"He won't hurt anyone else. I won't let him, no matter what happens."
"You don't know what he's capable of," I tell him, remembering the look in Vic's eyes before he shoved Allie down the stairs. It was ruthless. He grinned at me when I screamed out, like he enjoyed it. "I can't do this right now." I hang up without letting him respond and shut off the phone.
I pace the width of the driveway for a while, trying to be rid of the trembling in my hands. I go inside and pour another drink, hoping it'll help. I shouldn't have called Joey. Except that I needed to know that Vic wasn't here.
The shadows stretch across the grass as the sun begins its descent on the other side of the lake. I make my way back up the steps to the party.
"There you are!" Ashton exclaims, throwing an arm around my shoulder when I step onto the porch. She's drunk.
"How did this happen?" I ask Brendan, who's standing beside her.
"Someone kept forgetting the lemonade already had vodka in it." Brendan slides an arm around Ashton's waist to shift her weight onto him. "We're going back to campus."
"Oh," I say, the sudden inebriation now making sense. "Do you have a ride?"
"Yeah. Another Blackwood guy." Before he guides Ashton inside, he says to me, "Don't lose your way, Lana." And then he leans over and sucks on Ashton's neck, making her giggle. "Or you could always join us."
Just when I thought he was being a human being... I groan in disgust.
I leave them and walk onto the grass. A guy is setting logs onto a fire that's just started to burn in the fire pit, and a few other people are sitting around it with guitars. More gravitate toward the scene. I find a chair and pull it closer to sit and listen.
I'm soon lost in harmonious voices singing acoustic folksy rock music, mesmerized by the flickering flames. My mind is a blur of thoughts I wish I didn't have to think about.
"Want to go for a swim?"
I turn to find Grant crouched beside me. I also realize it's dark. I have no idea when that happened.
"Sure," I say with a bright smile.
He takes my hand and pulls me up from the chair, not letting go as we walk down the steps to the beach. The air is still warm, but without the sun, the water feels cooler than it did this afternoon. I shiver when we wade in.
Grant's strides are much longer than mine and within a few steps, he's up to his waist and plunging under the water. He emerges, and his glistening, sleek body stops my progress. It actually stops everything. My breath. My heart. My thoughts. I stand there staring.
"Are you coming in?" he calls, pushing off and gliding backward, his arms swinging casually over his head in smooth, long strokes. He looks like he belongs in the water, moving within it effortlessly.
"I'm not the best swimmer," I confess, continuing to walk out until the water is covering my chest. We're the only ones in the water, and the voices and guitars from the party fade the further we go out.
"Can you float on your back? We can look up at the stars."
"I've never tried it."
"Come here," he says, offering me his hand. My feet lift off the sand when I reach for it, letting him pull me in deeper until I know I'm in over my head. "Lay back. I've got you."
I flip and lean back until I'm facing the sky. My feet poke out, but my butt keeps sinking. Grant has a hand on my lower back and another on my upper thighs. "Relax. Push up a little with your hips." I adjust. "Breathe and let go." He slowly takes his hands away, and somehow I stay afloat. "You've got it."
I can barely hear him with my ears filled with water. I close my eyes and turn everything off. My thoughts. My fears. My guilt and shame. And just drift. My lips stretch into a smile when I feel his fingertips reaching for my hand, gently pulling me closer until his fingers slide between mine. I open my eyes, but I don't look over, afraid that I'll disturb my balance and sink. The sky is sparkling. I've never seen so many stars in my life and I'm in awe of it.
I feel the water slosh against me. Grant's other hand slides along my stomach to my waist. I tip up, realizing he's standing, watching me. I rest my hands on his shoulders to stay afloat since we've drifted farther out. He grips my waist to keep me anchored to him. But there's a distance between us, like we're slow dancing in middle school.
His eyes search mine, and I try to move closer, wanting there to be no distance at all. But his arms stiffen, resisting. "I really want to kiss you right now, but I can't."
I know he sees the hurt cross my face. I've never been very good at hiding my emotions. I remove my hands and try to kick away, but he doesn't let go.
