“What?”
“I mean, if you want to fuck with the D boys, that’ll do it,” she says, shaking her head. “But damn, that’s cold.”
“I’m not,” I say stiffly, my heart hammering in my chest. Is that what Preston was going for? It makes my skin crawl in the weirdest way.
“Unless Royal dressed you up like that…”
“No one dressed me up,” I snap.
“Oh, then that’s a relief,” she says with a breathy little laugh. “I mean, I know Royal’s fucked up, but that would be, like, next level weirdness.”
Before things can get any more awkward, the receptionist emerges from the little hallway behind the desk and tells me they’re ready for me. I check my phone before turning to follow her, but Preston hasn’t answered my last request for help.
I remember what I said to Blue at the quarry. He’s not a hero. He’s not untouchable. He’s just one more person the Dolces ruined, one more screwed up guy in Faulkner. He doesn’t owe me anything. He’s already given me a thousand times more than I have a right to ask for. It’s not like he loves me. He has no reason to fight for me.
Only I have a reason to fight.
I stand tall and stride into the conference room. I am not a victim of this town, of these families. I’m a survivor of them. And if I’m not quite intact or unscathed, that doesn’t mean I’m weak. It means I’m human. But human or not, I don’t need a hero.
I can be my own damn hero.
I took everything they threw at me, and though it broke me, I picked up the shards of my shattered life, and piece by piece, I am fitting them back together. Not the way they were, as no one could go through what I have and remain unchanged. But I’m forming them into something new, an armor to protect my life, even if it couldn’t protect me. I will pick up the weapons they threw at me and use them to build an armory of my own. As I lay out my case, I draw strength from the steely coldness of my armor that a Darling boy gave me and power from the untouchable status that a Dolce boy gave me.
The only thing I don’t have is money, which is exactly what I need. Still, I make my plea for enrollment, my eyes moving over the men and women on the panel, knowing each of them has the chance to take my future into their hands. They’re from the founding families, though the only person I recognize is Lindsey’s mother. It gives me a little shock when our eyes meet, though she doesn’t recognize me. She didn’t see me that night, the night she lost her house. She doesn’t know I was there, that I helped destroy it—or that I saved her daughter. She doesn’t know that her son has already given me so much, or all the shameful things I’ve done in return.
I tear my gaze from her and focus on the others. Any one of them could write a check that will get me through another semester or my entire senior year at Willow Heights. I just have to be good enough for one of them, the one who needs one more charitable tax write-off.
When I step out of the room, I know I did good. I’m just not sure how good I have to be to get a scholarship that doesn’t exist, to have them make an exception and add one more. I pull the door closed behind me just in time to see the receptionist take a stumbling step backwards, her hand flying to her chest.
“Mr. Darling!” she exclaims.
My heart does a funny little twisting thing in my chest, and I hurry past the corner to see who she’s talking to. My eyes drink him in like finding a tall glass of water in the desert—long, slim lines of pure elegance and poise, so unlike the thuggish Dolce boys; tailored, silver-grey dress pants with a crease still ironed up the front of the thighs; a dress shirt rolled up a few times at the cuffs, a few buttons undone at the neck, in a deep, royal blue color; a silver mask covering half his face.
“Preston,” I cry, rushing forward and throwing myself into his arms so hard he stumbles backwards a step, a surprised little laugh escaping him as I crush him in my tightest embrace. I didn’t realize how much I wanted him here until this moment, until I feel his familiar body against mine, inhale the sharp, clean scent of him.
“You came,” I say, my voice catching, my eyes aching with tears even as I pull back, laughing a little. I touch his scratchy chin, not quite believing it. “You never go anywhere.”
“You said you needed a scholarship.”
“Thank you,” I say, hugging him hard again. “And for the car, oh my god, I didn’t even say thank you. I’m sorry I didn’t bring back your truck sooner. I don’t deserve you.”
“I didn’t do anything,” he says dismissively, like just the fact that he showed his face for me means nothing, not to mention all the money he’s spent.
“Shut up and let me thank you,” I mutter into his chest.
“Come on,” he says. “Let’s get out of here, and you can tell me what happened in that meeting, since I missed it.”
He holds open the door for me, and I step under his arm and into the foyer of the school. My spine stiffens and my blood turns to ice water. Baron Dolce is heading for the office, not ten paces away, his usual sucker back in place. Preston lets the office door fall closed before he catches a glimpse of his enemy moving in. He slides a protective arm around my shoulders, his body tensed as if to spring at the first sign of aggression.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” Baron asks, glowering at us. The enormity and darkness of the bruise on the side of his face makes me downright giddy with pride.
“Didn’t you figure that out when I took the key?” I ask. “I go here.”
“I wasn’t talking to you,” he says coldly.
“Well, you’d better get used to seeing him if you’re going to see me,” I say. “We’re together now.”
Baron snorts. “You’re joking.”