The headmaster muttered from his desk, “Nothing fucking makes sense. Jesus Christ. It’s one thing after another.”
He was right. It was. Every time we stood up, another fucking thing knocked us right back down. I never truly thought we’d be in the clear once our fathers were behind bars, but I’ll admit, I was hopeful.
Isaiah and I sat in the headmaster’s office for far too long—well after curfew—thinking in silence. Isaiah pulled out his phone, likely to send a text to Gemma, and leaned forward, placing his elbows on his knees. “We need to know who attacked her.”
I watched the headmaster closely as he leaned back in his squeaky chair and flicked his eyes to the top shelf above the books that Journey was skimming the other night.
Bingo.
“She took it.”
His eyes shifted to me. His jawline became sharper, and part of me wanted to smirk that Journey’s rebellious streak had come out yet again. She was a quiet rule-breaker, so deceiving with her sweet looks and tender voice. No one knows her like I do.
“Took what?” Isaiah asked, shifting his attention back and forth between us.
“The file that held her life inside of it,” the headmaster answered. “Fuck.”
I shook my head, stopping him before he could get too worked up. “I have that vital piece of information you’re worried about. Not her.”
His head tilted. “Did you help her break in here? God damn, I need to get those alarms installed! I cannot stand you boys.”
Isaiah grumbled. “What the fuck did I do?”
“Plenty.”
Ignoring their quarrel, I placed my hands on the desk and leaned in between them. “I followed her in here the other night during the claiming. I found her stealing the file, and the paper that had the information from Sister Mary fell to the floor. She left quickly, without realizing it had fallen.”
“So, it was you that destroyed my office?” The headmaster rolled his eyes. “Clean up after yourself next time.”
Isaiah snapped his fingers. “I told you it wasn’t me.”
“As if I would believe you.” Tate turned toward me. “So, she doesn't know what the note says.”
“Wait, what does the note say?” Isaiah asked.
I sighed. “Her mother, or whoever left her at the orphanage, left a note in her baby blanket that said she was in danger and to protect her.”
Isaiah nodded. “So, it’s probably someone from her past that attacked her. That makes more sense.”
At the exact same time, Tate and I said, “Nothing makes sense.”
Seconds turned to long, agonizing minutes with my chest growing tighter and tighter. The headmaster dismissed us with a wave of his hand a little while later, knowing he had to get to his house for Jack, Isaiah’s little brother that he had custody of.
Isaiah and I walked back to the locker room in silence, changed out of our lacrosse gear, and headed straight for our rooms with a note from the headmaster, excusing us if we were caught walking the halls after curfew.
Before the split in the hall for the dorms, Isaiah stopped and looked at me. “We won’t let anything touch her again. We protect what’s ours, and she’s ours, whether she knows it or not.”
I pushed past the anxiety that was caving in on me, not believing his words. Everyone thought being in the elite group of Rebels was how you became untouchable and protected. You were on the top of the food chain; they called us the righteous kings of the school. But it was a load of fucking bullshit. We brought nothing but doom to this goddamn school. Our problems followed us here, and it seemed they followed Journey, too. I was beginning to think that St. Mary’s was for the cursed.
“You have to stop hiding shit from us, though,” Isaiah said, beginning to walk backward toward our room. I sighed, dropping my head down low as my muscles tightened to stone along my shoulders. “Do what you have to do to make her think she’s safe with you, because I can assure you, she isn’t safe on her own.”
No. No, she fucking isn’t.