Page 74 of SNOB

In the meantime, today is the day I sign my name on the mural in the gym. It’s about time Saint Bons knows the talent walking through our halls.

Checking my phone again, I wince at the text lingering on my screen.

Me: Reward me later?

I shot Mac a text of my progress so far. Still no reply, and a tightness comes to my throat when I look at the other unanswered texts.

Me: Give me inspiration in my room tonight?

Me: Are you mad at me?

The last one’s the kicker, a cringe on my face. I’m not much of a texter but not hearing from Mac after the other night makes me uneasy. I still feel him around. I still feel his presence, but the way he ignores me makes my stomach drop.

“Miss Everett.” A familiar voice comes from across the quad when I step outside. “You look refreshed.”

Turning around, Gray approaches me looking ten times worse than he did the other night. “What the hell happened to you?” He sports a black eye as casually as the beige blazer thrown over his white collared shirt. Along with a couple of butterfly bandages above his right eye, he looks like he walked out of an octagon.

He acts as if everything’s fine, an arm wrapping around me. “Just another day in the life of a Crown,” he says, confidence still dripping off his tone. “Speaking of Saint Bons royalty, you lied to me.” He doesn’t look angry when I glance at him, but I’m still confused. “You said you and Mac weren’t a thing.”

“Wait, did Mac do this?”

“Hey Gray, hey Ember.” My head whips to a student I don’t recognize, waving at me. Did they just say my name? Did they just acknowledge me? No shade. No whispers. It’s like I’ve crossed over into some other dimension.

My attention turns back to Gray. “Well, is it?”

Gray shrugs. “Mac has a funny way of showing passion.”

My pace slows.

“Mac’s dangerous.”

Greta’s voice fills my head. He doesn’t feel dangerous when he’s between my legs. Or holding me. Or sleeping together in his bed. But Gray’s face tells me different and if Mac did this to his best friend, a fellow Crown…

“He’s a loyal guy.” Gray must feel my hesitation. “But knowing Mac is like knowing a tiger. You never know when he’ll strike. You going to the rink?”

“Uh, yeah,” I reply, his words clinging to my brain as a knot forms in my stomach.

“Get the fuck out the way!” Gray’s shout startles me out of my thoughts as students in our path part like a curtain in front of us. “A Crown and a Crownette coming through!” He winks at me, those charming eyes dazzling as we move through the quad.

When we get to the rink, Gray opens the door, letting me through first. “I’m here if you need me, gorgeous,” he says, moving towards the locker rooms. Is it me or is he laying it on thick today?

Moving through the lobby and into the arena, the warmth that fills me looking at my finished mural offsets the cold from the ice. Reaching to grab my supplies from my tote, my eyes narrow on something new in the corner. My feet slow, my grip on my brush tightening.

This can’t be real.

The doors to the arena open again, and my eyes swing to it.

Mac walks in with his father, both in fitted suits. Dark circles sit under Mac’s eyes, more hair flopping over his face than usual. Dean Patel follows in a burgundy suit of her own with beige heels to match.

Seeing his dad brings that night whipping to my head. The way he paced the store like he owned it. The way he threatened my uncle, giving us no choice. The brush snaps in my hand.

“Tell you what,” Sterling McKinsley says, cold eyes wandering around the space. His hand lands on his son’s shoulder. “If Mac can get the funds, we will invest in redesigning the rink.”

“McKinsley Arena has a ring to it,” Mac says. “You can count on me.”

“After you did such a beautiful job on the mural, we know that we can,” Dean Patel says. “We’re proud of you, Malcolm.”

My teeth push so tight against each other it makes my head hurt.

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