"I have this ... promise, to myself, that I won't do anything with a girl if either of us have been drinking. Even if it's only a drink. Not even a kiss."
"Oh," I breathe out. "That's why you looked disappointed earlier, when I mentioned the vodka."
"Yeah," he smiles. "I didn't want to make any assumptions about what might or might not happen between us today, so I couldn't exactly ask you not to drink, just in case. I mean, I knew what I wanted to happen, but I didn't know if you felt the same. We hadn't really spoken much before today."
"True. But yeah, I'm pretty sure I wanted the same thing you did. Damn lemonade."
He laughs, the water rippling around his chest.
"So it doesn't matter if I feel sober?"
He shakes his head. "There shouldn't be a gray line when it comes to consent. I never want to be a regret."
"Wow. You really are cursed with Integrity."
Grant chuckles lightly. "Cursed? I never really thought of it as a bad thing."
"We all are," I tell him, wrapping my hands around his forearms.
"What's yours?" I can feel the tension in his arms relax, allowing me to float a little closer.
"Honesty."
"I can see that." His smile reflects in the low light. "That's not a bad thing either."
"It's a curse for a reason," I argue weakly, not really wanting to go into the full explanation.
"Well, at least I'll always know you're telling the truth."
"Even when you don't want to know," I add as if to warn him, but it only makes him laugh.
"I'd still want to know."
This moment alone with Grant, floating in the water and revealing our truths under the stars is probably the best moment of my entire day. It would make my entire year ... if he'd kiss me. And it's at this inopportune second that my brain decides to kick in. It's dark. It's been dark for a while. "Omigod, what time is it?" Panic floods my core.
"What?"
"I'm going to be late." If I'm not already. I push away and kick toward the shoreline. "You don't know where Lance is, do you?"
"No," Grant says following after me. "Why? What time are you supposed to be back?"
"Ten-thirty."
"Oh shit," he mutters as I scoop up my clothes and rush up the steps. I can't remember where my jeweled flip-flops are, but at this point, barefoot it is.
I run across the lawn, Grant right behind me. "Do you need a ride?"
"Uh, Lily's supposed to drive us."
"She left."
"What?!" I'm full out panicking now. I stop in front of a girl I saw speaking with Lance earlier. "Do you know where Lance is?"
"He went inside with Stefan."
I continue into the house.
"I'll get you a ride," Grant hollers to me from the porch as I start calling out for Lance.
I climb the stairs to the second level of the cabin and begin opening doors. "Lance!" The third door down, I find him ... with Stefan ... on a bed. I close the door quickly. Never saw that one coming. "Shit." I hope they didn't notice. They looked a little too pre-occupied to realize I was there for that second. Thankfully, they were still clothed, well, mostly.
I rush back down the stairs and out to the front of the house, searching for my bag under the porch.
"Lana?" I hear Grant call from above.
"Yeah?" I answer, my hand touching upon the fabric.
"Uh, are you under the porch?"
 
; "Getting my bag." There's something glowing red inside of it. "Fuck." I pull out the phone and hold my breath when I answer. Mr. Garner's face fills the screen.
"Where are you?"
"On my way back. I'm so sorry. I'm with Lance, and ..."
"Lance has an overnight pass. You don't." Now that makes sense. Wish I knew that ... oh, a couple hours ago when Brendan and Ashton left.
"Sorry. I didn't know, and lost track of time."
"I can cover for you for the next half hour. When I call back, it's your official curfew check-in. Be in your room."
"Thanks, Mr. Garner." I stuff the phone in my bag. Above me, Grant is standing next to a girl in a cute blue sundress.
"This is Talia. She was about to leave and can take you back to Blackwood. I'd come with you, but she's going home."
"It's okay." I'm really hating that I'm literally running away from him right now. I look to her. "Ready?" She already has her keys out, recognizing the frantic look in my eyes.
"Let's go," she says, striding down the driveway to the Honda Accord parked a few cars down. "Trust me, I know all about missing curfews."
