Page 322 of Blood & Betrayals

I spend the rest of the walk trying not to think about my day and the hell it’s going to be, but I’m unsuccessful. When I arrive at the gym, my mood sours. How did I forget about Max? Oh yeah, cause my mind is so chaotically busy with the murder of my best friend.

“Fight?” Max asks, though his expression is wary.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I say, making my way to the treadmill, needing to lose myself in the effort of a workout.

Remember the part you have to play.

I hear the headmaster’s voice in my head, and it makes me bristle.

Max walks over. “Why?”

“Go away, Max,” I say with a sigh, starting the treadmill.

He stares at me, but I refuse to acknowledge him. “I–I heard about Alice,” he stammers, and I don’t think I’ve ever heard him sound quite so uncomfortable.

I let the grief seep into my bones again, but I don’t respond.

“About last time—” Max begins.

“Not now, Max,” I snap, and there is nothing false about my reaction. I have enough going on without worrying about Maximillian fucking Romulus.

“Summer,” he says, placing his hand on the arm of the treadmill.

I shake my head. “If you treat me differently when something good happens, like getting engaged, I’m guessing you’re going to treat me even more differently when my best friend gets fucking murdered. I can’t handle it, Max. Go away.”

“Just… let’s just fight,” Max says, his hand tightening on the treadmill.

“Fight someone else. I want to be alone,” I growl, a tear escaping down my cheek.

I see him grow larger in my peripheral vision, and then he storms away. Wiping away the tear, I run faster, trying to work through the mess in my mind. Alice died, and then she was alive again, but I need to pretend she’s not. I need to spend every day acting like she is gone for good. Connor is at home protecting her. He’s safe there. The headmaster… gods, he’s such a dick.

Show me what you can do, Summer.

Show me what you can do, Summer.

Your name will never be Summer Morningstar.

Your name will never be Summer Morningstar.

Your name will never be Summer Morningstar.

Another tear falls, and I don’t realize I’ve been slowly increasing the speed of the treadmill until my feet are barely touching the belt. The moment I become aware, I lose my footing. Pain slices up my leg as my ankle gives, and I am thrown from the machine. Max is suddenly beside me, his eyes glowing green.

“Are you an idiot?” he asks a thin sheen of sweat on his forehead. He was obviously in the middle of working off his own frustrations.

I sit up, and my ankle throbs in pain. I hiss out a breath as I move it experimentally. Max leans down and scoops me into his arms, carrying me into the sports medicine room.

“Fucking moronic, stubborn, inconsiderate ass,” he grumbles as he deposits me on the table.

He sits in front of me, and I wince as he lifts my ankle to examine it. “Takes one to know one,” I grate between clenched teeth.

“Shut up,” Max hisses. “You may be able to heal, but you can still hurt,” he says, looking at my ankle, which is already swollen and bruised.

“You ruptured a tendon.” He curses and gently lowers my foot. He stands up and starts gathering tape and bandages. “The fuck were you thinking?” he growls.

“I was,” I hiss as he lifts my ankle again, “just running, and then I started to think about…” I swallow hard, not able to force the words out.

Max glances at me, his hard gaze softening only slightly before he places an ice pack on my ankle.

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