Page 13 of Rogue’s Promise

“I hate you.”

A soft chuckle escapes me before I can stop it.

“I know.” Her pulse jumps as I stand in close, a defiant tilt to her chin. Oh yes, Meg hates me alright, and in a world of public image and fakery, it’s one of the realest things I can cling to. Shifting closer but still not touching her, my gaze drops before I can stop it and catches on her lips. The past between us opens up far too easily. A drunken mistake on her part, a thinly veiled truce we forged. I think about that night often, as I am right now. A small smile curves up my lips.

“Hell no,” Meg curses, shoving my chest. “We’re not doing this.” I let her move me, stepping away with my hands lifted in surrender and laughing under my breath.

“What is this, exactly?” I tilt my head, letting my grin grow even further. Meg’s jaw clenches, and I revel in her sass, her irritation, her attention. Sliding my hands into my jacket pockets, I force myself to be casual. “I don’t need to come near you, Faker. I already know how soft those lips are.” Her breath catches, and mine almost does too. She’s beautiful when she’s flustered, going head-to-head with me as if we’re not hanging around in the Dean’s hallway.

“You promised,” Meg grinds out. She’s right, I did. I promised we wouldn’t speak about that night ever again, but I’m having far too much fun right now. More fun than I expected after yesterday, more fun than I thought Meg and I would ever have again. I live for the verbal sparring, but there is an undertone of duty we’re skating around. There’s still the matter of my father to appease, the funding we do have to secure on behalf of the academy, and the fucking noose still pulled tight around my neck.

In hindsight, my rash decision and the Dean’s excuse for our co-captainship have played perfectly into my hand. My father demanded damage control, and I’m about to splash a new headline across every newspaper. Losing my smile, I lower my voice and ignore how cute Meg looks when her nostrils flare.

“I don’t think you understand that whatever my parents want, they get. If they want us to stand on a plinth and wave the Vultures flag together, then that’s what we will do. Whether I need to blackmail you to get there is irrelevant. This is happening.”

“You think threatening me is going to make me play nice?” she grunts, and I exhale a laugh.

“No. I know threatening you will make you dig your heels in, but I also know you hate being underestimated. You hate losing. And you hate the idea of the Vultures winning without you. Isn’t that what yesterday’s display was about?” There’s no answer, and that’s response enough. I’ve hit a nerve, so much so that Meg pushes away from the wall and starts walking. For whatever reason, her point-blank dismissal of me causes my heart to slam against my ribs. I follow, as if my body gave me any other choice, trying to keep my cool whilst adjusting my collar. “Fine. I won’t bring that up again, but we are going to be co-captains, and I fully intend to win this season. That means showing up and working together.”

Before she’s able to round the corner near the reception, I reach for her wrist, tugging her back a single step. Twenty more paces and we’ll be visible. Twenty more paces and I have to become the right version of myself again.

“And keep our hands to ourselves,” I add, knowing that will get her attention. Finally, Meg stops, smirking like she’s got one up on me. I let her have it, just as I let her make a show of ripping her wrist from my hold.

“I can’t believe this is happening right now,” she shakes her head. “Who did I piss off in a previous life to keep finding myself in hellish situations?” My lips part before I can stop them. I know what she’s comparing this to, whether she meant to say it that way or not. A hellish situation. Being trapped with me is somehow comparable to her abduction, my taunting has become part of her suffering, not her recovery.

It’s in that exact moment that the game stalls, and whatever tiny thread of fun I was having dies. Our rivalry was always about pushing each other, striving to be the best, and then proving we can beat the best. Yet somehow, she’s put me in the same category as an abusive felon, and that doesn’t sit right with me at all.

“We need to lead by example,” I state evenly, deciding to focus on the situation at hand. Another that I’ve orchestrated and now have to convince Meg is for the best. Why I keep doing this, I have no idea, but I can’t seem to stop. I need to control all of the variables around me, even if I just end up fucking it all up anyway. “We’re both equally skilled, and despite our history, we have no choice.”

“No. You don’t have a choice,” Meg spits back, stepping into my space this time. “Which suits me just fine because as soon as you humiliate me, I get to walk. If you try to trick me, embarrass me, or call me Faker one more time, I’m out, and you’ll have to tell your parents that you failed. The athletic department will lose its funding, and you’re going to be stuck in an office for the rest of your life. Am I making myself clear?”

