Damaged Elite (The Darlington Elite Book 2) Read online

  When we get to the Escalade, I loosen my arm and she gives me a shove. “What is your problem, Zach?” She huffs, shoving her backpack into my arms and swinging the passenger side door open. Before I can react, she’s climbing in and buckling her seatbelt while I stand idly by, holding her fucking accessories like a neutered husband.

  When she shuts her door in my face, I open the rear door and toss the bag on the middle seat before stomping around to the driver’s side.

  I’m so in my feelings that we’re halfway home before I break the silence.

  “You’re not going on a date with that guy.” I try to sound less like a Neanderthal and more like a concerned friend, but I might as well whip out a club and grab her by the hair.

  “First, it’s not a date. It’s studying, which I get that you don’t have to do, but my grades are going to start slipping if I’m not careful.” She sighs. “It all sounds so trivial with everything going on with Cassandra and Beth.” She points her finger at me, scrunching up her nose in what I think is supposed to be anger, but really, she always just reminds me of Tinker Bell when she does that. “And second, you’re not going to tell me what I can do,” she spits back. The sarcasm in her voice muffles it, but I know she’s angry with me. And it’s not because I’m trying to tell her what to do.

  “It’s not safe.” I grip the steering wheel. “You can’t be running around with boys while you’re a target of the Learys and whoever else is in on all this shit.” I believe everything I’m saying, but that’s just the tip of the iceberg on why I don’t want her running around with that guy. And she knows it, too.

  “Listen, Zach,” she huffs out the words as we pull into the driveway, unbuckling her seatbelt. “The other night was fun. But just because I let you put your…” she gestures pointedly at my crotch, which is currently reacting because she’s mentioning the night we spent together, “...in my mouth doesn’t mean you get to tell me what to do now. You got me?”

  I glower, and I don’t say our usual I got you. Because she’s mine and fuck that guy!

  She watches me intently for a long moment, and a smile graces her lips briefly before she’s out of the car, leaving me and my hardon to think about her and that smart mouth.

  Later that evening, I know Kennedy is downstairs doing yoga, and I don’t want to go down to talk to her because she’ll be in one of those little outfits she always wears when she’s doing that bendy shit, and I won’t be able to think straight.

  It’s Everly who convinces me that I need to talk to Kennedy when she makes her way up from the basement into the kitchen where I’m scavenging for anything that doesn’t say gluten-free or at least has some bad carbs in it. I know I saw Tommy with some fucking hot Cheetos earlier, but I end up settling for a protein bar. Everly wipes the sweat from her forehead and smiles at me brightly.

  “You’re taking it well,” she nearly sings, and I pin her with a hard stare.

  “Taking what well?” I ask, eyeing her suspiciously.

  “Kennedy’s date with Tim,” she says, opening the fridge to grab a bottle of water. “Oh. You didn't know?” She feigns innocence, and I realize then that maybe she’s not quite as ‘Team Kennedy’ as I thought. She’s ‘Team Kennedy and Zach’. She’s trying to get me riled up enough that I make a move, but she of all people should know why I can’t be with Kennedy.

  She giggles when I bark out, “Fuck that shit” and rage out of the room like a hurricane. I slam the basement door behind me as I thunder down the stairs in search of Kennedy to...I don’t know what, but I do know that I need to see her.

  I stop short when I see Patrick, Henry, and Miles sitting on the couches and speaking in hushed tones.

  “What part of ‘ come downstairs for a guys-only meeting’ didn’t you understand?” Patrick asks, and I wonder what crawled up his ass and died.

  I rub my hand over my face. “Sorry, I left my phone in the Escalade…Kennedy and I…”

  “You can’t protect her if you don’t focus,” Miles says, but he doesn’t look up. Instead, he’s looking down at his phone on his lap as if he’s willing it to ring. I’ll cut him and Tommy some slack because of their current circumstances, but Patrick and Henry are going to get their asses handed to them if they give me any shit.

