Page 18 of Rogue’s Promise

“Good try painting yourself as the good guy. You didn’t step in because you were waiting for me to fail. Maybe you could tell daddy dearest that you tried, but I just couldn’t hack it.”

As if summoned by the mere mention of him, my father’s shadow falls over me. That’s right, she thinks he’s the reason that I forced this arrangement. I suppose for once, it was easier to hide behind his reputation rather than run from it.

Looking away, my gaze drifts over the turf, the lines, the goal, the places where ego and fear tangle themselves into yet another lie I have to uphold. What would she say if I were to come clean and tell her I simply wanted a reason to have her here with me? But then I’d have to admit to Cody that I’ve knowingly shattered our relationship into pieces with a crosse. So instead, I just keep up this pretense.

“My father won’t be pleased either way, but if this doesn’t work out,” I gesture toward the field stretching before us and let the sentence die there. I don’t have any true threat to give, and pleading with her will only backfire. She loathes me enough to withhold whatever I want, even if it’s herself.

Leaning back on the bleachers and letting the metal press through my shirt, my gaze stays fixed ahead as I try to find the right answer. The one she’s waiting for.

“Fine. Next time, I’ll back you up.”

“But don’t condescend,” she rushes to add. This time, I huff a laugh. I hope no one is keeping score, because Meg is absolutely winning against my resolve so far. Peeking out the corner of my eye, I note she’s grinning too. It’s wiped clean as soon as she catches me looking, but it’s enough for a sliver of warmth to worm its way through my chest.

Standing to her full height, a strange pause settles between us. Meg looks as though she might say something, or perhaps expects me to. I don’t trust what would come out of my mouth, so I keep my lips pressed together. Meg takes my silence as a dismissal, and I track every step she puts between us. The set of her shoulders is just as tense as when she arrived, remaining guarded as she dips low to scoop up her gym bag from the side of the pitch.

Avoiding the locker rooms altogether, Meg ducks out of a side exit that will take her straight to the accommodation blocks. It shouldn’t feel like a victory that I’ve resisted looking up her room number, and I’d be lying if I said it was out of chivalry. I haven’t checked where Meg is staying simply so I won’t be tempted to loiter nearby in the hopes of bumping into her unexpectedly.

Staying seated for a whole two minutes, I let the silence wrap around me until Cody’s voice sounds in my head. Let me know when you’ve made your choice. His face slams back into the forefront of my mind, the hurt and misery clouding his gray eyes. He’s judging me, and he’s not even here.

My feet are moving before I know it, grabbing my discarded hoodie from the railing as I go. Dragging it on, I smooth down my hair and keep my strides small, waiting until Meg is fully out of sight before taking a back alley toward Cody’s residence. It’s not a shortcut by any means, but I can’t be seen approaching in broad daylight.

Hawthorne House is where the flight risks are placed, closely watched over by the staff quarters next door and exactly where my father placed Cody. Out of the way and inconveniently on the opposite side of campus from my house. As I near, I stall, wondering what I’m even going to say to him.

He’s my lifeline. My lover behind locked doors with bruised knuckles. I could find him in any darkness merely by touch, the outline of his body burned into my fingertips, the hitch of his breath seared into my eardrums. Although loving Cody has never been easy, it’s been truthful. Sometimes ugly and often twisted by our family’s stereotypes, but always truthful.

Meg should be the complication. Instead, she’s my liberation. Everything I wish I could be. Loud, furious, resilient, free. That’s how I saw her prior to the kidnapping. Yet even now, she’s still all of those things, even if they’re hidden behind the haunted look in her eyes. I hate that she’s been hurt. I hate that I couldn’t save her. And I hate that I can’t deny myself the chance to fix her.

I’m the worst kind of selfish. That’s the thought burning through me as I finally find the balls to enter the weathered brick and narrow windows of Hawthorne House. Not that Cody might want to see me or that I have any answers for him after how things were left in my study yesterday, but that I’m selfish. I want to see him. I want to drag him close, have his hands back on my waist and his lips back slanted across him.

