Page 35 of Into Ruin

“I’m sorry, Cynthia, I’m late to my next class.” I succeed in freeing my arm and make a sharp right. I veer away from her. “Good to see you, though! Thanks for letting me know about Royal.”

She calls something else, but I ignore her and duck through the science building. I emerge on the other side alone and slow my pace for the walk back to the hockey house.

It’s funny—I know Royal had been texting me, but I didn’t think he was actually worried about not seeing me. Knowing he even checked my dorm brings a newfound warmth to my chest.

He cares.

I know he does, of course. It’s that I’m-the-only-one-allowed-to-bully-you vibe. He also can be nice sometimes. But… I don’t know. I guess while we’reclose, we’re not share-every-secret close. Or know-where-the-other-is-at-every-second-of-every-day close.

Maybe the appearance of Max has him rattled, even if he doesn’t know the half of it.

I glance around on reflex, checking for signs of my stalker. No hair raises on the back of my neck, my ears aren’t burning. If he’s watching, he’s being so subtle my instincts can’t detect it.

Perhaps he lost interest.

Either way, I’m not about to stick around and find out.

I make it back to the hockey house unscathed. The front door is unlocked, which is good. I don’t think Royal ever gave me a house key. Do they ever lock it?

Guys probably aren’t worried about security like me. And if Royal knew the unlocked door only made it easier for Max to sneak in and cover my air mattress in roses… That really just confirms I should tell him. So he candosomething about it.

Because Camden is right.Ugh, did you really just think that?No, no, he is right. I can’t stay in hiding forever. And he just offered the perfect carrot dangling out in front of me to bring me back.

The house feels the same as it did the other day. Which is to say: surprisingly normal.

Lucas and Connor, the two other housemates, are on the couch playing a video game. I wave to them on my way by and go straight upstairs.

Royal’s door is open.

I knock on the frame and peek in, then enter fully when I spot him at his desk.

His headphones are on, and he doesn’t react to my entrance. I really shouldn’t do what I’m about to do, but the closer I get, the more I can hear the tinny music blasting in his ears. And it just seems like a perfect opportunity.

I creep forward, then pounce and grab his shoulders. I yell, for good measure.

He shouts. His whole body jerks, nearly flinging me away, but his wide-eyed expression of fear catapults me into hysterics. He catches a glimpse of me and swears, knocking his headphones off.

“What the fuck, Harper?”

His expression—horror, then anger—is perfect.

Priceless.

I’m too busy dying of laughter to answer him.

He grips me around the waist and picks me up off my feet. I screech, still laughing, as he throws me over his shoulder and stalks out of the room.

“Put me down!” I kick.

“You’re gonna pay for that,” he warns.

Uh-oh.

“And for not responding to my texts for two days.”

Right.

He heads away from the stairs—I suppose it’s good he’s not planning on tossing me in a pile of leaves in the backyard or something—and opens a door. I lift my head enough to see the dresser he built against one wall. My suitcases all neatly arranged by the closet. New hangers.

---