A Deal With the Devil (Boys of Preston Prep 2)

“I don’t think that’s a promise you can make.” I gently add, “You have a problem, V.”

She blinks and the tears spill over, running tracks down her cheeks. “I don’t want to.”

“I know.” I pull her into my chest, palm cradling the back of her head. “I’m sorry,” I say, pressing a kiss into her hair.

“Does this mean you’re—” The words get swallowed by a sound that I feel more than hear—a hard jerk in her chest. Her shoulders quake against me, and I hold her tight.

I know what she needs to hear, but maybe there are promises I have no business making, either. “It means that I love you. The rest? We’ll figure it out. But tomorrow, okay? Tonight’s been a long… week.”

“Will you stay?”

This promise is easy to make. “Always.”

The warmth from the bath dissipates the second I reenter her room, seeing the pills on the bed. She’s still in the bathroom, pulling on clothes, so I swiftly gather them all up and stuff them into the pocket of my damp coat. I’ll get rid of them my-fucking-self.

I rouse slowly. Painfully.

There’s this ray of sun stabbing right into my eyelids, but when I try to turn away from it, it awakens every single ache in my body. I wonder how Emory’s feeling right about now, and I hope like hell it’s as bad as this.

I squint against the light, my eyes blearily taking in the room. The spot beside me is cold and vacant, but it only takes a second to find her. She’s sitting at the desk, hunched over her laptop, lip trapped pensively between her teeth as she scrolls with a fingertip. There’s something hard and determined in the set of her jaw.

I try to sit up, groaning at the tug of my muscles.

Her head whips around first, and then she turns in the chair, angling her body toward me. “Hey. I wasn’t sure if I should wake you, but…” The way her eyes rove over my injuries tells me everything I need to know. I must look like shit.

“It’s cool.”

Her eyes are completely different from the glazed deadness of last night. Here, they’re wide and eager, full of that warm spark. “I have a plan,” she starts, rushing up from the chair. She must have woken up a while ago, because she’s beyond alert as she jumps on the bed, knees tucked beneath her. “I’m going to go back to seeing Doctor Cordell. I turn eighteen in soon, right? So when that happens, I can tell him about everything, because I’ll be an adult and he can’t tell my parents. In the meantime, there are these groups online, completely anonymous. I joined one, and—I mean, I know it’s not ideal. I know it won’t cure me. But it can help, maybe. Until I’m eighteen, until I can tell my doctor.”

I gingerly rub my eyes, her rush of words pouring through my fuzzy head like a sieve. “Wait, wait. Slow down.”

She just charges on, “So I know it’s not like a full-on, immediate solution, but this can work for now, can’t it?”

I squint. “Work for what?”

“For us,” she answers, hitching forward. “So you know I’m ready. So you won’t… you won’t leave.”

The memory of our talk in the bathtub last night rushes back to me, and my face falls. “Vandy.” I reach out to cup her cheek. “I’m not leaving.”

Her ey

es flutter before pinning me with a stare. “I know I messed up. I let Sydney get to my head and I…” She sighs, eyes dropping. “No, I’m not going to blame it on her. It was me.” She shrugs, simple. “Because I have a problem. I need you to know, I get that now. I worked past the physical dependence and I didn’t understand that there was more to it. But just because I’m still figuring stuff out doesn’t mean I’m not ready,” she insists, eyes blazing. “I had a weak moment, Reyn, but I’m not a weak person.”

“I don’t think you’re weak.” I take her hand in mine, watching as my thumb sweeps over her delicate knuckles. “I think you’re strong.” I bring her hand to my mouth. “Beautiful.” A kiss to the back of her hand. “Smart.” A kiss to her knuckles. “Funny.” Flipping her hand over, I press a slow kiss into her palm, eyes trapping hers. “Mine.”

She breathes, “Reyn,” but I go on.

“I’m yours for as long as you want me to be, Baby V.” I tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, letting my fingertips linger there. I beg. “But please—please—never let me be the reason you do that. Send me away if you have to. Have Emory kick my ass. Do it yourself, for all I care. I’ll let you. But don’t let me drag you down.”

“You won’t,” she exclaims, face crumbling. “Reyn, you could never—”

Instead of finishing, she pushes forward, pressing our mouths together. I take the kiss without reluctance, tangling my fingers into her hair and holding her close. When she swings a leg over my hips, I steady her, arm wrapping around her waist.

This.

This is all I’ve needed and I take it in greedily, hungrily. The warmth of her skin against mine. The rush of her breath against my mouth. The veil of her golden hair around us, shutting out the world. The feeling of her hand on my chest. The way she rocks against me. I know it can’t be this easy—nothing this good ever could be—but even though it’s flawed and messy and gut-wrenchingly scary, it’s ours.

My busted, swollen lip is screaming, but I hardly notice it, too wrapped up in the push and pull.