Night Star

  But she can make all the faces and lob all the rebuttals she wants, the fact is, my work is done. I’ve gotten to her. Reminded her of her one big goal—to take Stacia’s place—and pointed out how from everything she’s just said, it was a total fail.

  Figuring I may as well drive it all the way home when I add, “Because the thing is—” I raise and lower my shoulders casually, as though I have all the time in the world to explain it to her. “The thing about Haven—or at least this new and improved version of Haven—is that she’s really not so different from your old friend Stacia. No real difference at all. Except for one major thing—”

  Honor inspects her nails, doing her best to appear bored, uninterested, but it’s no use. Her aura is blazing big and bright—her energy streaming toward me as though begging the words to come quicker. Like a mood meter she’s not even aware of and couldn’t possibly hide if she was.

  “Haven is far more dangerous than Stacia could ever be.” My gaze locks on hers, watching as she sighs and rolls her eyes.

  Addressing me with a major dose of pity when she says, “Please. That may be true for you, but it’s hardly true for me.”

  “Yeah? And what makes you so sure?” I cock my head to the side as though I truly need to hear it from her, as though I couldn’t just look straight into her mind.

  “Because we’re friends.” She shrugs. “We share a common interest—a common…enemy.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m sure you remember that it wasn’t all that long ago when Haven and I were friends too.” I glance back toward the window, watching as Haven continues to drink and talk, talk and drink, with no signs of slowing, no signs of ceasing. “And now she’s determined to kill me.” I turn to face Honor, my voice so quiet it was almost as though I just spoke to myself But she heard it. The way she sniffs and fidgets and tries so hard to act like I didn’t just say what I said, assures me of that.

  Her posture stiffening, her resolve hardening, as she heads for the door and says, “Listen, Ever, despite what you may think, the only enemy I share with Haven is Stacia. I really don’t want to have a problem with you. Whatever goes on between you and her—stays between you and her. Which means I won’t tell her I found you out here spying—okay? That can be our secret.”

  I pluck a stray leaf from the front of my dress, not believing a word she just said. Knowing all too well she’ll be unable to resist it, that she’ll divulge the whole thing the second she walks through that door.

  But maybe that’s not such a bad thing. Maybe it’s time for Haven to get the long overdue message that her fun is now over—that, as of tomorrow, I’ll be back in full swing. She cannot continue to terrorize people—even when those people are Stacia. Or at least not while I’m still around.

  “You know what they say about secrets, right?” My eyes fix on hers.

  She shrugs, tries to act casual, uninterested, but it’s no use. Her face is marred by fear and confusion.

  “That two can keep a secret if one of them is dead.”

  She shakes her head, tries to shake off my words, but she’s troubled, that much is clear.

  Reaching for the door and looking over her shoulder when I say, “So, if you do decide to tell her I was here, you can also tell her I look forward to catching up with her tomorrow at school.”

  nineteen

  If I were to make an assumption based solely on the look and feel of the parking lot, well, I’d probably assume that all is as fine and well and normal as it ever will be.

  I’d also assume that this morning’s early training session/workout—the one that left all of my muscles quivering—was a total waste of time and that I should’ve just slept in instead.

  But from everything Miles has told me, I need to venture a little farther than the overcrowded lot that looks more like a luxury car dealership than an area reserved for student parking.

  I need to go past the wrought-iron gates and into the heart of the school, where, according to him anyway, the real story lives.

  And even then, he says it’s probably only truly shocking to those in the know, since all of the teachers and administrators remain pretty much oblivious to the new social order.

  “And, Ever,” he says, turning to me as I head for my intended space, the best in the bunch, the one Damen used to save for me that now, for some strange reason, has been taken over by Haven. “That’s not all. There’s a little more to it, something else you should know.”

  “Sing it.” I smile, pulse racing as I focus on Roman’s shiny red Aston Martin that Haven now drives.

