Nightfall (Devil's Night 4)

I nodded once in thanks. “I’ll bring them back Monday.”

And I made my way for the bathroom to wipe up and change.

My chin trembled, everything threatening to spill over, and I didn’t know why. Stuff like that had happened before. It was no big deal. It wasn’t like it happened all the time.

I could’ve shoved Maisie if I wanted to. Yelled at her, maybe. Definitely bit back a little.

This time I just wanted to run. I didn’t want anyone to see me, like I was so embarrassing I wanted to erase myself from people’s memories and cease to exist.

Just disappear.

I cleaned and stashed my flute, changed clothes, and stuck in my earbuds, carrying my instrument and bag to the bus. It was an hour drive back to Thunder Bay, and I wished I could damn-well walk it.

Hanging my head, I charged toward the back of the vehicle, slid into an empty seat, and dumped my case and clothes on the floor. I held my phone in my hand, my playlist on Teenage Witch as I stared out the window.

People passed me, quiet and not a snicker to be heard, because Will Grayson had cast his net, letting them all know I was off limits.

It was actually okay. Scared or not, most of them weren’t going to sit down next to me anyway. They never did.

The bus filled up, and I waited for the seat next to me to dip, but as the doors closed, the lights dimmed, and the engine started, I remained solo.

I chewed the corner of my mouth to hide the tremble. What did I care? What did it matter that I’d been humiliated again? What did it matter that he saw that in the gym?

The tears welled.

He saw me. He saw that happen to me.

He saw what the whole world thought of me, and now he…

Now he…

A hand slipped under mine, warm and smooth, and I snapped my head left, seeing Will in the seat next to me.

What…?

A lump filled my throat as I gaped at the side of his face, wanting to be raging mad that he was there and touching me again without my permission, but…

He curled his fingers, gripping me, and…and it took a moment to get a hold of myself.

Finally, I forced a scowl and yanked my hand away.

Or tried to.

He wouldn’t let go. Or look at me. He just tossed his black hoodie over our hands and chatted to the guy in the next seat like I wasn’t here.

My heart pounded in my ears, drowning out the music from my earbuds, and I had to force my breathing to slow down.

I closed my eyes and turned toward the window. Why was he doing this?

And why was I just sitting here? The warmth from his strong fingers seeped into mine as he held me, and I looked over at him again, seeing him slouched in the seat, long legs stretched into the aisle as the players, cheerleaders, and band carried on around us.

He just stared at his phone now like there was nothing going on underneath the hoodie between us. Like he wasn’t completely aware that he was holding me.

It took three tries, but I eventually swallowed, wetting my dry throat as I pulled his sweatshirt over us more, making sure our hands were covered. Maybe he thought I didn’t want anyone to see. Maybe he didn’t want anyone to see. Either way, I didn’t care anymore.

The bus jostled side to side, taking us back onto the highway, and I fisted my hand, too, a fire burning low in my belly at the feel of his skin.

Movement caught my eye ahead, but I didn’t look up because I knew what it was. Desi Castro sat in our center’s lap, reverse cowgirl, and through the dim moonlight and shadows, I was pretty sure they were being fairly fucking stupid—albeit quietly—in the seat in front of us.