Page 126 of From the Wreckage
Everett surges forward, but I grab his arm, my nails digging into his skin. His whole body vibrates with restrained fury.
My chest heaves. I can feel everyone around us watching. Listening. “I went to a party. I took a drink. That doesn’t mean I asked to be drugged. Or…” My voice falters, but I force it out. “Or raped.”
The smirk slides off Joey’s face. A ripple moves through the small crowd gathering around us, whispers rising like a tide.
“She said raped.”
“Did you hear that?”
“Is she talking about Joey?”
Phones lift, cameras pointed our way. A couple of students back away from Joey like he’s contagious. Meghan stiffens, her eyes darting everywhere but to mine.
I don’t look away. Not from her. Not from him.
Everett’s voice is lethal when he speaks, low and sharp. “You better walk away right now before I forget Bri asked me not to kill you.”
Joey sneers but steps back, muttering under his breath. Meghan tries to follow, but my voice stops her.
“You betrayed me,” I whisper, my throat raw. “You were never my friend.” My hand clenches at my side. “And I’ll never forgive you.”
She flinches like I slapped her, then spins on her heel.
Everett tucks me into his side, his arm iron around me. He murmurs against my temple, “I’m proud of you, angel. You made them hear the truth.”
My knees shake, but for the first time since that night, I don’t feel powerless.
And that feels a little like healing.
CHAPTER 93
Everett
I keepmy arm tight around Bri as we climb the stairs to her off-campus apartment. She’s steady on her feet, but I can feel the tremor in her body, the adrenaline still working through her.
She unlocks the door, and I follow her inside, scanning the place out of instinct. It’s empty. Quiet.
Bri lets out a shaky breath, glancing around. She blinks before her brows draw in confusion. “Her plants are gone.”
I raise my brows. “Plants?”
“Dad and I joked that he was going to overwater her plants. She had them everywhere. Now, there’s nothing.”
“Interesting,” I mutter, my mind already cataloging what it means when someone clears out in a hurry.
We head down the hallway, but before we reach her room, she jerks to a stop. “She’s not here.” Her voice is soft, almost disbelieving. “I thought for sure Meghan would be waiting, geared up for a confrontation, or to pretend to be my friend.”
I set the boxes down on her bed, meeting her eyes. “You exposed her, angel. She ran like a scared rabbit.”
Her lips twitch, a ghost of a smile flickering across her face. It doesn’t last, but I catch it. And I’ll hold onto it.
She grabs her suitcase from the closet, then starts pulling things from her desk drawers. I help her fold clothes into the suitcase, every move careful and deliberate.
Her cheeks flush, and I catch a glimpse of lace. Her body is rigid as she closes the drawer. “Um. Could you get me a bottle of water?”
“Course, angel.” I hear the drawer open again as I head back to the kitchen. She’s nervous about me seeing her intimates after what she’s been through. Hopefully, I can help her?—
I freeze when I see a bottle of blue liquor sitting on the counter. Beside it, a blister pack of dull green capsules.