  “Not everything is quite what it may seem at first glance.” He studies me, carefully, cautiously, making sure that I’m listening before he goes on to say, “So…just try to keep that in mind, okay? Don’t rush to judgment. Don’t make any snap assumptions should you…or, I guess I should say, when you…come across something like that. Okay?”

  I squint, pushing my hair off my face, saying, “Spill it, Miles. Seriously, whatever it is you’re dancing around, just say it, simple and clean. Because, honestly, I have no idea what you’re getting at.” Narrowing my gaze and reading into his energy, his tremulous, wavering aura, a sure sign that something’s up, but still maintaining my vow to respect his privacy by stopping right there, not even considering trespassing on his innermost thoughts.

  But it’s not like he knows that. All he can see is my deep, piercing stare, and it sends him straight into a panic.

  “Hey, stop that!” he shouts. “You promised you wouldn’t do that without my permission. Remember?”

  “Relax.” I dismiss the thought with a wave of my hand. “I wasn’t reading your mind. Not even close. I mean, sheesh! What does it take to get a little trust around here?”

  Mostly mumbling that last part to myself, but for some reason, it prompts him to say, “Trust goes both ways, Ever, just remember that, okay? That’s pretty much what I was getting at earlier.”

  I shrug, moving past Miles’s intentionally coy and cryptic warning and on to my real mission. Closing my eyes just long enough to do what it takes to prove to a certain someone just who’s the real boss around here. Seeing the red Aston Martin banished to a faraway corner, as I punch the gas and quickly claim the newly vacated space.

  Prompting Miles to gasp, turning to me when he says, “Wow. I think I forgot how much I like carpooling with you.” He shakes his head and laughs. “In fact, I actually really missed it. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m eager for the car to get out of the shop so I can get my freedom back and all that, but still, there’s nothing like the way you manipulate the traffic light patterns to go green when you need them to and red when you don’t, the way you convince all the other drivers to get out of your way and merge into another lane so you can take their place, and how you just take whatever parking space you set your sights on, whether it’s occupied or not. Like now, for instance.” He shakes his head and sighs. “I gotta tell ya, Ever, that sort of thing never really happens when I’m out on my own.”

  But even though he meant it as a joke, something about it really shakes me. Everything he just mentioned, all of those tricky maneuvers, were taught to me by the stealth-driving master himself—Damen. And I can’t help but wonder where he stands in all this.

  “Miles—” I pause, my voice sounding much smaller than I intended. Dropping my hands from the wheel and clasping them in my lap as I say, “Exactly where is Damen these days?” I turn, noting the concern that quickly clouds his gaze. “I mean, why is he allowing Haven to do this—to park here and whatever else she’s up to? Why isn’t he fighting back in some way?”

  Miles looks away, taking a moment to compose himself, his words, before he faces me again. His hand on my arm, squeezing gently when he says, “Trust me, he is fighting back. In his own concerned-citizen, good karma kind of way. That’s sort of what I meant when I said you shouldn’t jump to conclusions. Not everything is as black and white as it first seems…”

  I stare at him, waiting for more, but
he just clamps his lips shut and runs an imaginary zipper across them. And I can’t believe he’s going to leave it like that, leave me hanging like that.

  “That’s it?” I look at him and shake my head. “That’s how you’re gonna leave it? All vague and noncommittal, and up to me to figure out on my own, without a heads-up?”

  “That was your heads-up,” he says, clearly committed to leaving it there.

  I sigh and close my eyes, but I don’t get upset, don’t read his mind, don’t press any further. He’s got my best interests at heart, convinced he’s trying to spare me from something. So I decide to let it go. Aware of something he’s not—that whatever it is, I can face it.

  Nothing can break me anymore.

  He flips down the mirrored visor and squints at his reflection, combing his fingers through his longish, glossy, brown hair—the cool new look I’m still getting used to—and checking his teeth, his nostrils, his profile (both sides), before deeming himself ready for the public and slapping the visor back up again.

