Savage Royals: A Reverse Harem High School Bully Romance(21)

My body had softened some in the months since I’d been able to practice regularly—I hadn’t put on weight, but I’d lost muscle tone—and I knew it would be a long slog to get back to where I’d been before the fall.

After my legs healed, I’d done as much physical therapy as I could afford. My dad had even worked extra shifts at the plant to help pay for them, and even though I knew it was motivated purely by guilt, I took it. I would’ve done anything to get better.

But after I’d cleared physical therapy and dealt with the worst of the stiffness and weakness, his interest had faded back to zero. He’d had no desire to help me dance again, he’d just wanted to make sure he wasn’t the guy who put his daughter in a wheelchair for life.

I reached out and gripped the barre, and a feeling like home grew in my chest. Standing parallel to the mirrors, I ran through a series of stretches and warm-ups. Even these, which used to be so easy, were more difficult now, and occasional aches made me wince, but I kept running through them until the motions smoothed out, becoming graceful and light.

The movement soothed me, and I got lost in the rhythmic patterns of breath and extension. But when I heard the door open and close, all the ease evaporated from my body. When I glanced up, Finn had slipped into the room.

Motherfucker. I knew that was too damn easy.

My breath tried to come faster, but I refused to let it, inhaling through my nose as I grabbed the barre with my other hand and switched sides. After a few minutes of silence, I peeked out of the corner of my eye, but he was still there. Still staring, with an unreadable expression on his face.

“I use this room too sometimes,” he said finally.

“Yeah?” I asked as I straightened up and raised my arms above my head. “For practice?”

Finn laughed dryly, his lips curling up on one side, making his dimple pop. He strolled toward me with his hands in his pockets, tilting his head to the side as he examined me, watching me point and flex my foot.

“I think we both know I don’t need practice, Idaho,” he said evenly. “You know what I use the room for.”

I glanced at him and grimaced. Is it rude to vomit right on rich boy shoes? Yeah, I knew exactly what he meant. He brought girls here and let them suck his dick. Maybe more than that, for all I knew.

Fuck. My stomach churned. Is he going to try to throw me out?

I knew he could if he wanted to, but I didn’t want to go. I needed the quiet, the empty space, the chance to do one thing that brought me joy.

“So, what’s your point?” I asked when he wouldn’t stop staring, making my skin flush.

“My point is that if you’re going to be doing all that”—he waved a hand toward the barre and the mirrors—“we’ll have to learn to share it.”

I blinked, too stunned to reply.

He didn’t seem to think a response was necessary though. He turned away and sat against the wall before he pulled out his phone and started scrolling on it. My heart sped up, watching him sit there so casually, like there was nothing at all odd about this situation.

I wanted to say something, to thank him for not taking away the one bit of peace I had left.

But instead, I lifted my head and went back to practicing.





Chapter 8





My strange truce with Finn apparently didn’t extend outside of the small, abandoned dance studio on the second floor of the gym. Outside of that little sixth period haven, I continued to be harassed and teased, shoved in the halls and ganged up on by kids looking to get in good with the Princes.

That was one of the shittiest parts about it.

These people who were making my life miserable weren’t doing it because they hated me—there was no way I could’ve personally offended or pissed off so many people. They were doing it because someone else told them to.

Or rather, four someones.

It was strange. Finn was still an arrogant, cocky asshole when he showed up every day to chill out in the empty studio while I trained. But he didn’t taunt me or torment me, and—thank fucking God—he didn’t bring any other girls to the room. For the first week, I cracked the door carefully and peered inside before entering, heart thundering in my chest at what I dreaded I’d see.

But it was always the same thing.

Finn, sitting languidly up against the wall, elbows propped on his knees while he texted, watched videos on his phone, or scrolled through Instagram.

He watched me while I worked—I could feel his gaze on me like a heat ray—but we usually didn’t talk much, which was perfectly fine by me. I got more comfortable with him there, and by the end of the second week, I was able to mostly forget his presence, falling into the comfort of dancing again.

My strength and flexibility were improving steadily, and I was careful to walk the line between pushing hard and pushing too hard. The last thing I wanted was to re-injure myself, possibly permanently this time.

I’d finally caught up in my classes, and Leah and I had had several intense chemistry study sessions. Both times, we actually got a few hours of real studying in before the conversation drifted to which guys she thought were the hottest, and who she hoped would ask her out.

I listened, but didn’t have much to offer on those topics myself.

For one thing, no guys would be asking me out anytime soon—not unless they wanted to ruin whatever social standing they’d managed to build up in this school where image was everything.