  I don’t move to sit down, because I really need to talk to Kennedy before she tries to leave for her date. So I lean against the back of the couch Henry is sitting on. “What’s going on? Where’s Tommy?”

  “I don’t think it would be beneficial for him to hear this conversation until we figure out what it means,” Henry says. “Out of respect for Jackie, I’m not going to show the video. But today, I was texted a link to a private video of a sexual nature. I can’t be sure, but I think it was from freshman year if I had to guess by the background and Tommy’s jersey.” He adds the last part quietly.

  “Someone sent you a sex video of Tommy and Jackie?” I sound stupid, repeating his words, but I’ve got nothing. What the fuck else is going to happen?

  “Yes. I’ve sent everything over to my father, but quite honestly, he thinks this is the least of our problems.” Henry leans forward, his elbows resting on his thighs. “The video was taken during a Phi Delt party. It’s clear neither one of them has any clue they’re being videoed.”

  “We’re not sure how long they’ve been secretly taping people in the house, or which rooms had cameras,” Patrick says, rubbing his palms over his face and then tugging his hair angrily before flopping back against the back of the couch. I know why he’s so peeved now. They could have videos of him and Everly. I don’t envy him. They probably have videos of me with random girls, but not of Kennedy, and that fact makes the initial blip of fear leave my chest.

  “I swear to fuck man, if they…” he says, and Henry waves him off. “What about Darcey?” Patrick growls. Shit. I didn’t even think of that. If Andre is in on this, I would imagine Darcey would be in some of the videos if there’s more than just this one circling around campus. Or the internet? However many people have seen them, it’s too many.

  “We need to be strategic,” Henry says calmly, standing up and sliding his phone in his pocket, smirking when Patrick lets out an agitated grunt, conveying he understands.

  “When do we tell Tommy?” Miles asks, finally looking up from his phone. “I’d want to know. Fuck, I want to know if Cassandra is on any of those videos. There has to be more than just that one. What are they doing? Videoing unknowing couples and making their own tapes with drunk girls?”

  “I doubt Cassandra would be on any of the videos since her brothers are the masterminds. They’re twisted, but that’s Fifty Shades-level fucked up,” I blurt out before I realize what I’ve said, and Patrick and Miles are looking at me like I have six heads.

  “Kennedy made you watch Fifty Shades?” Henry seems amused, and I wonder if anything ever really bothers him, like truly gets under his skin.

  “No.” I roll my eyes. “Yes.”

  “So, what’s the plan, boss?” Patrick asks, standing up to full height and starts fiddling with his belt.

  “I don’t know yet, but we’ll talk tomorrow.” Henry pats his pocket where he slipped his phone and heads toward the back door, grabbing his coat on the way.

  “I’ll grab my phone in a bit, I have to talk to Kennedy first,” I say, taking a few steps toward our makeshift gym.

  “She’s not down here,” Patrick says, yawning, stretching his arms out.

  “She’s doing yoga,” I say dumbly. “She always does yoga down here after class.” I can feel the panic rising in my chest because clearly they would know if she was down here. What if she’s already left and I was too busy brooding to notice?

  “Nah, Everly was doing yoga by herself. In those frickin shorts I like.” He scowls, probably because she banned him from the gym while she’s working out because he makes it his job to distract her. “The punk said she had some shit to do, I don’t know. I wasn’t listening.” Patrick shrugs, and I don’t argue with him
for calling Kennedy a punk for a couple reasons. One, she’d eat that shit up, and two, I need to find her before she puts herself in a dangerous situation because she’s mad at me.

  I stalk around the house like a lunatic until I find Kennedy sitting on the sink in her bathroom. She’s dressed nice, too nice to be staying in, and the thought makes my stomach sink. I’ve got to approach this the right way or it’s going to blow up in my face. Her legs are crisscrossed and her brown eyes are wide, mouth open while she rubs that black shit all over her lashes.

