I wouldn’t blame her if she bailed. Just ducked out. I can’t imagine how this will help her any with her plan to catch Gavin’s eye. Well, I think, starting to slowly wade toward the beach, I’m sure being my friend definitely won’t slip Gavin’s notice. Only, I don’t think this was the attention she was aiming for.

To my surprise, Vee doesn’t ditch me. Instead, she tromps into the water, hands waving at her sides. I half swim, half walk to meet her.

“What are you doing?” I ask her.

She sighs. I barely hear her heavy breath over the crash of waves. “That was insane,” she responds, shaking her head.

I press my lips together hard, my fury at Ryder sparking anew. “He’s a bully,” I say. “And a jerk.”

“No.” She grabs ahold of my arm and helps me toward the beach. “I meant what you said. What you did.” As we reach the sand, I shiver. Ignoring the glares from the partygoers, I turn and retreat.

“What do you mean?” I ask Vee. Clearly, whatever I said or did is what got me—and now her by association—drenched in salt water.

“I think you pretty much just made enemies for life.” She glances back to where Ryder and his football jock cronies—still sporting their face paint—start to drift back toward the bonfire. “I know this sounds dumb. Some college movie cliché shit. But he’s like Braxton royalty. Even the professors drool over him. You may have just become school legend. First day in!” She laughs.

I try to share in her amusement. Because really, compared to the crap I’ve gone through for the past half year, this minor incident doesn’t register on my life Richter scale. But my stomach roils with nausea. A side effect from my earlier purge before I left for the bonfire party, but also because I didn’t want this attention. I just wanted to coast.

Unnoticed.

Invisible.

Now, according to Vee, that won’t happen.

“I’d be prepared,” she says. We stop next to my car—the new one “Daddy” just bought me. His way of bribing me to attend Braxton, although I didn’t need the ridiculously expensive incentive. I open the door to grab whatever clothes I have tossed in the backseat.

“For what,” I say absentmindedly. I smell the tee in my hands and shrug.

“Ryder might not be all that bad, but the rest of the team?” She dips her head into my line of sigh

t, gaining my full attention. “They’re all about that hazing shit. Even though technically they’re not a part of any fraternity…you can’t explain that to them. They’re just doing it because it’s what assholes do at college. But they’re vicious.”

She leans against my car and wraps her arms around her stomach, shielding herself from the crisp wind. I hand her an extra hoodie I found stuffed under a pile of books. “I can’t stand jocks.”

Vee shrugs into the hoodie, saying, “Yeah, well, it started just as pranks between the players. Seeing who could get the better of the other.” Her head pops through the collar, and she pushes the hood back. “Once that got old, they started in on other students. It died out some this past year, but I bet it’s safe to say since your stunt back there, they may have a new target.”

My stomach knots at the thought of having to faceoff with Ryder again. Or any of the Bobcats. “I went too far,” I say, opening my car door and sinking down into the seat. “I don’t really even understand what happened. He’s just a guy. A jock who only thinks with one appendage, sure. But I just…snapped.”

For the first time, Vee seems to drop her bubbly demeanor. She turns toward me, pulling a serious, concerned face. “You don’t have to explain anything, but I’ve been thinking… Something pretty bad must’ve happened before you came here. Maybe dealing with all that had a little to do with it?”

Still dealing with all that, I mentally correct lamely. I can only nod. If I’d actually tried harder, sought out a therapist or group therapy locally—like my counselor at Stoney suggested for my aftercare treatment—maybe I’d be handling my disorder better. Maybe I would’ve been able to blow off Ryder without a second thought, and all this could’ve been avoided.

I shake my head. “Maybe. But this is so dumb,” I say, turning around to dig out my keys and crank the car. “They have to have better things to do than worry about me.” I’m freezing. Just wanting to blast the heat and get back to the room, where I can bury myself under a mound of blankets.

Vee takes the hint and gets into the passenger-side seat. She looks over at me. “Let’s just hope they defeat Engleton and are feeling so proud they forget about you.”

* * *

The news hits during my last class of the day on Monday. Before I officially heard, I noticed the downturned faces, the hungover lethargy that wouldn’t be so prominent had the Bobcat’s won their game against their rivals.

If not for some snide comments and leering looks from members of the football team, and a handful of random people pointing and laughing, I could’ve almost forgotten the bonfire incident.

More pressing issues—according to Becca, dire issues—took precedence over my humiliating college life. After she told me that someone within my father’s firm had somehow inadvertently day traded a client’s retirement away, and that Wyndemere Enterprises was being forced to undergo a mandatory audit, I felt a sick drop in the pit of my stomach.

She went on to inform me of how this will affect me. That I should be supportive of my father, making an effort to attend all social events of the season, dressing the part as the dutiful daughter. The firm and all the “right people” had to see the family unit in classy, functioning order to reiterate our standing in society.

By “society,” she means money. Anyone and everyone who is somebody with money.

That tidbit on an empty stomach was enough to push me past any attempt to down my usual protein shake and mega vitamins. It meant the nauseas ache I always battle would be present regardless, so no need to upchuck. The ill-feeling emptiness lingered with me all morning.

Tags: Trisha Wolfe Living Heartwood Romance
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