  “Are we ready?” I reach for my bag as I open my door, his nod prompting me to add, “But just so we’re clear, whose side are you on?”

  He tosses his backpack onto his shoulder and shoots me a look. The glint in his gaze a perfect match for his smile when he says, “Mine. I’m on my side.”

  Well, he certainly wasn’t kidding. Nor was he exaggerating. On the one hand, everything is totally and completely different—a radical shift has clearly taken place. While on the other, to the less observant among us (aka the teachers and administrators), everything appears exactly the same.

  The “senior tables” are still populated by seniors—only now it’s the ones who were never allowed to even walk past, much less sit there before.

  And instead of a bitchy, blond fashionista holding court—a bitchy, brunette fascist has taken her place.

  A bitchy, brunette fascist whose gaze targets me the second Miles and I step past the gate.

  Glancing away from her adoring group of fans just long enough to narrow her eyes and clench her jaw as she quickly takes us in. The look lasting for only a second before she’s turned back to them, but it’s still enough to give Miles pause.

  “Great,” he mumbles, shaking his head. “It looks like I’ve just unofficially chosen sides.” He winces. “Or at least that’s what she clearly thinks.”

  “No worries,” I whisper, gaze scanning the area, searching for Damen even though I try to pretend I’m merely refamiliarizing myself with the school grounds. “I promise I won’t—”

  I see him.

  Damen.

  “—I promise I won’t let her—”

  I swallow hard and drink him right in.

  Lounging on a bench, long legs splayed out before him, resting back on his hands as he tilts his gorgeous face toward the sun…

  “—I promise I won’t let her hurt—”

  I struggle to finish, but it’s no use. I know the instant I see it that this is what Miles was so covertly trying to warn me about.

  Not wanting to state it bluntly, correctly assuming I’d freak—pretty much just like I am—but not wanting me to just stumble upon it either and feel sucker-punched in the very worst way.

  Miles did what he could—I’ll give him that. He did his best to spare me this brand of pain. But still, no matter how much he tried to prepare me, there’s just no denying a sight like this.

  When I said that nothing could break me, I was wrong.

  Dead wrong.

  But then again, I never really imagined I’d find him like this.

  He talks to her softly, his face gentle and kind, distracting her from the cruel comments and looks that come from just about everyone who passes by. But as long as Damen’s there, that’s as bad as it’ll get. No one will dare venture anywhere near. His presence alone is what keeps them away. Keeps her safe.

  As long as he’s with her, she’s spared from their wrath.

  But it’s not like understanding why he does it makes it any easier to watch. And every second I stand there—a part of me withers.

  A part of me dies.

  Miles grabs hold of my elbow, determined to steer me away, but it’s no use. I’m stronger than him and I refuse to be swayed.

  Knowing it’s just a matter of moments until he’ll sense my presence, my energy. And even though my insides are churning, my heart breaking, my hands shaking, even though I’m terrified of what I might find in his gaze once he does locate me—I still need it to happen.

  Need to know what it means.

  Need to know if she now occupies the space I once filled in his life.

  When he sees me, when his eyes go wide and his lips part in a way that completely transforms him—my breath stalls in my throat.

  The moment feeling like forever, like it’s somehow suspended in time. Though it’s not long before she sees it too, following his gaze all the way to me before quickly looking away. Her former surplus of confidence now diminished for good.

  “Ever—please,” Miles urges, his voice at my ear. “Remember what I told you. Nothing is what it seems. Everything’s been turned upside down. The former D list is now the A list—and the old A list, well, they’ve pretty much disbanded, most of them are in hiding, some have even left. Nothing is the same anymore.”

  But even though I hear it, the words flow right through me.

  I don’t care about any of that. I only care about Damen and the way his gaze circles mine.

  And though I wait for it—a tulip, either real or imagined, or some other kind of sign—nothing comes.

  Nothing but the infinite silence that stretches between us.

