Total pages in book: 136
Estimated words: 131789 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 659(@200wpm)___ 527(@250wpm)___ 439(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 131789 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 659(@200wpm)___ 527(@250wpm)___ 439(@300wpm)
And after only a few minutes with the Tresscott sisters, I also better understand the compulsion Sloane feels to protect Casey. I see how Casey smiles past the obvious implication that she’s not coming with us tonight because her father won’t let her anywhere near the Ballard campus again and Casey couldn’t tolerate it if she did. Because beneath that sweet smile are the shy, darting, fragile eyes of someone still guarding their scars.
“Mr. Shaw? A word, please.” The headmaster summons me outside while Sloane and Lucas hop in the car. On the porch, his shrewd gaze gives me a long once-over. “I can’t say I’m overjoyed to have you arrive on my doorstep like this.”
“It wasn’t meant to be a surprise, sir.”
“Sloane tends to be less than forthcoming about her social activities,” he says with a glance toward the car. “So allow me to disabuse you now of any notions you have about dating my daughter.”
“Sir—”
“So long as I’m inclined to tolerate such an arrangement, she may carry on a casual and closely monitored friendship. However. If I suspect you have other designs…”
I play dumb. “Designs, sir?”
He turns his back to the car and closes the distance between us. The headmaster doesn’t meet my eyes, instead looking toward the tree line with his chin raised. In case I think myself on his level.
“If you make a move on my daughter, I will have you bounced from this school and out on your ass. Am I clear?”
“Crystal.”
“Drive safely, Mr. Shaw.” He turns on his heel and enters the house.
Well, fuck.
If I thought Duke was bluffing or there was room for negotiation before, I’m now sufficiently convinced otherwise. If I lose this fight and he makes good on this threat to out Sloane and me to her dad, I’m cooked.
I need to find that plan B. And quick.
Chapter 39
Sloane
The gothic spires of Ballard Academy rise out of the tree canopy as RJ drives through the iron gates on the west entrance near the sports complex. I used to love this campus. The stone architecture and shady courtyards. Now it roils a pit in my stomach that lifts acid to the back of my throat.
Last time these halls saw my face, I was loading boxes in the back of my car from cleaning out our lockers. Casey by then had stopped leaving her room.
It didn’t occur to me until now what a visceral response I would have to coming back. Or what this excursion might do to Casey’s recovery.
“I thought Sandover was fancy,” RJ says. He looks like the new parents on orientation weekend, in awe of the manicured lawns and gothic architecture. “It’s a shithole compared to this place.”
“Ballard is about eighty years younger,” Lucas says from the backseat, where he’s been on his phone most of the ride. “Besides, rich families aren’t embarrassed to have buildings named after them when they aren’t funding a reform school for their delinquent offspring.”
“Good point.” RJ pulls into the parking lot. It’s full for the first rivalry match of the season.
As he kills the engine, I stay rooted in the passenger seat. The what-the-hell-am-I-doing-here-edness of it all slams into me like running headlong into a sliding glass door and I’m not sure I can get out of the car.
Staring out the window at the students filing their way between the cars toward the entrance, I remember how it felt those last few weeks after Casey’s accident. Feeling like we didn’t have a friend left in the world.
“Hey, you okay?”
I must look dreadful, judging by the concern creasing RJ’s forehead.
I bite my lower lip. “I just realized how Casey might react to me being back at Ballard.”
“What do you mean?”
“She still has nightmares. It got bad again after school started, but she’s finally started to sleep the last week or so.” I gnaw harder on my lip. “What if I just lit a stick of dynamite and chucked it through her window?”
“We don’t have to go.” Instantly, RJ puts the key back in the ignition.
“You should try giving Casey a little more credit,” Lucas says behind me. “She’s stronger than you think.”
I’m not sure I appreciate the insinuation that I don’t know my own sister. He isn’t there at three in the morning when she comes creeping into my room. He didn’t see the thin, pale ghost of her floating around the house most of the summer. I’ve got a mind to tell him to piss off.
On the other hand, maybe there’s some science to the idea that babying Casey too much can hamper her recovery. One could argue I can be a little overprotective these days.
Besides, Casey and Lucas have spent a fair amount of time together since we got back. It’s possible she confides some things in him that she’s been reluctant to share with me. For all I know, she’s been complaining that her big sister has created a suffocating cocoon around her.