Page 63 of The Blairville Legacies

Where was she from?

“Blairville can be really nice,” I said instead of asking rude questions. “With the right people in the right places,” I added quickly.

She looked up at me and I was beginning to think she was going to laugh at me, but she just smiled and put on her black leather backpack.

“That’s a good attitude.”

I returned the smile, and immediately a thought came to me. What if, after all these years, I could still manage to find people and start over?

“Are you starting your studies here?”

I looked at her in surprise. “Yes, why?”

“Perfect. I’m new here, too. And my sense of direction really sucks,” she sighed, and we walked across the crowded parking lot toward the campus lawn.

“I know my way around Blairville, but at Vanderwood...” I hesitated thoughtfully. “Are you looking for anything in particular?”

The girl smiled. “You could say that.”

I was about to ask further when something hard hit me painfully on the arm, and I slammed into the girl next to me. But she caught me without a second thought and looked at me with concern.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah...”

She looked around, her gaze fixed on something, and then she yelled. “Watch it, you asshole!”

I scrambled to my feet, startled, and looked at the football on the ground.

Was it somehow fate that everything that had to do withhimseemed to haunt me for the rest of my life?

“Wow, I’m incredibly sorry.”

My head traveled up to the tall, dark-skinned young man in the dark pine green Vanderwood T-shirt, which was cut off at the sleeves, showcasing his massive shoulders.

“You should be,” the girl next to me nagged back.

And then he recognized me. “Mady?”

“You know each other?” The girl looked between us, confused.

“Hunter...”, I remarked, overwhelmed, rubbing my arm. “You study here too?”

His gaze dropped to my arm.

“Fuck, did I hit you bad?”

“You hit her with your fucking football!” the girl snapped at him, crossing her arms in front of her chest.

“It’s okay, I’m fine,” I tried to defuse the situation.

Admittedly, my arm hurt like hell. But this wasHunter. Nash’s best friend. And after all these years, I didn’t want him against me, either.

But ifhewas here, Nash couldn’t be far. I resisted the urge to turn around and even more that urge to ask him how Nash was doing.

“You shouldn’t be here, Mady,” Hunter sighed, automatically broaching the subject.

“How is he?” I finally asked, trying to push away the uncomfortable feeling of not being wanted.

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