Page 70 of Mason
Personally, I think she’s going to see the bruises on her skin and feel the stiffness that comes from being forcefully shoved into a locker, and possibly freak out, but I hadn’t wanted to argue with her. She doesn’t want to appear weak. I get it.
If only she knew we don’t think being frightened or upset about what happened is a sign of weakness. Those sorts of feelings keep a person on their toes. And she might need that awareness if shit continues like it has.
I rest my elbow on the couch arm, tumbler of amber-colored liquid in hand, swirling it around and staring at the movement. I don’t know if I buy that it’s that simple to compartmentalize what happened today. It’s possible she’s good at it, but I don’t know. I have a feeling the enormity of what happened hasn’t quite hit her yet. She can push us away and say she’s fine, but— I shake my head, taking a swallow of my drink. I kinda doubt it. I grimace to myself, hating that I’m probably right, but also not quite sure what to do about the strong-willed girl upstairs.
Bear sits on the couch beside me, legs extended in front of him and resting on the coffee table in front of us, a tumbler of whiskey in his hand that has yet to touch his lips. “Look, until Lennon tells us what the fuck she meant by the text about my father, I don’t know if we have any clue that this is connected.”
“I don’t think it fits, no matter what he said to her. Some goons stuff her in a locker? And someone locks her in a bathroom?” Mason shakes his head, a glass of his favorite vodka in his bandaged hand. I eye it, trying not to think about the fact that three years ago, I drowned myself in a bottle of that stuff I’d been sharing with him.
Bear lifts his forefinger from where it’s wrapped around the glass, pointing at nothing in particular. “That’s assuming those two events had anything to do with each other.”
My head rears back, and I grumble, “How could they not?”
“Just playing devil’s advocate.” He turns his head to me with a shrug.
I study both of them before shaking my head and tipping my drink to my lips again. I let the whiskey slide down my throat, warming me from the inside before I respond. “So, there’s no way to snap our fingers and figure out what the hell is going on. Our time is better spent making a plan to keep her safe. Because we’ve obviously had a huge fail there, both between classes and taking her to an event.” If they think I don’t see that I was a common denominator in both instances, they’re crazy. I blow out a hard breath. “So… we’ll take extra precautions wherever we go. But whoever is escorting her between classes meets her at the classroom door. And we’re there before class ends.”
Bear scrubs his hand through his hair. “I’m good with that. I’ll talk to my professors and see where I can duck out a few minutes early. We coordinate it right, and it shouldn’t be that big a deal, maybe a couple times a week for each of us.”
“Mine are mostly studio art classes. I’ll just walk the fuck out.” Mason throws me a cheeky wink. “Don’t care. No one will notice.”
I’m glad he’s able to flip the switch on his moods so fucking fast, but I’m not. It wasn’t that long ago that I had his raging self pinned up against the wall because he was so fuckin’ out of control.
Something jiggles free in my head, and for a few seconds I pause until it fully sinks in. I clear my throat. “I have one more thing to bring up. Something that kinda hit me just now.” I bring the tumbler of whiskey up to my mouth but lower it to the arm of the couch without taking a sip. “How do we know—” I pause, my jaw setting hard, then harder still while Bear and Mason stare at me, waiting for me to spit out the unfortunate thought in my head.
“Just say it. Whatever it is, so we have all the cards on the damn table.” The expression on Bear’s face says it all. He’s waiting for the other shoe to drop.
So, instead, I heave my concern at them. “My father told me to watch specifically for anything that Lennon says or does that seems off or strange.” I hesitate, unsure if I should continue or not.
“What are you getting at?” Mason looks at me, asking point blank.
“This is all really fucking weird, right? What if—” I hesitate, pursing my lips and staring into my whiskey glass. “What if the sleepwalking and nightmares my father and her mother were concerned about were her reaction to someone messing with her? And it’s continued here? Do you think it’s possible she’s not told us about other things happening?”
There’s a long silence where Bear and Mason both take large swallows of their drinks.
Bear scowls. “Are you saying maybe she’s been attacked like this before but didn’t tell Tristan, so he assumes she’s crazy?”
“I think it fits what’s happening, don’t you?” I bite down on my lip, shaking my head.
Mason expels a hard breath, throwing his hand out. “I can tell you right now, having witnessed one of those nightmares, there is more going on with this girl than any of us knows or can even fathom.”
THIRTY-SIX
LENNON
The guys hadn’t wantedto let me be, but—fuck, after a day like today, I need time to process and regroup before everyone starts asking a whole lot of questions I don’t have answers to. I’ve already gone over what I can remember about the attack. The only thing I haven’t spilled to them is the icky feeling Derek Pierce had given me and the gross things he’d inferred—all of which I’m sure he’d blow off if asked about them. In my experience, dirty old men always seem to find a way to not be held accountable for their wrongdoings.
In any case, I don’t see how any of that is related to me finding myself stuffed in a locker, so I jam my feelings about everything that went down today into the back corner of my mind where I don’t have to think about it at all.
If only it were that easy. My head spins and spins with the position I’d found myself in and why someone would do that to me. I’m terrified to find out who is responsible, because I haven’t a clue what I’d done to anyone to merit half the crap I’ve been through this week.
I groan, rolling over in the bed again, my legs getting tangled in the sheets. My body is sore from being yanked around and crammed inside that locker, and I’m fairly certain there will be a good amount of bruising that marks my skin by morning. The guys estimated I was trapped in there for at least thirty minutes. I couldn’t even say how long I thrashed around before the panic got the better of me. My breathing had been so labored inside that bag, I don’t know whether it was lack of oxygen or my anxiety that made me pass out. Maybe it’s for the best that I lost consciousness because what I remember about it is awful. The anxiety had flowed freely through my body, no help in sight.
I shudder and throw back the sheet before pushing myself to a seated position on the side of the bed. I rub my hands over my face.God.I wish there were a way to erase everything from my brain. I need to do something to get my mind off it. With a glance at my phone on the charging stand, I see it’s close to midnight. I have no idea if everyone else is in bed or not, but the fact remains—I can’t lie here all night and fret over what might have happened. It’d reminded me of my childhood and other things I’d rather forget—things I’ve fought hard to overcome.
But no, whoever is doing this to me is bringing all of that roaring back to the forefront of my mind. I hate them. I don’t deserve this.
With a sigh, I slip from my bed and walk on quiet feet over to my door. I open it, listening. Silence permeates the house. I bite my lip. Maybe if I look at some of Mason’s art, it’ll occupy my mind. Maybe if I go to the place he finds solace, I’ll find my own. I’m desperate for it.