Taking the stairs two at a time, I reach the top floor, my strides powered by stubborn pride as I pass the occupied bathroom and approach the second door to the end. Cody’s door. Lifting my hand to knock, I stall only to exhale, and then push my fist forward. However, my knuckles don’t get the chance to grace the wood.

The door flies open, and to my immense surprise, a five-foot-six brunette stumbles out as if she’s seen a ghost and collides with my chest. My hands close around her arms to stop her from stumbling back, her gasp filtering through the otherwise silent corridor. Everything inside me stills, my brain failing to understand the sight before me. Meg leaving Cody’s room. My first thought of, ‘Is she fucking him?’ is swarmed with jealousy until my mind slips into another zone entirely. Intrigue. But then her panicked gaze shoots upwards and whatever fantasy I momentarily had shatters into a million pieces.

“What the hell—” I start, my eyes flicking towards the room, but her hand flies up and clamps over my mouth.

“Shh,” she hisses. My entire body locks, torn between the warmth of her hand against my lips and the sharp click of a lock down the hallway. Meg’s eyes fly to the bathroom door, and the remaining color drains from her face. “Don’t resist.”

That’s the only demand I get before she releases my mouth to seize the front of my hoodie and haul me a few steps down the hall. I let her, though every muscle in my body protests the absurdity of whatever is happening.

Wrenching another door open, Meg shoves me inside with surprising force, then shuts it with barely a sound before flicking the lock. Then, everything stills. My own pulse is now hammering beneath my skin, but for a whole different reason from hers. Meg is listening intently to the soft footsteps padding along the hallway, whereas I am coming to the sudden realization of what has just happened.

This isn’t a cleaning cupboard or fire exit. This is a bedroom that smells exactly like her. Aided by a quick sweep over Meg’s head, I note the half-open gym bag discarded on the floor, the journals and marker pens strewn across the desk beside a computer set-up, and the nest of blankets and pillows on the bed. This is her room. Meg was in Cody’s room, now I’m in hers, and as punk rock music starts pounding through the adjoining wall, I already know I’m going to be in such deep shit for this.

“What…the fuck…was that?” I breathe, struggling to keep my tone controlled. Meg is still pressed against the door, her breathing fast enough to make her chest rise and fall in quick succession beneath her workout gear. Her eyes flicker between the wall, the door, and me, words failing until she swallows shallowly.

“I don’t…I didn’t…” she trails off. Whatever she saw in Cody’s room, it freaked her out, big time. Her nails bite into her palms as she drags air into her lungs, then as if watching her reboot, steel-like stubbornness forces its way back into her expression. “You saw nothing.”

“I’m fairly certain I’ve seen something.” My jaw tightens as I step closer, not backing down now. “If this is your room, why were you next door?” Meg’s mouth parts, then snaps shut again. Something flickers through her eyes as she fights to stand tall. The trembling in her hands suggests she wants to dive beneath the covers and never reappear.

“It doesn’t matter. Forget what you saw,” she grits through her teeth, irritation rushing in to cover the panic. “What the hell are you even doing here?” My eyes betray me before I can stop them, flicking toward the wall, the music, Cody.

Meg catches the shift in me, raising a brow as the power balance takes a turn. Instead of me interrogating her, she pushes away from the door and into my space, her chin tilting until I can see the pulse fluttering in her throat. She looks as if she’s going to punch me again, simply for the inconvenience of catching her snooping, but then her gaze drops to my mouth.

I inhale sharply. The door handle is in reaching distance. I could go right now. I could slip into Cody’s room before I have anything else to apologize for, but Meg makes that decision for me.

Fisting my hoodie, she slams my mouth against hers. Panic and rage taint my lips, as if she’s trying to prove something to herself and using me as the nearest available weapon. I freeze for half a breath, shocked by the heat of her tongue licking at the seam of my lips, the desperation in her grip, the vicious relief that tears through me before I can stop it. Then my hands find her waist, and a low sound vibrates up my throat. I’m done pretending this isn’t exactly what I’ve wanted.

Spinning us, I pin her against the wall that separates this room from Cody’s. The bass pounds through the plaster and into my bones, a brutal reminder of the boy on the other side, the choice I haven’t made, and the love I’m betraying by being here.