Fighting Fate (Fighting #7)(82)

There, sitting on the picnic bench that Killian used to wait for me on, is Clifford. Great, and with class still in session, there’s no one around to witness his cruelty.

I spin on a heel and speed-walk to the breezeway that leads to the parking lot and my escape. My heart beats wildly in my chest, but I don’t hear him following me, so I try to force myself to breathe. I’ll be okay. Just keep your eyes open and get to the car.

Once my shoes hit the asphalt, I risk a look and peek over my shoulder. He is behind me. Shit. He’s keeping a good distance though, slowly meandering in my wake.

Whirling my backpack to my front, I fish out my keys and peek behind me again. He’s stopped at the curb where the lot meets the sidewalk, and his eyes are boring into mine. A slow grin crawls across his face, and if this were some kind of mafia movie, it would be the last thing I’d see right before my car exploded.

Thankfully, Clifford isn’t in the mob.

I hit the key fob for my SUV, and my breath catches in my throat.

My car exploded, alright; although not in a burst of fiery flames and shrapnel. That would’ve been better.

No, my car is plastered in photos.

And it doesn’t take a genius to figure out what they’re of.

The sound of students filtering from classrooms calls my eyes away from the hideous pics, and sure enough, people appear from everywhere.

“Shit.” I race to my car and scramble to remove the photos, but they’re stuck. Like really stuck. I pick at the corners with my nails, my hands shaking as the rumble of engines firing up sounds all around me. I rip one off and move to the next, but my gosh, there has to be nearly fifty of them. “Come on. Come on…” Tears sting my eyes, blurring the images of flesh on flesh, as I frantically rip photos from my car. Giggles erupt from a group of girls passing by, then comments from a group of guys, and no one offers to help.

Tears are streaming down my face now, and I pull as many pictures off as I can. I throw them into the back of my car and decide as the parking lot fills that it’s best to get the hell out of here and work on this away from prying eyes.

“There’s more, ya know?”

I shriek at the sound of Clifford’s voice and find him there with his hands shoved in his pockets and a satisfied grin on his face. “Why are you doing this to me?” I hiccup on a sob and hope my tears appeal to what little, if any, humanity remains in him.

“You f*cked with me first.” He steps closer. “Turnabout is fair play.”

“I didn’t f*ck with you, Clifford! I was pregnant, but I lost the baby.”

He clicks his tongue then tilts his head. “Of course you did.”

It’s pointless. “Even if what you’re saying is true, I didn’t ruin your life. I let you off the hook, walked away. You’re trying to destroy me.”

“You’re destroying yourself by sitting here arguing with me when you should be hitting all the community boards.”

I swivel my gaze from him to one of the large corkboards in the common area by the parking lot. A group of people crowds around it, and when one of the guys turns to look at me, his face twists in pity.

Clifford posted these photos on the community boards!

Leaving my car door open, I sprint to the board, feeling the sting of tears on my cheeks. I get there just as my lit teacher Mr. Decker shoves his way to the board. His face pales. “That’s enough; everyone back away.” He rips down the photos and then pushes people back. “I’m serious; you all need to back away. Now!”

The crowd thins, and Mr. Decker pulls the last of the photos from the board to add to the stack in his hands. “Miss Daniels, I think we need to talk.”

A muffled burst of laughter moves past us, and I look up just in time to see the back of Clifford’s head disappear into the breezeway.





Twenty-eight





Seven months later…





Killian





Having spent my entire life in Las Vegas, I’ve never experienced a white Christmas. Sure, I’d heard the song, know all the words, but never really thought there was anything magical about one, that is until now.

There’s something about a city, from the slush-ridden streets to the tallest skyscrapers, covered in the cold white stuff that makes me feel like I’m living in an old black-and-white movie.

Staring out through the front window of an over-priced restaurant, buzzed on expensive booze, I think about Axelle. Neither of us had ever traveled. She lived in Seattle, which is one more city than I’ve experienced, but like me, she’d never been anywhere else. She would love this: the history, culture, all of it. Sorrow attempts to disrupt my holiday buzz when I realize she’s a mom now and her chances of ever getting to lay eyes on the view before me are slimmer than ever.

My chest cramps every time I think of her. And when I don’t think about her, she manages to come up. Every old story I tell, every memory of the UFL camp in Vegas, all of it is wrapped up in her.

Just the other day I overheard Caleb talking to Blake on the phone. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but we were both in the kitchen, so I may have listened a little more intently than I should’ve. From what I could tell, it was something about a Christmas card that was sent. It was when Caleb had said, “Yeah, that’s one hell of a good-looking baby, man,” that I nearly choked on my sandwich and decided to finish my meal in my room. There’s not a doubt in my mind that Axelle’s child is just as beautiful as she is. I worry about her, about the toll being a young mother with that f*ck Clifford would take, but she has a family and people to support her.