Why would they release their own video? It had to be the Elite, right? But it didn’t make sense to me. Was it a message? A threat?
I frowned. “I’ve got to text Mads.”
“She’s seen it.”
“You talked to her?” I asked, surprised.
“Yeah, we’ve been texting all weekend. I was worried about you.”
“I’m sorry you got mixed up in this.” It wasn’t fair to her. She had only been at that game because of me. If something had happened to her… I wouldn’t have been able to live with myself.
“Stop it right now. I know what you’re doing. You can’t blame yourself, Josie.”
“So everyone keeps telling me,” I grumbled, picking at a loose thread on a pillow.
“Well, listen for once in your life. Look, my mom’s calling me. Text me later?” I could hear her mom in the background yelling her name.
“Yeah, okay.” Disconnecting the call with a push of my finger, I stared at the video and bit my lip. Did I want to see this?
A part of me said yes, thinking maybe it would give me some sort of justice. But the other part of me had seen enough that night. Dredging it back up would only make getting over what happened harder. What I should do was delete the video off my phone.
And yet I hit the play button.
There was no sound, which I knew had been deliberate. Voices could be recognized. The first few seconds of the video made me feel like I had jumped into an icy pool. It threw me right back into that moment with all paralyzing fear and utter helplessness. I wanted to escape even now, scream out for help.
Then I saw Brock—well, the back of Brock. Carter was already on the ground, and Brock delivered a kick to Carter’s ribs. Someone else put a foot into Carter’s back. Another punch to the face. It kept going.
I gasped, putting a hand over my mouth. They were downright brutal, absolutely merciless.
In the end, Grayson and Fynn had to pull Brock off Carter. I couldn’t hear their voices or see their faces, but I imagined them telling Brock to stop, that he’d had enough. Any more and they risked killing Carter.
The video stopped on a picture of Carter’s bloody face as he curled himself up into a fetal position. I stared at the image, knowing I should feel something, but all I felt was nothing.
What did that say about me?
I didn’t care about Carter.
* * *
It was amazing, the things I’d tell myself to make sense of my stupid decisions. For instance, Monday morning there was a car idling at the end of my driveway, just outside the gate—a black Range Rover.
I had a choice. Get in the car with Brock or drive myself to school. It might not have seemed like a big deal, but once I got into the car, everything would change. To be honest, it already had. I just didn’t realize as I walked down the driveway and slid into Brock’s SUV just how much my life would alter. Hindsight was a bitch.
“What are you doing here?” I asked, shutting the door behind me. His scent clung everywhere, teasing my nostrils and other parts of my body. The damn smell of him was like a drug.
Brock rubbed at the back of his neck. “Driving you to school.”
I rolled my eyes. “That’s the best you can come up with? I’m capable of driving myself.”
“Just put on the damn seat belt, Josie.” His voice glided over me.
My stomach flipped. Hearing him say my name, even in exasperation, caused a flutter inside me. I clutched my bag, needing to do something with my fingers that didn’t involve running them through his hair.
He put the car into drive as I snapped the belt into place. “Why are you doing this?” I asked when he turned off my street, heading toward the Academy.
“I have my reasons,” he replied, leveling me with a stare. He had his white button-down shirt rolled up to the elbows, one of his tattoos peeking underneath the material.
I lifted a single brow. “Would you care to share them with me?”