Page 67 of Wicked Scorn
“Back to where it all began,” he says ambiguously, glancing at me with anticipation in his green eyes. A small, enigmatic smile plays on his lips, and it sends a shiver down my spine.
“Jeremiah, you can’t just say something like that and not explain,” I press, my curiosity getting the better of me. “How long have you been planning this?” I ask skeptically, because I don’t buy for a second that he thought of this just because his dad showed up and made him mad.
“I’ve wanted to take you somewhere for a while,” he replies, his tone teasing but tinged with something deeper. “Today’s the perfect night.”
We emerge from the mansion into the cool fall air with Jeremiah holding both of our jackets. The sky is a hazy gray, and you can almost sense the impending rain. Jeremiah’s bike waits for us, sleek, black and green Ducati Streetfighter Lamborghini. I only know that’s what it was because Penn was bitching about it the other night. I just knew the color and how it feels to be on the back of it previously.
He grabs my helmet and places it on my head, his fingers brushing against my skin as he secures the strap. Always taking care of me, even little tasks that I’m perfectly capable of doing myself. I let him though, because I truly think he does enjoy it. My breath catches as his eyes lock onto mine for a beat before he pulls back, strapping on his own helmet with practiced ease.
“Ready?” he asks, his voice a low rumble that sends shivers down my spine.
“Always,” I reply, my heart pounding in anticipation as I slip into my black leather he left for me on my seat.
Jeremiah swings his leg over the motorcycle with a fluid grace that leaves me momentarily breathless. Heglances back at me, holds his hand out with the invitation clear in his eyes. I grab hold of him and climb on, wrapping my arms around his waist, and slipping my hands underneath the leathers and his shirt, feeling the solid strength beneath my palms. The engine roars to life, a powerful vibration that reverberates through my bones.
As we speed away, the world blurs around us. The wind whips through my hair, carrying with it the scent of decaying pine and asphalt. My grip tightens around Jeremiah, pressing myself closer to him, feeling the heat of his body seep into mine.
“Where are we going?” I shout over the roar of the engine, my voice tinged with exhilaration.
“Just trust me, Oakley,” he calls back, his voice barely audible over the wind.
The city lights fade behind us as we ride, the landscape shifting to familiar territory. My heart skips a beat when I recognize the route. Our high school looms ahead and memories flood my mind, bittersweet and vivid. The place where it all began, indeed.
“Jeremiah…” I whisper, the name a blend of nostalgia and longing.
“Hold on tight,” he says, his voice softer now, laden with unspoken promises.
We pull up to the school; the bike coming to a smooth halt. The silence is almost too much to handle after the rush of the ride. Jeremiah dismounts first, offering me his hand. As I take it, our fingers intertwine, grounding me in him. We leave our helmets and jackets on the bike and stand there staring at Bridgehead High.
“Why here?” I ask, my voice trembling with so many emotions, I can’t possibly pick just one.
“Because this is where everything changed for me, bunny,” he replies, his eyes dark with intensity. “I knew there would never be anyone other than you for me all the way back then.”
“You did?” I ask, confusion mingling with curiosity.
“It’s always been you. I keep trying to tell you that,” he repeats, pulling me closer, his breath warm against my ear.
His words wrap around me like a protective cocoon, and despite the uncertainty, I feel a flicker of hope. We stand there for a moment, locked in each other’s gaze, the weight of our past pressing down on us.
“Let’s go,” Jeremiah says finally, his voice a gentle command.
“I’ll let you lead,” I reply, my heart pounding with anticipation as he tugs me toward the back of the school.
Jeremiah’s fingers work the lock, each click and clack echoing, and I glance around, waiting for us to be caught. The air is cool, but my skin tingles with anticipation. I watch him, biting my lip as he works. His intense focus is almost hypnotic.
“You’re pretty good at this,” I whisper, my voice barely audible in the stillness. The echo of our high school days surrounds us, both comforting and eerie.
“I’m a Blackwood, after all,” he shoots back with a smirk, not taking his eyes off the lock. A final, satisfying click, and the door swings open. “Penn taught me,” he finally admits with a shoulder shrug, and I’m not surprised at the revelation.
“After you,” he says, stepping aside and sweeping an arm in a mock-gentlemanly gesture.
“Such a charmer,” I murmur, slipping past him. The darkened halls feel different, shadows stretching long andmemories lurking around every corner. My heart pounds louder than our footsteps.
“Where to?” I ask, glancing back at him. I don’t even feel the jittery need to ask if he thinks this is okay, if we’ll get caught, if we’ll be in trouble. With Jeremiah, I don’t have to worry about anything. He wouldn’t let anything happen to me.
“Follow me,” he replies, his voice low and magnetic. He grabs my hand, and we move together. We ascend staircases and Jeremiah’s grip on my hand steadies me, anchors me.
“Almost there,” he says, pushing open a door that leads to the roof. The sudden gust of wind makes me shiver, but the sight before me steals my breath.