"Bye, Lana!" I hear Grant call after me in the distance, but I don't look back.
I duck into the passenger seat and collapse against it as she zips the car out of the spot and races down the road, like she's trying to get me back before the last chime of midnight. Which isn't far from the truth.
I hate having a curfew. And running. I really hate running.
The man's heart was filled with cunning and deceit. Savagery and death. Thaylina saw that he was not a man at all. Beneath the charming mask hid a cruel and heartless monster. And he intended to take away her power, so she could no longer see the goodness in any heart, forever cursed to only see their lies and betrayal.
"Go away," I groan, reaching blindly for my beeping phone.
I roll onto my back to hold the screen above my face, even though my eyes are still closed, and scan my thumbprint.
"Meet me in the foyer in fifteen minutes," Mr. Garner's voice comes through too loudly.
I pry open one eye. "Why are you torturing me at seven-thirty in the morning?"
"You owe me for last night. I'm collecting. Get up. Put on some sort of workout clothes, and meet me downstairs. Otherwise, I'll send Ms. Seyer up to retrieve you."
"You're not my favorite person right now," I mutter, hanging up.
I kick the sheets and comforter off and stretch out with a yawn. To make this day even worse, I have two classes, and I'm not working at the country club--which means I don't get to see Grant. I hate today.
Mr. Garner is waiting for me in a pair of baggy, navy basketball shorts and a gray t-shirt that looks like it's been washed fifty too many times.
"Um, are you forgetting something?"
I'm not in the mood for guessing. "What?"
"The rest of your outfit." His neck is flushed and he's having a hard time making eye contact.
I look down at my spandex booty shorts and sports bra. I don't have true workout clothes, because I don't work out. And it's not like I have cleavage hanging out or anything. This sports bra is practically a cropped tank top. "Stop being a prude, Mr. Garner. You demanded I be awake right now. Get over it."
"Let's go," he says with a heavy sigh.
"Where exactly are we going?" I ask when he turns right at the rose trellis--that has a red ribbon tied to it. It's almost indistinguishable among the blooms of the same color.
"We're going to tour the rec center. Figure out a way to keep you from punching people you don't like."
"But how else will they know I don't like them?"
He turns his head and gives me a menacing stare, obviously not appreciating my sarcastic honesty.
We weave through the Court until we reach the building after they guys' dorm. "You know your way around pretty well," I note, considering he's only been here a little over a day.
"After we met I explored the Court all afternoon. Spent most of it lost, but I eventually figured it out ... sort of."
The rec center's entrance is a stone archway with a small pond on one side and a waterfall on the other--oddly tranquil for a gym. But this isn't just any gym, and that's evident as soon as we enter. This building's interior is distinctly different than every other. But I guess it has to be. It houses the same wrap around staircase, but it's made of what looks like glass, instead of stone. And each floor above is lined with a similarly clear half-wall. It's ultra-modern, regardless of the stone walls.
The first thing I'm struck with is the clean, almost floral scent and the sound of trickling water. The entire stone wall next to the Court entrance is slick with water sliding along its surface and dripping into a narrow fountain.
Mr. Garner waits for me to take it all in for a minute before beckoning. "We have someone scheduled to give us a tour."
Behind the French doors that seem to be in every building, is a counter with a couple of women behind it wearing uniforms that reminds me of a hospital or clinic. On the other side of them are closed door labeled: Massage Room 1, Massage Room 2, Chiropractic, and Reiki. Everything is in soothing colors of white and turquoise.
"Good Morning," the woman with almond-shaped eyes and striking cheekbones greets us when we walk in. She has a glow about her, like she was just polished, her tan skin flawless and her smile luminescent. "You must be Lana and Mr. Garner."
"Yes," Mr. Garner replies. "Good morning."
"Your tour guide will be right out to show you around. If you'd like to wait in the recovery room, you're welcome to. It's across the hall."
"Thank you," Mr. Garner replies. We exit and cross the hall where we find a room filled with couches and ethereal music that might put me back to sleep if we stay in here too long. Containers of water with fresh fruit and berries floating in them are displayed on a table across from us.