  So I lean into Miles and allow him to lead me away.

  Lead me right past the sight of them.

  Right through my pain.

  twenty

  He calls out my name, his voice coming from behind me. Right behind me. Causing me to turn, instinctively, automatically, moving toward him without thinking.

  “You’re back.” He looks at me, the words a statement, his gaze a question.

  I nod. And then I shrug. And then I struggle to cease all outright modes of fidgeting as I try to decide where to take it from here.

  But clearly he’s far more up to the task than I am, because barely a moment passes before he says, “It’s good to see you.”

  “Is it?” I narrow my gaze, instantly regretting the tone, the words. Seeing the way he flinches, the way his eyes pull down at the sides, but now that I’ve said it, there’s no taking it back.

  “I’ve missed you.” He gestures toward me, his hand lifting, reaching, but only briefly before it falls back to his side. “I’ve missed the sight of you, the scent of you. I’ve missed every single thing about you.” He allows his gaze to move over me slowly, circling, like the warmest of hugs. “And even if you decide to never talk to me again, it won’t change a thing. Nothing can ever change how I feel about you.”

  My insides turn to jelly—a quivering mass of indecision. Torn between bolting—getting myself as far from him as I possibly can—and running straight into the shelter of his warm and wonderful arms. Wondering how I can possibly feel so totally empowered to deal with Haven and all of her crap, to do whatever it takes to get a handle on her—but this, this thing with Damen, seeing him with her, and now standing before me like he is—well, it instantly unearths every last trace of my old insecurities and self-doubt.

  Leaving me to wonder why it’s always so much easier to train the body than the heart.

  I mean, out of all the girls in this school, why her? Why Stacia? Surely there’s someone else he could play the white knight for…

  But just after thinking it, the reason becomes clear. And I watch as she ducks out of class, makes her way down the hall, head lowered, shoulders slumped, gaze fixed on a distant point just in front of her, not daring to risk any accidental eye contact with her tormentors, as she cowers against their onslaught of hate—the slew of harsh words, cruel looks, and the occasi
onal water bottle aimed at her head.

  And even though my mind hates the fact that he’s the only one who can protect her, my heart knows I have nothing to worry about, nothing to fear.

  “As it just so happens, she needs protecting more than anyone else,” Damen says, nodding toward the scene I just witnessed. “A lot’s changed since you were last here. The whole school’s turned against her. And even though you may think she deserves it, trust me, no one deserves that, no one deserves what Haven’s put her through.”

  I nod, knowing it’s true, wanting him to know that I know it’s true, but unable to actually voice the words. It hurts too much to speak.

  “But, Ever.” He pauses, gaze holding mine. “I’m merely looking after her here at school, nothing more. It’s not at all what you think, or what you might fear. It’s always been you. I thought you knew that.”

  “I do know that,” I say, finally finding my voice again. “But does she?” I cringe at the statement, hating the sound of it, the weak, disgusting, totally embarrassing sound of it. Still, it’s not like I can’t see the way she gazes at him. Same way she always gazes at him. Same way most girls gaze at him. The only difference is, with Stacia, there’s history.

  “She does.” His face is grave, his eyes never once straying from mine as his hands hang open, loose by his sides. “Trust me, I’ve told her. She knows.”

  I swallow hard and study those hands, remembering all of the wonderful things that they’re capable of and longing to feel them again. Knowing from the way they tremble ever so slightly that it’s taking every last ounce of his strength to stay right where he is, rooted in place. That all I have to do to bridge the terrible chasm gaping between us is take one step toward him—one step away from the past, Stacia, and everything else.

  If only it were that easy.

  While I know our past lives don’t define us, I still can’t make peace with some of the more undeniable facts. Like his penchant for pulling me away from my loved ones so that he can have me all to himself—having done so twice that I know of. And I can’t help but wonder how many other times he’s resorted to that, and how many people have suffered because of it.