My Darling Arrow (St. Mary's Rebels 1)

“I remembered,” he begins with a slightly lost expression on his face, “that I liked to read. When I was a kid. Which isn’t a surprise because I’ve always been a straight-A student. Given the choice though, I’d rather watch game tapes than sit and read, but…”

“But?”

He shrugs, his shoulders jerking up and down tightly. “But I guess I’m trying to see if it sticks, reading. Getting a hobby.” He swallows tightly, audibly even. “Not sure how my dad would react to it though. I, uh, try to picture his expression. You know, if he knew that I was using my time to read, for pleasure. Something other than textbooks, instead of working on my game. But I can’t. I can’t picture it. I know what my mom would say. She’d tell me that while it was commendable I was taking an interest in books, I’m still wasting my time reading English literature. She’d probably throw them away.”

My chest feels tight and I let out a breath as I watch him, watch how he stands, a little away from the door, how his toes dig into the carpet, how his fists are clenched.

How adrift and unmoored he looks.

“You’re not. You’re not wasting your time and I don’t think your dad would mind,” I tell him, wishing again that I could touch him.

I wish I could go to him and ask him how it was while he was growing up.

I only know bits and pieces of it from after I came to live with him, and I wish I could talk to him about all of it.

“Actually, I think that even if he did mind, I wouldn’t care. Not so much. Not as much as I thought I would. I think I’d…” He pauses and licks his lips, pondering his next words. “I think I’d mind more if I didn’t get to read. If I didn’t get to find out what else I like. What else I can do. What else is hidden inside of me other than The Blond Arrow.”

My knees tremble. They almost buckle at his words.

It’s a mystery really how I’m able to stand up.

Actually, I’m lying.

I know how. It’s him.

It’s his eyes, the power and intensity in them. He’s keeping me tethered and balanced.

“Is that what your therapist told you? To find out what’s hidden inside of you?” I ask with choppy breaths.

He shakes his head slowly. “No. It was someone else.”

I take a moment to just… breathe.

I take a moment to just stand on my feet and watch him. To absorb what he just said.

For the past two weeks, I’ve been going crazy.

I’ve been making up theories in my head. About why he’s doing what he’s doing.

Is it to punish himself and atone for his supposed mistakes when it comes to me? Or is there something else?

Something… wonderful.

Something that scares me. Something that steals my breath and gives me hope.

It’s giving me hope right now and I’m petrified.

“It’s been two weeks,” I whisper after a while.

“I know.”

“Why didn’t you come see me?”

His nostrils flare and his chest undulates on a large breath. “I was going to come see you.”

“You were?”

“Yes.”

“When?”

“Tomorrow.”

“I’m leaving for St. Mary’s tomorrow.”

I am.

That’s why I came tonight looking for answers. That’s why it’s so imperative for me to know.

God, I just want to know.

“I know that too,” he says. “I’m taking you.”

“What?”

He nods in confirmation. But that’s not the only thing he does.

He moves as well.

He takes a slow but deliberate step toward me and strangely, I move back.

“I thought two weeks would be enough time for you to rethink your decision of going back to that hellhole,” he tells me as he comes closer. “But if you won’t change your mind, then I’ll be the one to take you.”

My feet stumble slightly but I keep going. I keep moving back as I whisper, “It was you. You came up with two weeks.”

“You needed your rest. But more than that, you needed some time away from that place. After everything that happened.” A dark look ripples through his stunning features, a menacing look. “And I thought it would give you time to make the right decision. But I guess I should know better by now, shouldn’t I? No one can control you. No one can bind you by rules or put you in a box or rein you in. You’re Salem. You’re probably why they name hurricanes and natural catastrophes after girls like you.”

I swallow at the possessiveness in his tone, at the possessiveness in his eyes.

Actually, it’s more than that.

It’s more than possessiveness.

There’s some tenderness as well. Some helplessness and torment. A hint of amusement.

All at the same time.

And it makes his eyes glow.

“I have to go back,” I whisper, still moving back. “My friends are there. They need me.”

“I know. That’s why I’m going to take you. And I’m going to make sure no one, no one at all, dares to even look at you wrong, let alone says anything to you. And if they do, then it’ll give me great fucking pleasure to take care of them. To take care of anyone who bothers you.”