Chapter Sixteen 

 

 

I lay on the horn for the second time. 

Where the hell is Austin?  Why is he taking so long? 

If he keeps this up, we’ll be late.  A shiver works its way through my body.  I wouldn’t necessarily call it fear, but it’s pretty damn close.  I’ve been doing my best to fly under Ms. Pettijohn’s radar.  Waltzing in late for the second time in a matter of weeks won’t help that objective. 

With my palm resting against the horn, I’m about to lay on it for a third time when the front door opens, and Austin rushes out with his head down and shoulders hunched.  He’s been especially surly lately.  My gut tells me that his foul mood has everything to do with football, but he’s remained frustratingly tightlipped about it. 

Once he slides into the passenger seat, I grumble, “What took you so long?” 

“Woke up late.”  His words are barely audible. 

“Ever consider setting your alarm?” 

I wait for him to fire off a snarky comeback, but get instead, “Yeah, I’ll do that from now on.” 

I glance at him from the corner of my eye as he silently stares out the passenger side window at the house.  Something feels off about his behavior, but I can’t put my finger on what it is. 

“Aus?”  I lay a tentative hand on his shoulder.  “Are you all right?” 

“I’m fine.”  He shrugs off my touch.  “Just drive, okay?” 

Surprised by the curt dismissal, my mouth tumbles open. 

What the hell is wrong with him? 

When I walked out of the house this morning, Austin had yet to appear for breakfast.  Mom said something about him oversleeping.  Come to think of it, I never saw him last night after practice.  He had slammed into the house and shuttered himself away in his room.  I’d knocked on his door, asking if he needed help with homework, but he’d claimed not to have any.  I didn’t push the issue because I had a quiz to study for. 

Suspicion grows inside me.  “Austin,” I blurt, angling my body toward him, “look at me.” 

“No.” 

My heartbeat hitches as my mouth turns cottony.  “Why not?” 

“Summer, can you just drive?”  There’s a pause as his voice drops.  “Please?” 

“Not until I see your face.” 

For a long moment he remains still, and I wonder if we’ll sit in the driveway all morning.  Finally, he huffs out an exasperated breath and swivels toward me.  My eyes widen as I clap a hand over my mouth.  His nose is bruised and swollen.  The damage around his eye from last week had only begun to fade. 

“What happened?”  Before he can say anything, I growl, “And don’t tell me it happened at football!” 

His lips lift into a humorless smile.  “Well, it did happen at football, just not practice.” 

My mind whirls at the implication.  “In the locker room, then?” 

“They want me to quit and I’m not going to.”  His voice turns belligerent.  One of Austin’s best qualities is that he’s relentless.  In this instance, it’s a detriment to his health. 

“Who?  Who wants you to quit?”  I really hope Kingsley doesn’t have anything to do with this.  Why that matters, I don’t know, but it does. 

He presses his lips together, refusing to answer. 

“Austin?”  I search his battered face as he glares out the windshield. 

“You wanted to see what happened, now you’ve seen it.  So drive.  I don’t need to be late on top of everything else.” 

This is getting out of hand. 

“Maybe we should tell Mom and Dad,” I murmur, pulling the car out of the driveway and heading to the main road. 

He barks out a laugh.  “What the hell are they going to do about it?” 

I chew my lower lip and contemplate the question.  It’s the same rationale I used for not mentioning the vandalism to the G-wagon.  Mom is under the delusion that throwing a party will fix all our problems. 

It won’t.  

My belly pinches with nerves as I turn onto school property and pass through the gate.  It’s been less than two weeks and I hate Hawthorne Prep along with the kids who attend it.  I glance at the clock on the dashboard.  We have ten minutes to get to class.  At least we won’t be late.  For one more day, I’ll escape the wrath of Ms. Pettijohn. 

We exit the vehicle and walk toward the entrance of the stone building.  Conversations ground to a halt as we pass by.  For fuck’s sake.  This is the second week of school.  Why are we still garnering this much attention?  It sets my teeth on edge and sends a prickle of unease scuttling down my spine. 

Austin yanks open the glass door as we head to our lockers.  It’s definitely not my imagination.  More people are staring than usual.  Smirks and whispers get shared behind cupped hands.  There’s an air of anticipation that permeates the atmosphere. 

A feeling of foreboding gathers inside me.  Instead of stopping at my locker, I follow closely behind Austin to his.  Half of the football team is hanging around, talking in small clumps.  Most go silent when they catch sight of us.  The tension becomes even more stifling and I tug on Austin’s arm to stop him. 

He shoots me an impatient glance.  “What?” 

My gaze flits around nervously, trying to pinpoint what the problem is.  “I don’t know,” I mutter, “but something’s going on.” 

His lips flatten into a tight line.  “They can’t do anything to us here.” 

If only that were true.  Doesn’t Austin realize that these people don’t follow any rules other than their own? 

One of the football players straightens when he sees us.  A malicious glint enters his eyes.  “Looks like Hawthorne tripped again and landed on his face,” he says in an overly obnoxious voice before laughing.  “Maybe you’re not coordinated enough to play football, bud.  Ever think about taking up checkers?  Might be the way to go.” 

My brother grits his teeth as every muscle becomes whipcord tight.  His hands gather into fists.  I recognize his body language for what it is.  The not-so-calm before the storm.  Dread pools inside me.  I have no idea how to avoid the inevitable. 

The blond guy with stormy gray eyes appears to be the ringleader.  Next to him is the girl who showed Austin around the first day of school.  Delilah.  Looking distinctly uncomfortable, she gnaws her bottom lip before whispering something in the douchebag’s ear.  When he ignores her, she reaches out and tentatively lays a hand on his bicep.  He jerks his gaze away from my brother long enough to scowl before shaking off her touch.   

