Blackwood brothers bounced around foster homes since their parents died. What I didn't know is that Xavier is supporting his brothers at the age of twenty.

“I didn't know.”

“Why would you?” He measures out the next chemical. “It's not like I advertise it.”

“Is that why you're late all the time? Taking your brothers to school?”

Vane's jaw tightens. “Someone has to make sure they get there.”

I watch him work, suddenly seeing beyond the arrogant facade to the responsibility weighing on his shoulders. It doesn't excuse his behavior, but it explains a lot more than I expected.

I open my mouth to say something—I'm not sure what—but Vane's face has already transformed, that brief glimpse of vulnerability vanished without a trace.

“Don't get all soft on me now, Morgan.” His smirk returns, walls rebuilt higher than before. “I don't need your pity.”