Bad, Bad Bluebloods (Rich Boys of Burberry Prep #2)(31)

“That’s true, Kathleen: it was Harper. Harper and several of her friends. I wouldn’t want to drag anyone else into this.” Pause, breathe, get control of yourself. “If you talk about my dad again,” I whisper, stepping forward so suddenly that Miranda doesn’t get a chance to stop me before I spit the words in Harper’s face, “you’ll be so fucking sorry.”

And then I throw Miranda’s hands off, push past Zayd and Creed, and disappear into the gardens.



The first person to find me is Zack.

I sigh as he comes around the corner, and stay where I am, huddled on a stone bench and hugging my knees. All I can think about is Dad and how good of a heart he has, and how the world needs more men like him, not less. No, instead people like Mr. Vanderbilt get to thrive and prosper, and Dad works his whole life at jobs he hates, loves a woman who betrayed him, and gets struck down with the most horrible disease known to man.

“I hate cancer,” I tell Zack as he sits down beside me, dressed in his uniform with his letterman jacket over the top. He looks too good in it; it’s not fair. I want to hate him, but I feel so alone right now. If Dad … without Dad … it’s just me. I should really go find Miranda and Andrew, talk to them instead. But I just sit there with Zack a few inches away from me, his brown eyes focused on the grass at his feet, his shoulders hunched. “This was the news you didn’t want to tell me about, huh?”

He nods, but he doesn’t say anything at first. Several minutes pass before he speaks.

“Now all the Idols know. They’re going to use Dad against me.” Zack purses his lips and sits up, looking over at me with a much softer gaze than usual. On Friday, I’m going to destroy him. I almost feel bad about it. Maybe I should? But I can’t forgive him so easily.

“If you ever need dirt on anyone in the Infinity Club, I probably have it. You know my dirt now, and Lizzie’s. But there’s so much more. You’d be shocked at the things I could tell you.”

I scoff at him.

“Maybe, but at what price? What do you want from me, Zack? If it’s just guilt that’s spurring you on, then you can stop. I don’t need your sympathy or your pity.”

“It’s not pity, Marnye. You’re beautiful, you’re smart, you’re driven. What’s there to pity?” He says it all like it’s a matter of fact, that of course I’m all of those things. I shift, uncomfortable with the praise. If I were a better person, I’d let all of this revenge crap go, transfer to a different prep school and just keep my head buried in my studies.

Something must be seriously wrong with me.

“And guilt? Of course I feel guilt,” Zack spits, running his palm over his dark hair. He exhales, and his broad shoulders fold inward, like he’s trying to sink into himself. “But that’s not why I’m trying to help you.”

“Then why are you?” I ask, looking up.

Zack turns to me then, and there’s something burning in his gaze that scares the crap out of me.

“Remember when we had our first kiss?” he asks, and I almost choke. “Those feelings … they were terrifying to me. You can’t feel like that when you’re so young, and I—”

I make a choking sound, and Zack pauses. It’s Monday morning, and I haven’t turned my phone in yet. It’s clutched in my left hand, and I make a sudden, split-second decision to start recording, just in case. Zack waits several beats before taking a deep breath, and forging on.

“When I made that bet, I didn’t think about the name and face of the girl who would die. I’m sorry. A hundred times over, I’m sorry. But I did it: I made that bet to get you to kill yourself, and I came at you relentlessly. There is no such thing as forgiveness for me.”

My heart clenches painfully, but I’m too twisted up with emotion right now to understand how I’m supposed to process that. Instead, I turn away and change the subject, shutting my phone off at the same time.

“I need to find my dad,” I blurt, lunging to my feet. I stumble slightly, and Zack is there to steady my elbow. His touch burns through my jacket; it’s as if his bare skin is touching mine. I can practically feel the whorls of his fingertips.

“I’ll take you to him,” Zack says, his face shutting down into that impenetrable mask that I’m used to. He starts to lead the way, and I pull out his grip. Instead of getting upset, he just smiles at me. “By the way: have you seen the class rankings yet?”

I shake my head. Do I really care about class rankings when my dad is sick? Honestly, all I want to do in that moment is drop out and go home, so I can take care of him. I’m guessing that’s why he’s avoided telling me all this time. He’s too freaking selfless. It’s not fair. My eyes water and Zack reaches out to rub a tear from my cheek with his thumb, trailing strange sensations across my skin.

“You beat Tristan Vanderbilt again,” he says with a low chuckle, and I almost laugh. Almost. But nothing in this world is more important to me than my father. Nothing. “You’re number one again.”

“Number one?” I echo, and my heart drops into my stomach. If I’m number one … then why do I feel like I’m coming in dead last?

I close my eyes, exhale, and then open them back up.

I’ve never needed to be stronger than in this moment.