“Who is that?” I mutter from the side of my mouth, glaring at the guy.  I know an enemy when I see one. 

“Jasper Morgan.” 

Even his name sounds douchey. 

“Let me guess, he’s the first-string quarterback.” 

“You guessed it.” 

For a moment, I squeeze my eyes shut.  This is the guy who has been messing with Austin. 

Fuck. 

“That would about sum it up,” Austin mutters. 

“Why are they all standing around your locker?”  The hallway is jam-packed with people.  More than usual. 

“My guess is that we’re about to find out.”  Austin’s tone and expression don’t betray him.  He’s become a master at hiding his genuine feelings.  If the past has taught him anything, it’s to keep your vulnerabilities buried deep inside where people can’t use them against you. 

As we move through the corridor, a whiff of something rancid catches my attention.  I inhale again and try to figure out what it is and where it’s emanating from.  Although, I’m pretty sure I have a sneaking suspicion. 

“Aus,” I claw at his arm, attempting to stop him, “forget about your locker, let’s head to class.” 

He shakes me off, unwilling to back down from whatever confrontation is about to unfold.  His new teammates have brought the battle to him and Austin has never backed down from an altercation in his life.  When you’re used to fighting for every scrap of respect, it becomes second nature.  Sometimes I think he enjoys it. 

“Maybe you should listen to your hot sister and get your pussy ass to class,” Jasper yells. 

Austin snarls in response.  I feel the pent-up adrenalin rushing through his blood. 

I glare at the guy who is dead set on provoking my brother into a reaction while his monkeys stand behind him.  Delilah looks miserable.  For a moment, a twinge of pity fills me before it’s quickly quashed.  No one is forcing her to date an asshat. 

That’s her choice. 

As we arrive at my brother’s locker, the stench becomes almost unbearable.  The guys are all laughing, trying to contain their giddiness.  A punchline is coming and I’m afraid of what it will be.  More than that, I’m afraid Austin will lose his shit and go berserk. 

Even though my brother’s face is an inscrutable mask, he understands how this will go down.  He flicks his wrist left, then to the right, before twisting left again and arriving at the number twelve.  When he yanks on the handle, the door pops open. 

My hand flies to my mouth as an avalanche of manure tumbles out of the locker onto Austin before landing on the floor.  The locker has been jampacked with it.  The blazer he’d left hanging in there last night is ruined along with his books. 

A battle roar erupts from deep in Austin’s chest before he spins around and lunges for Jasper.  As soon as he does, the blond boy throws his books to the floor and meets my brother halfway before they collide.  The surrounding crowd erupts into chants of—fight, fight, fight.  

In the blink of an eye, all hell breaks loose.  Austin’s fists fly with an amazing amount of velocity.  Grunts soon follow.  I’m not sure if the sounds originate from Austin or the other guy.  When it becomes apparent that Jasper isn’t thrashing my brother with ease, a few more football players join the fray. 

Fuck! 

There’s no way I’m going to stand here and allow them to beat the crap out of my brother.  With so many players throwing punches, he’ll get pummeled and these assholes will stand around and watch.  I drop my backpack to the floor and advance toward the group of grappling boys when strong fingers grip my arms and yank me backward until I land against a muscular chest. 

“Let me go,” I yell, struggling against the tight hold. 

“You’re not going anywhere,” a voice growls against my ear. 

Kingsley.

His arms band around me, making escape impossible. 

“Please, I need to help him.”  Even though it’s futile, I twist and turn in his arms. 

“No.” 

It seems like forever before a couple of teachers poke their heads out of their classrooms and jog down the hallway when they see the ruckus taking place. 

“Hey!” Mr. Timmons yells, “Break it up right now before everyone gets suspended!” 

“Get to class!” another man bellows. 

Now that teachers have appeared on the scene, the crowd splinters apart.  I search the sea of faces for Austin.  He’s on the ground, wrestling with Jasper.  The two male teachers wade through the football players before prying the two boys apart. 

“Both of you get to the headmaster’s office!” 

I jerk out of Kingsley’s hold and rush toward my brother.  His face is more swollen than when we arrived fifteen minutes ago.  With a growl, I swing around and shove my hands against Jasper’s chest. 

Not expecting the attack, he stumbles back a step as hatred materializes across his face.  “Someone needs to teach you a lesson, you little bitch!” 

Even though there are adults in the vicinity, he takes a menacing step toward me.  I stand my ground, straightening to my full height.  If he thinks he can hit me and get away with it, let him try.  It’ll be that much easier to get his ass expelled from Hawthorne. 

“Morgan!” Kingsley barks and Jasper stops, turning toward him with a snarl.  The dark-haired boy shakes his head.  “Don’t even think about touching her.” 

My eyes flare at the power Kingsley wields. 

“Mr. Morgan and Mr. Hawthorne,” my AP psychology teacher snaps, “get to the office.  Now.” 

Then he turns to Kingsley and me, who I realize are the only other students loitering in the corridor.  “Both of you get to class before I write you up.” 

I shake my head and step closer to Austin.  “I’m going to the office with my brother.” 

Mr. Timmons purses his lips but doesn’t argue before turning to Kingsley.  “Mr. Rothchild, get to first hour.” 

Rothchild? 

With wide eyes, I swing toward Kingsley. 

He’s a Rothchild? 

He was talking about his great-great-grandfather? 

Even though a small piece of the puzzle has fallen into place, it’s not enough to have a clear picture of what happened and why everyone in this town hates us.  Unfortunately, I can’t think about that right now.  Something tells me we’ve got bigger problems to occupy us.