Touched By The Devil (Boys of Preston Prep 3)

I just want to stop seeing it.

Every time I blink, every time my attention drifts, that look on her face comes drifting back to me. The way her chin wobbled, jaw locked tight. The way she looked at me, so wide-eyed and gutted. How still she stood, how quiet.

Worst of all was that flash of understanding in her eyes, and the way she didn’t even look surprised. She didn’t argue. She just accepted it—just like that.

I kept pushing, digging that knife in deeper, hoping she’d just… fucking kick back. Pissing off Sugar is supposed to be something I’m good at. It would have been so much easier, being under the fire of her fury. It would have still hurt, but it wouldn’t have been this.

This agonizing, hopeless throb of guilt and loss.

It’s better than the alternative, though. That’s what I keep telling myself. It’s not a fun time, constantly assaulting myself with scenarios of the many and varied ways Heston would hurt her. He’d go for the simple stuff first. Get her kicked out of Preston. Maybe fuck up something with her mom—as if I’d care about that. But after the simple shit, he’d get his hands dirty. He’d touch her. I know he fucking would. If she’s lucky, that’d be all he’d do. But it’s not Heston’s style. He’d probably manipulate her—it wouldn’t be easy, I should know—but he’s good at what he does. It might take him weeks, months, years, but eventually he’d find something to rip away from her.

That’s the only thing that’s keeping me breathing.

“What. Have. You. Done?”

I turn at the sound of Vandy’s acerbic hiss. Except it’s not just Vandy. Georgia and Aubrey each flank one side of her tiny frame, and Elana and Caroline make a solid wall behind them.

I’m fucking cornered.

Just what I need.

I try to slip into the lie—this reflection of myself who isn’t a twisted, gnarled thing, as if such a thing exists. “Nothing the six of you couldn’t see coming,” I reply tonelessly, wiping the sweat off my forehead. The scrimmage kicked my ass. I’ve done my best to stay conditioned, but with the downtime from the concussion, I’m not keeping up with the other guys, and it’s seriously fucking with my ability to get lost in the game. The pace on the field is brutal. It probably doesn’t help that I’d spent most of last night getting absolutely tanked, alone in my bedroom at home. “If you don’t mind, I smell like a jockstrap and I think we’d all be better off if I took a shower.”

“No,” Georgia says, her voice shaking with anger. “Not until you explain yourself. I don’t know what the hell you said to Sugar earlier, but she is completely fucked up over it! She won’t even talk about what happened, beyond saying you dumped her.”

I run my hand through my hair, trying to maintain my aloof expression. “Look, you guys know me. I don’t do relationships. Sure, maybe I had a moment of temporary insanity with Sugar. She was a challenge. She put up a fight. You know how I love a fight.” I briefly consider whether or not a wink to Vandy could actually sell this, but realize she may castrate me if I did. “I couldn’t resist, but you also know that, as soon as I’ve beaten my opponent, I’m ready to move on. Everyone knows I don’t do rematches.”

My eyes dart between them, wondering if any of them bought a single line of the bullshit coming out of my mouth. From the hot glare coming back at me, the answer is unilaterally no.

“Bass,” Georgia seethes, “I swear to god, if you don’t fix this…”

“Then what? Because there’s nothing to fix. I told her it’s over. I’m done with her. It was fun while it lasted, but let’s face it. Sugar is way too high maintenance for me. She’s…” The rest hangs on my tongue, bitter and sharp. I can’t bring myself to say that she’s too broken. Too damaged. I wouldn’t mean it the way they’d think, anyway. There’s just no way I’m making it worse than I already have. There’s no way I’m letting him get to her. “She’s not my type.”

Georgia and the other girls gawk at me, mouths gaping like fuming fish.

Part of me is relieved they don’t buy it. It’s a frustrating push and pull. I need everyone to believe it—I need Heston to believe it—but the second they do, it’d probably gut me.

More than I already am, of course.

I take their silence as an opportunity to bail, turning my back on them to stalk across the campus. I think these might be the times it gets bad. Walking. Thinking. Being able to slip into my head. I thought being back on the field would make this easier, but I was wrong.

Maybe it can’t get any easier. Maybe that’s what I deserve, knowing that Sugar is walking around out there fucked up over it all. Maybe I just have to walk around like this sad, pathetic shell of a person who doesn’t have a shred of control over his own fucking life because his brother is a bored, sadistic piece of shit. Maybe that’s justice.

I’m just passing the Devil’s Tower when I hear, “You’re weak, you know.”

I pause, shifting the weight of my bag on my shoulder to face Afton. She’s leaning against the wall. I didn’t even know she was out here. Honestly, I’m surprised she cares at all.

“You callin’ me names, Cross?”

“I’m calling it like I see it. You’re weak and pathetic.” Her eyes rake over me, disdain dripping from her voice. “I defended you to her, did you know that? The first day of school when she left the room upset about you touching her? I defended you. I told her that you were a good guy. That whatever had happened between you must have been a mistake, because Sebastian Wilcox would never intentionally hurt someone.”

I fist my hand around the strap of my bag, looking away. “Then you were wrong.”

She shakes her head, lips pursed angrily. “You fucked up, Bass, and I don’t think there’s any fixing it.”

I take a deep breath and meet her gaze, trying to convey a message. “You’re right. There is no way to fix this—with her, or with you.”

She arches a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. “What are you saying?”