  “Hi, Zach,” she says, putting the pink tubey-thing down and quickly waving fake lashes out in front of her. She’s checking to see if it’s tacky enough to stick to her natural lashes, and it hits me then how many obscure things I know about her that she probably isn’t even aware of. I pay attention to every little thing because deep down, I know one day this will all be over and all I’ll have are the memories. I’ll have to let her go, but not tonight.

  “Going somewhere?” I croak out, emotion lacing my words.

  “The library,” she clips.

  “You’re being so cold to me right now,” I say, grabbing the doorframe above my head, stretching out the stress knots mutilating the muscles in my shoulders and back.

  She turns, eyelashes in place and her eyes boring into mine. “Doesn’t feel good, does it?” Her words cut, but her eyes warm me all over as they drift, honing in on my arms then traveling down to the tan sliver of stomach revealed by my current stretching position.

  “Point taken,” I say, looking away because I need to get this off my chest. “I don’t want to fight with you. I was wrong for the way I treated you after we…” I shake my head because I can’t find the words to explain what that night meant to me, regardless of the sexual stuff.

  “I think we should go back to just being friends before we ruin everything,” she says, and my eyes snap up to hers. I wasn’t expecting that. I don’t know what I was expecting, but her agreeing that we should only be friends wasn’t it. “It’s only hurting both of us. I don’t know your reasons, mostly because you won’t tell me, but life is short, Zach. I mean, it could have easily been me in that carjacking instead of Cassandra and Beth.” Her expression softens when she sees the way I grimace at the thought. “I can’t waste any more time sitting around playing this yo-yo game with you. If you really wanted me, you wouldn’t need this much time to decide. And I think it’s time I accept that.”

  She’s looking back in the mirror now, and I let my hands fall down to my sides, balling them into fists to prevent myself from reaching out and grabbing her. I want to shake her and tell her everything, tell her how much I need her, and how much I need to protect her. I want to tell her that my biggest fear is that I’ll change her, hurt her so bad she won’t bounce back. Deep down, I know I’m the only person who could do that to her. I can see it in the way she looks at me.

  “You don’t have any idea what’s going on,” I say.

  “And that’s out of my control.” She shrugs. “I can’t make you love me, Zach.”

  “You’re only going out with that prick to make me mad,” I accuse, but the look on her face tells me otherwise.

  “Why would it make you mad? You want to be friends, you’ve made that clear. And it’s not a date. It’s only studying with a friend.”

  “Friends like we are?” I see the hurt in her eyes at what I’m implying, and I don’t know why I said it other than to hurt her the way she’s hurting me. I’m too fucked up to acknowledge how counterproductive I’m being. I’m lashing out at her because I’m a coward, just like my father was.

  She slides off the counter, and I realize she’s wearing tight black jeans, her purple converse, and a black sweater that hugs every one of her curves that I’ve committed to memory.

  “I’ll let that slide because I don’t think you meant it,” she says softly, with a sad smile that punctuates her dimples. As she walks toward the door where I’m standing, she stands on her tiptoes and uses a hand to pull my face down to her level. Her lips brush against my cheek when she whispers, “I hope you didn’t.”

  I start to reach out for her, all conscious thought flying out of my brain. I want to haul her against me, kiss her until she can’t see straight. And then I want to bend her over that counter and watch her face in the mirror as I claim her.

  But she ducks under my arm and is halfway down the hallway before she calls back, “I’ll be fine, and I’m sure you’ll have one of the boys watching my every move anyway.”

  11

  Kennedy

  “I thought we were going to the library? To study?” I ask Tim when we’re seated at a white, linen-dressed table at The Fish Whistle. The only expensive restaurant in our college town. It’s so uptight and stuffy, no one even goes here unless their parents are visiting and footing the bill. I would have argued with him about it in the car, but he was on the phone the entire time, and I don’t know him well enough to treat him like one of the Elite boys. Zach just laughs when he’s on the phone with Henry and I breathe heavily into the receiver to try to make him uncomfortable, and Patrick hates it when I snatch his phone out of his hands to talk to Everly. I shake off the thoughts because I need to keep the Elite boys out of my brain. I can still be friends with them without my entire life revolving around them.

