The Rebel of Raleigh High (Raleigh Rebels #1)(43)

I’m too broken and too flawed. I can’t get him out of my head, though. Like the oxygen bonded within my own blood, he’s an ever-present constant that I can’t deny myself. He’s with me, listening and watching as I play, his dark eyes unknowable, his thick, wavy hair falling down across his face, soft mouth quirked up at one side in that infuriating way of his. Even as a projection from my own head, I can’t figure out what he’s thinking as he leans against the deck’s railing in the rain, his posture relaxed and wound tight at the same time.

After thirty minutes, sifting through a litany of situations and possibilities, where I manage to overcome the damage Jake Weaving and his friends did to me and I somehow find the courage to tell Alex that I like him, I realize that I’ve only managed to convince myself just how impossible any of it would be. Not the outcome I was hoping for, but it seems to be the truth. I wake up panting some nights, soaked in sweat and tangled in my bedsheets, trying to fight off an echo of violence that has already taken its toll on me. For a while there, I couldn’t even bear coming into contact with Mom or Dad without nearly jumping out of my own skin and dissolving into a fit of panicked hysteria.

Alex isn’t safe enough to be right for me, and I’m not whole enough to be right for him, either. That’s really all there is to it.

After lunch, I grab the groceries I need, grateful for the long weekend and the extra day I'll be able to spend at the cabin. The bait and tackle shop cottoned on to the idea that they were the only store within a five-mile radius of the actual lake and they expanded, turning themselves into more of a convenience store, stocking up on the essentials most holidaymakers require while they're away from home. I pick up some bread, cheese, milk…some ingredients to cook up some pasta, as well as breakfast items and snacks. Merl, the store owner, chit chats with me as he runs my card and takes my payment; I'm laughing and joking with him, helping to load my goods into a paper bag, when I feel my cell phone buzz in the back pocket of my jeans.

I’ve never gotten a text up here at the lake. Never. Takes me a second to register the fact that something weird just happened, though. When it hits me, I pull my phone out and stare down at the screen, trying to make sense of what I’m seeing.

“Pretty awesome, huh? They put in one of those camouflaged 5G poles on the hillside over on the other side of Whitley Hill. Now, every once in a while, we get a burst of reception and all our messages come floodin’ through.”

“Why?” A strange numbness is creeping into my fingertips, up my hands, sinking into my joints.

“Little girl drowned here six months ago,” Merl tells me. “Such a shame. She was only eight or nine. The parents have been campaigning ever since. Said it was irresponsible that there was no way to call for help. They hold that their little girl would have survived if they’d been able to call an ambulance. Seems to me they’re just trying to find someone else to pin the blame on, though. They weren’t watchin’ the little mite close enough. Couldn’t have been if the girl slipped under the water and disappeared in the first place. You’re a strong swimmer aren’t you, Sil?”

I don’t answer him.

I can’t.

I'm too busy staring down at the video that's just come through on my phone. I don't know the number, it's not in my contacts, and it's not one I recognize. There's no message, and no name in the actual body of the text. There's only the video: Alex, sitting with Jake at the edge of a swimming pool, holding a beer in his hands. They're too far away to read the expression on Alex's face, but I can picture it just fine because, in the water, Kacey and Zen are naked, their bodies lit up by the pool lights, and they're making out like crazy.

Fuck.

Fucking fuck, Alex.

I close out of the video and come out of the Messages app, slipping my phone back into my pocket. Merl's still rambling on about the little girl who drowned, and the new 5G pole on the other side of Whitley Hill. “You stand on that deck a'yours, and you might just be able to get a bar or two if you're lucky. I wouldn't count on it, though. You need help for any reason, you just come on over here, okay? Don't matter what time it is. I'm awake 'til late most nights. Damn sciatica keeps me up. I don't mind answerin' the door if you find yourself in trouble, you know that.”

I give him a forced smile, collecting my groceries from the counter. Over his shoulder, a rubber, mechanical fish mounted on a wooden plaque turns its head to face me, glassy eyes staring, and begins to sing, “Don’t Worry Be Happy.”

“Argh, stupid dang thing,” Merle grumbles. “Never shuts up. I need to take the batteries out.” He turns away from me, swatting at the fish, and I use the distraction to make my escape. I feel like I can’t breathe. My eyes are stinging like crazy. Fuck, I can’t fucking breathe.

Outside, I dump the groceries onto the passenger seat and watch the video again, hands shaking, heart thundering in my chest. I have no right to be angry. Alex owes me absolutely nothing. For the next fifteen seconds, I fluctuate between anger and hurt, though, feeling utterly, completely stupid.

I tap out a message before I can stop myself. Not a reply to the video. A message to Alex.

Me: Congrats on your conquest. Zen always gets what she wants. Glad you had a good night.





Almost immediately, a bubble pops up with three dots—I wasn’t expecting a response from him at all, let alone so damn quickly, but Alex is typing out a reply. I sit there, staring at the screen, dread tightening like a fist in the hollow of my chest.