Mr. Garner must read my confused expression, which is the most obvious of the influx of emotions rushing through my head as I try to make sense of this. It's so completely different than anything I've experienced on campus. Too different. "You have to remember that most of these students are very pampered in their regular lives. Their parents expect some semblance of that to follow them at school."
"Right, because what else would they be paying for?" I reply with a broken laugh.
A minute later, a man walks in wearing a fitted sleeveless sports shirt and just as fitted shorts. He resembles stacks of square blocks made up of body parts with his arms jutting out from his shoulders. It doesn't help that he has a flat-top and square jawline.
"Hi. I'm Mack."
"Seriously?" I laugh. I can't help myself. He couldn't be any more of a muscle-head stereotype if he tried, name included.
"Excuse me?"
"Ignore her," Mr. Garner says, stepping forward and offering his hand.
Mack proceeds to give us a tour, starting downstairs where the pool, locker rooms, and sauna are located. We wind our way up the stairs, level after level. We're shown the basketball and racquetball courts, the group fitness and spin rooms, the weight and cardio centers, until we reach the top floor where a track is suspended above all of it. The inside of the track is lined with a wall of glass, allowing us to look down upon the open stairwell and the cardio and weight areas below.
From here, I spot a separate boxing center partitioned off from the weight room that he didn't bother showing us when we were down there. I can only imagine he thought it would be wasted on us since Mr. Garner is lean, although athletic. But he looks more like a marathoner than a fighter. And, I'm a girl. I guess karma decided to throw my stereotyping back in my face.
Mr. Garner notices the boxing area too. "Do you offer lessons?"
"You're interested in boxing?" Mack asks, not hiding the surprise in his voice.
"No, I am." I stare at him, daring him to make a comment about my size. Or my gender.
But all he says is, "Cool."
"You can sign up for lessons or class slots on t
he tablet outside each room," he explains, leading us back to the lobby. "Do you want to start today? I don't have anything booked this morning with the campus being fairly empty right now."
"Sure," I reply, while Mr. Garner says, "I think I'll stick with the treadmill."
Mack doesn't let me pound the shit out of the heavy bag. He forces me to work, which only makes me want to pound the shit out of him. He has me do a million crunches, toss a medicine ball, jump rope, and do these crazy footwork drills. He said we'd get into hitting next time. That's if I survive this time.
"I hate that I don't hate you," I tell Mr. Garner when we leave, my body dripping with sweat.
"Still need to work on your positive emotive expressions," Mr. Garner teases. "But at least you're too tired to punch someone, which is kinda the point."
"I'm done listening," I say, walking away. My legs feel like they're made of rubber. Just the thought of crossing the Court to read the note waiting in the tree makes me want to fall over. But I make myself go, only to find an antagonizing message addressed just to me from Brendan.
[?] Get in trouble?
How did he know? How does he know anything?
I rip up the note and leave it in the box, removing the ribbon from the swing and sticking it in there as well so Lance and Ashton don't think they have a note waiting for them too.
After I shower, I go to Ashton's room to see how she's feeling.
When she answers the door, it's obvious she feels terrible, with her hair a sad mess on top of her head and the long t-shirt hanging limply off her shoulder. Her liner is smeared around her eyes and she looks pale, despite spending the day in the sun.
"Are you alive?" I ask cautiously, following her into the room where she crawls under a blanket on her couch.
"No," she mutters. "I can't believe I drank like that."
"I didn't realize you were until you couldn't stand on your own anymore."
"What happened to you? How'd you get back? I told Brendan that you needed a ride, but he said something crude about riding Grant." She pokes her head out so just her eyes are showing. "What happened with Grant?"
I scrunch my nose. "Nothing. He wouldn't even kiss me."
"Why the hell not? I would have." This makes her laugh. "I mean I was probably drunk enough that I would have, to be honest." I laugh with her.
"He won't do anything with a girl if either of them have been drinking."
"Holy fuck. Forget about Prince Philip, he's a fricken saint!"