Breathing her in, my eyes roam her face. She’s close now, close enough for me to see the pulse flickering at the base of her throat, the stubborn set of her mouth, the exhaustion she’s trying to bury beneath her pride. For one reckless second, I feel something akin to genuine happiness bloom inside. I get to be this close to her, to see her flushed cheeks and bright eyes at practice every single day. Then I remember, my decision has cost me Cody, and the happy feeling dies.

“This situation isn’t only beneficial for me.” My eyes narrow. “This is your chance to rewrite the narrative that’s been building since you came back. You want people to take you seriously again? Stop running. Step up and prove them wrong.”

Meg’s mouth parts, but no words come out. Slowly, she takes a step back, straightens her hand, and lifts it between us. I almost laugh. A handshake? After all that’s happened between us, the gesture seems futile, but I clasp her warm palm anyway. I don’t shake, I simply hold it and wink.

“I knew you still had that fire in you, Megan. Let’s see if you can aim it somewhere useful this time.” Meg pulls her hand back as if she’s been burned, and promptly curls it into a fist. That’s fine, our deal has been made, and the line in the sand has been drawn. Leaving her standing on the corner, I walk away first, leaving her with her chest heaving and fury burning in her eyes. Exactly the way I want her. Stepping outside, I take a single moment to inhale the morning air, and then pull out my phone to shoot Cody a message he absolutely won’t want to receive.

Meet me at my place later. I need to talk to you about something.

Chapter Seven

Day one of Hollowbrook classes. Day one of pretending to be a normal, functional student who didn’t spend all of yesterday evening obsessively drawing and painting the girl from next door. Day one of moving on with my life without Everest, and guess where I am? Sneaking up to his frat house because he summoned me, and because my curiosity outweighed my stubbornness.

Bypassing the main entrance, I slip around the edge of the building, ignoring the music thudding through the walls, the laughter spilling through open windows, and bodies moving within lit rooms with the obnoxious entitlement of people who believe being in Everest’s vicinity makes them important. News flash, it doesn’t. Not even screwing the Golden Boy makes you important, it would seem.

Ducking behind the trash cans, I step over a low wall and let myself in through a side entrance that Everest often leaves unlocked. The utility room inside is dim and smells like expensive cologne, cheap beer, sweat, and citrus cleaner. I keep my hood up, head down, and keep to the shadows as I move through the house. As much as I despise the athletes and drunk girls in heels that loiter here, at least they’re oblivious to the movements happening around them. Halfway up the staircase, I catch the slamming of a door from above, and my pulse kicks against my throat. Dammit.

Backtracking, I slip into the cloakroom, pulling the door mostly shut. A slice of light cuts through the narrow space, giving me a glimpse of the entrance hall and front door. I barely have to wait a minute before a figure appears, storming her way through the house and flinging the front door wide open. Meg.

My hand tightens in my hoodie, as if I can hold myself in place. My sneakers shift with the desire to storm after her and demand to know what she was doing here, but I stay rooted in place. It seems I’m not the only one answering Everest’s summons these days. Leaving the door wide open, she leaves with her hair whipping behind her with every step and disappears into the night.

I remain in my hiding spot for a few minutes, both waiting for any fallout from Meg’s departure and needing to rein myself back in. She is everywhere now. Frozen in my sketchpads, held in his bruises, passed around campus in whispered gossip, sleeping in my apartment block, visiting Everest’s house. Something akin to rage and shame floods my chest. There’s no escaping her, not in reality or in my mind.

It’s embarrassing how many times I drew her. Sketch after sketch, canvas after canvas. In each version, Meg became more contorted, more fractured, whether she was formed from bone or smoke, whether her body was curled around a phone or dripping with water. It became a fascination of sorts, a test of how many ways I could distort her into a piece of art that didn’t care for the trauma she’s trying to hide. It was displayed out in the open for anyone to see, if those canvases weren’t now shoved behind my door where no one can see them. They’re my secret now, my twisted obsession that not even Everest can find out about. I suppose now we’ve got that in common.

Drawing myself up tall, I brush down my hoodie and slip out while the coast is clear. By the time I reach the study door, my jaw aches from clenching it. I don’t knock, as that would imply I’m a guest, and there was a time when Everest’s personal space belonged to me before it belonged to anyone else. Pushing the door open and stepping inside, I’m already armed with a dozen things to say, but I come up short with all of them.