Page 112 of Did They Break You

“Okay,” she agrees, squeezing my hand, opening her eyes and looking up at me through her dark lashes. “Just tonight.”

CHAPTER

THIRTY-ONE

REMI

I feelStorm’s eyes on me when I walk in after Cortland, closing the door softly behind me. I take a breath, facing the door, catching the scent of marijuana in the house and it instantly reminds me of Van.

But I force that thought from my mind because he’d kill me if he knew I was here.

I’m not even entirely sure what the hell I’m doing here. It’s stupid, and walking past Cortland’s truck in the driveway, Storm’s WRX that he had in high school, thinking of what they did to me, it was a reminder of just that.

“You want a drink?” Cortland asks quietly, and I force myself to turn around.Not run.

I glance around the house. I saw none of it when I was running from here after that first party. I didn’t look back, either, when I left. But now I see it’s neat and tidy, and in the dark outside, I made out two stories. White siding. Modest, but for a college student, nice. For all I know, too, they own it. Both of them come from wealthy families.

It was part of the battle I was fighting when they were charged.

My eyes find Storm’s wicked blue ones, and I watch him inhale from his vape, his feet flat on the floor, one arm slung over the back of the worn leather couch. He exhales a cloud of smoke through his nose, obscuring the hoop through it for a second.

“Remi.” Cortland’s voice is laced with irritation.

I fist my hands at my side, force my gaze from a smirking Storm to Cortland, in the doorway of the kitchen, his backpack off and on the floor by the couch. He’s glaring at me, his head cocked while he waits for my answer.

It’s two in the morning. I want to say that, say we should sleep, ask Storm why he’s up but I already have this feeling I’m not going to class in the morning.

Might as well make the most of it.

“Sure,” I tell Cortland, wantingsomethingto distract me from the reality of what I’m doing. I need to text Sloane. I already told her I was at the library for an assignment, and I’m sure she’s sleeping now.

But I don’t know what lie to tell her.

Cort darts a glance at his best friend, still watching me, then he jerks his head to the kitchen. “Get over here,” he says, and I’m reminded of that night all over again.

Before it all went to hell. When he told me to sit in his lap.

I swallow down my fear, cross the floor, hardwoods creaking under my white Chucks. When I reach him, he grabs the strap of my backpack, pulling it off of me, tossing it to the floor beside his.

“Thanks,” I murmur, and he nods, heading into the kitchen, all white cabinets and white floors, a fridge to match. I run my hand down my opposite arm, wishing I was in something besides my oversized hoodie and sweats.

I can still feel Storm watching me.

And just as I go to follow Cortland, already opening up the fridge and grabbing juice to set beside a bottle of vodka on the counter, Storm says my name.

I turn to face him, see his black shirt clinging to his lean body. He blows out another cloud of smoke, setting down his vape on the coffee table. My eyes find the tattoos along his neck, one edging up to his jaw.

He leans back, staring up at me, his eyes narrowed. “You know what you’re doing here?” he asks me, his voice quiet. I know at some point his family moved from the suburbs of Virginia, near D.C., and his accent is neutral, a far cry from Cortland’s Southern drawl.

I glance at Cortland, see he’s got his phone in hand, and his fingers are flying across the screen. A pang of jealousy curls up in my stomach, and I turn my attention back to Storm. “What do you mean?” I ask him, shoving a lock of hair behind my ear before I slide my hands into my hoodie pocket.

He arches a brow. “You’re either here to fuck him up, or you’re here to get fucked up.” He shrugs, running his tongue over his teeth. I glance again at Cortland, but he’s engrossed in whoever he’s texting, and I can’t help but think of Maya.

Is he still with her? He said he was mine for now.

The thought of him being with her is like a punch to the gut.But why does it matter? I shouldn’t even be here. I’m the one in the wrong.

It’s not just my friends that would flip if they knew I was here.

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