Lust (The Elite Seven #1)(34)

She’s not like most girls our age. She has the wisdom beyond her years, but she’s been sheltered, and it shows.

I bet she’s a fucking virgin—and that makes my task ten times fucking worse.

You’d think with how powerful The Elite is, the dean would be someone within their ranks, but no, so they resort to shitty tactics for future needs.

“Hey, you came,” she says, breathless from the jog down to me.

“Of course. Did you think I wouldn’t?” I smirk.

A small lift of her shoulders tells me the answer.

Gesturing to the car, I ask, “Where to, my lady?”

Shaking her head, she wraps her cardigan over her small frame and jerks her chin toward the road.

“There’s a park just through there. Let’s walk.”

I haven’t hung around in a park since I was seven, but this girl is different and I need to embrace that if I have intentions of seducing her.

Do you have those intensions? My subconscious asks, I silent the voices by asking her questions.

“So, Mrs. Griffin, huh? Is it hard having people know the guidance counselor and dean are your parents?”

“She’s not my parent.” She shakes her head, looking between the road and me.

Sore subject?

“Oh I’m sorry…”

“No, it’s fine, it’s just, she’s my dads wife, that’s it. His choice not mine.”

Nodding my head in understanding I ask.

“Are you an only child?”

Nodding her head causes her hair to fall into her face, and I ache to slip it behind her ear and stroke her cheek, take her mouth with mine.

“Yes. My mother died in childbirth.” A pained grimace takes over her pretty features.

That’s rough.

“How about you?” she asks innocently enough, but the pain slashes into me nonetheless.

Her startled eyes grow impossibly large, and almost violently, she reaches for me and pulls me into her body.

“I’m so sorry,” she chokes out. “I don’t know why I asked when I already know. It was insensitive and foolish, an accident… I wouldn’t try to hurt you—or anyone—like that,” she rambles, and I pull free and smile down at her to ease her tension.

Slipping my fingers into her hair, I finally tuck it behind her ear, then let the pad of my thumb caress her cheek.

“It’s okay. Honestly, don’t worry about it.” After a silent pause, we continue walking.

“I googled you,” she says, flicking her embarrassed gaze to mine, halting our movements.

“That’s how I know about…” she gulps, fidgeting with an invisible thread on her cardigan, “your brother.”

The usual constricting pain grips my heart in a vice at the mention of Robbie.

“I’m so sorry. That must have been…”

“Death,” I rasp. “Like death,” I add, breathing air into my broken lungs. “It felt like I died with him.”

“But you didn’t,” she whispers, almost asking me the question instead of making a statement.

A humorless laugh rattles my chest. “What’s that saying? What doesn’t kill you only makes you wish it did?” I vomit my truth out, surprising us both with my forthcoming emotions.

“You always seem so full of life, happy…”

Grief, borrowed from our shared experiences, fills her eyes.

“That’s just the mask, I’m drowning, but with a smile on my face knowing I can’t be saved,” I confess, letting myself open up to her.

“That must be exhausting.” She murmurs, lines creasing her forehead.

It fucking is exhausting.

My mind is like a carousel going around in circles. Different scenarios bring different outcomes, but it can’t be changed, no matter how much I will it. I’m telling myself these truths as much as I’m telling her.

“My world’s a mess right now, of regret and sorrow.” I almost choke on the last word, grief filling me up from the tips of my toes to the roots of my hair, my world quaking beneath me, threatening to consume all I am.

Her warm hand slips into mine, squeezing, reassuring, comforting. The ground settles and I can breathe.

“You’re right here,” she says in almost a whisper. Her other hand comes to rest on my chest where my heart beats slow beneath it’s shelter.

“You’re not allowed to die with him. You have to live for you both.”

My posture sags and my head leans forward, too heavy for my shoulders.

“I promised myself that’s what I’d do for my mom,” she says, vulnerability shaking her voice.

“She wouldn’t want me to let the cruelty of fate stop me from living my best life, so like a ghost attached to my heart, she’s with me. It beats for us both. We’re both living.”

Reaching my hand up without thought, I rest it against her own heartbeat. She doesn’t pull away or falter. This isn’t about me copping a feel—it’s two people sharing pain, learning to live through it, and finding a connection to help us keep living, keep breathing, keep standing, one foot in front of the other, until it stops hurting.

Da-dum. Da-dum. Da-dum.

“Come on.” She smiles, breaking the contact and recommencing our path to her destination. I haven’t talked to anyone about Robbie, and it helps—it really fucking helps.