Page 54 of Cruel Academy (Princes of Ravenlake Academy 2)

I don’t want their scorn. I don’t want their pity.

I just want to be left the fuck alone.

“Is everything okay?” J.C.’s usual high-spirited smile is tempered, concerned.

“Fine,” I grumble, standing up and dusting off my jeans. “But if I’m paying for you both to have a good time when I won’t partake, I’m going to secure a good time of my own.”

They look at each other, trying to understand what I’m saying, but I barely understand it, either.

“What is that supposed to mean?” Noah asks.

I dismiss his question with a wave. “I don’t have my wallet, so I’ll get the money to you when I get it to you.”

J.C. starts to argue and Noah starts to ask where I’m going, but before either of them can say much of anything, I jog up the small hill behind the dock and jump into my truck. I don’t want to talk to them right now.

The paranoia from the marijuana and the nervous energy that always hums under my skin when I go too long without a fight are mixing into a dangerous cocktail.

When I pull out my phone, I see another missed call and voice mail from my dad, but I dismiss them both with a flick of my finger, scroll through my contacts, and type out a quick message.

Finn’s in fifteen. Don’t be late.

My phone buzzes in the cupholder a few minutes later, and I check it when I stop at a red light.

Meet you there.

20

Caleb

If Haley wonders why I called her to a spontaneous training session after telling her the night before it was canceled, she doesn’t say anything.

She is standing on Finn’s porch when I arrive, her mass of dark curly hair pulled into a knot on top of her head. She is wearing a distressed pair of jean shorts, a thin cotton tank top, and a pair of sandals.

I shake my head at ever thinking the sight of her in leggings was merely painful.

This is pure torture.

“Not exactly fighting clothes,” I say with a quick nod in her direction, my eyes trained on the house keys in my hand.

“Any clothes can be fighting clothes,” she says, shrugging her shoulders. “I don’t think an attacker will give me a chance to change into a sports bra and tennis shoes. Might as well learn how to fight in anything, right?”

I don’t argue or agree.

Finn’s house is dark and cool. The walls are thick, keeping out the damp Texas heat. Even without the air conditioner running, it stays chilly inside. Stepping through the door often feels like entering another world entirely.

It isn’t, though, I remind myself. Here, now, with Haley in Finn’s house, this is the same world it was half an hour ago. The same world where I need to fight to survive, where my dad is a piece of shit, where the house of cards I’m hiding under could come crumbling down at any moment.

Soft lips and hands and silky tangled hair won’t change any of that.

So, why did I summon her here?

I spent most of the drive to Finn’s telling myself lies, coming up with excuses for why I had texted her.

I wanted a fight. Simple as that.

But Haley isn’t a fight. I’ll train her, doing my best to keep my hands to myself, and then go home more frustrated than when I arrived.

That has been the pattern of our encounters up to this point—barring the slip of control I had last week.

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