“Fine, but I’d like you to stay with us, at least for a little while. I’ll have one of the rooms made up for you. I don’t know what happened, but I got the impression you’re in trouble. I’m not prying, just giving you an option.”
An option I couldn’t refuse. This was why I had come here, what I had hoped for, a chance to know them, know what it was like to be a part of their family, what life might have been. “Thank you. I think I’d like that very much.”
She put her arm around my shoulders. “Good. It’s settled. Let’s go see what Elise is making for dinner, and I’ll try not to stare at you too much. I’m half afraid if I blink, you’ll disappear.”
All the anxiety I felt before vanished as she led me out of the office, Grayson behind us. I had a feeling it would be an emotional night in the Edwards household, but a good kind. And long overdue. The secret was out, and I could finally start figuring out who I was, who I wanted to be.
* * *
As expected, Chandler Edwards had a similar reaction when his wife told him the news. It was a lot to spring on someone the first time meeting him. Grayson showed both his parents the tests and information the Elite had collected proving who I was.
Chandler was so different from Easton, and I didn’t just mean in looks. It was neither a good nor bad way, just different. Chandler had an air of importance about him, a sophistication Easton lacked. My dad growing up had been hands-on, not afraid to dance in the rain, wear a pink tutu, or make mud cakes and pretend to eat them. I had a hard time picturing Chandler doing any of those things. I envisioned him throwing the football in the backyard with Grayson, having movie marathons on the weekends, and getting all technical about it. One didn’t seem more fun than the other.
Grayson looked like his father… correction, our father. They shared the same serious dark eyebrows, chiseled jaw, and were nearly the same height, Grayson just an inch taller.
Once Chandler got over the shock, he engulfed me in a bear hug, squeezing me. The disbelief lingered for days, every time I walked into a room. I answered their many questions about my life and childhood, careful to skirt around details of my parents. They were a touchy subject, understandably. I had yet to break the news to Easton, a conversation I dreaded. But we all agreed to keep this quiet for a while, not looking for the attention a revelation like this would cause.
The Edwardses were a prominent family, and the return of their presumed dead baby would cause headlines and media attention. I didn’t want it.
There were two problems with this. Carter and Angie.
And their silence made me nervous.
The next few days flew by, and I adjusted quickly to my new routine and staying with the Edwardses. I didn’t know if I’d ever be comfortable in referring to them as my parents. For now, Chandler and Liana would do. It was difficult to think of two people who were still strangers to me as Dad and Mom.
I didn’t hear from Angie, and despite being relieved, a piece of me was also hurt. Don’t get me wrong. I was grateful for the space. It was exactly what I wanted—time to figure out who I was and how I felt about what she’d done.
One thing that remained steady was how I felt seeing Brock and Ava together. Each moment kindled my jealousy. By the end of the week, I was sure my rage would rupture from me. God help the Academy when that happened.
Carter had returned to school on Tuesday. I braced myself for the verbal attacks, the threats, for him to exploit my secret. Instead, he treated me as if I had an infectious disease. No eye contact. No sneers. No side comments. I didn’t know this Carter.
It made me suspicious and uneasy. I’d lived with Carter long enough to know he never stayed quiet for long.
Nothing sucked more than waiting for the shoe to drop and not knowing when it would come.
Not true. I changed my mind. Brock being with Ava sucked way more.
The separation weighed on both of us, but it was the knowledge that this was his choice that kept me angry with him.
There were other ways to get back at the bitch.
The first time Brock’s hand brushed mine as he passed me in the hall, my heart lurched in my chest. I was so hungry for his touch. I almost believed I imagined it until it happened again and again, little stolen touches.
Soon, they weren’t enough.
We both needed more.
Friday, during gym class, Coach Q ordered us to head outside for a mile run around the track. Groans erupted throughout the gymnasium. I was one of the last out the doors into the hallway as the class dragged their feet to the exit at the end of the corridor. I just made it into the hallway when someone grabbed me from the side, tugging me around the corner.
I whirled, fists ready to face my assailant, panic clawing at my chest. Then my eyes clashed into a sea of aqua. “Brock? What the hell? I almost punched you in the dick,” I hissed, staring up at him. God, I missed his gorgeous face. My eyes devoured him. It had been too long since we’d been this close.
A finger pressed to my lips, silencing me. My brows furrowed in response. As the rest of my class filed outside, Brock pulled me into the boys’ locker room.
“What are you doing? Shouldn’t you be in class—?” The lock flipped, resounding over the tiled walls. He had a look in his eyes that sent my blood rushing to the surface. “What is wrong? Why are we—?”
His lips covered mine, cutting off the rest of my words. Both of his hands came to frame my face, the pad of his thumb running along my right cheekbone.
For a heartbeat, my mind went blank, and then there was only the warmth of his lips slanting over mine. Rising on my toes, I curled my fingers into his shirt and hauled him against me. The firmness of his body pressed into mine, and I groaned into his mouth.