  “I thought we could have a nice meal first. You know, most girls are ecstatic to come here,” he says, waving his hand out like he owns the place, and I’m starting to feel uncomfortable. Because he could own it. I don’t know anything about him or his family, his friends, where he’s from—just that he’s smart and is nice to talk to in class.

  Nice.

  Do nice guys set up a study session and then take the girl to a fancy restaurant that is clearly meant for dates? I’m super uncomfortable, because somewhere between Tim asking me to study with him, and me agreeing to let him pick me up from the Elite House, there’s been a massive miscommunication. I only dressed up tonight and took extra care with my makeup because it makes me feel good, not in anticipation of a date. I know I look fine without makeup, but it's calming for me. Some people workout, color, or read to relieve stress. I master the art of eyeshadow instead. But the way he’s glancing down the wine list like he’s trying to find the best thing on the menu makes me feel like this is what he had planned all along.

  Maybe I’m just not used to nice guys because I definitely wouldn’t describe any of the Elite boys as nice, loyal maybe? Protective, definitely. But nice really isn’t their thing. And I’m starting to realize that maybe nice really isn’t my thing either. I hadn’t really wanted to study tonight, but I thought it might be good to get away from everyone. Now that I’m living in the house with them, I can’t really go anywhere alone to think. I’m not mad about that, the boys are trying to protect us, and their worry is founded. Regardless, I’m not sure that I really want to be out on a date with Tim, and I also kind of hate that I’m dependent on him for a ride because I can’t just make up some excuse and bolt. Maybe I can go to the bathroom and call Everly. She’ll come pick me up and won’t let Patrick run his mouth too much.

  “Aww, come on, don’t look so stressed. That’s why I wanted to bring you here, give you a nice night out. You look like you need to relax lately.” He smiles, sliding his hand over the side of his cropped auburn hair.

  “There’s just a lot going on.” I bite my lip and then smile at the silent waitress who brings us glasses of ice water and a menu labeled ‘Specials’.

  “We won’t be needing those,” he says, swiping my menu right out of my hands, but he’s delicate with his moments. This isn’t like Patrick practically throwing menus at a waitress who is too busy drooling to understand that Ms. Anna is the only one he can accept food from. Returning the menus to the girl, Tim then proceeds to rattle off a very complicated non-vegan order for two.

  “Uh, actually,” I interject, but I try to be polite, which is hard for me in situations like these. “I don’t eat meat, but thank you fo
r…”

  He looks at me like I’m a cute little bunny sniffing a flower, bewildered at the things in the world I haven’t experienced yet. “That’s just because you’ve never had a Fish Whistle filet mignon,” he said, his tone patronizing.

  “No, it’s because…” I can feel myself start to panic, like when I was ten and my grandmother force-fed me ham because at her house we finish everything on our plate. I feel the bile rise in my throat at the memory. Puking all over the carpet and hyperventilating through tears as she watched me scrub it up.

  Spoiled brat.

  He continued, talking right over me. “And we’ll have two glasses of the house cabernet.” He hands the waitress the menus, and she scampers off.

  “Hey, dickwad. She doesn’t eat food with a face,” Tommy says, swiping a chair from an older couple’s table brashly and turning it backward at our table, before flopping down. The man looks appalled, his eyes searching the restaurant for the maître d' to tattle, I suppose, but he’s already making a beeline for our table from across the restaurant. The woman smiles at Tommy, appraising his stature, which makes him smirk before fixing a scowl on Tim. I don’t know where Tommy came from or how long he’s been eavesdropping on our conversation, but I’ve never been so relieved, amused, and embarrassed at the same time.

  “Sir, unfortunately, we have a dress code,” the maître d' says to Tommy in a quiet, restrained tone just as our waitress returns with the wine Tim insisted on. Tommy looks down at his Darlington Hockey hoodie and then back up at the maître d'. I’m not sure if he’s smirking because the hockey boys are known for their brute strength or because of his broad size. He smirks at the smaller, older man, and I roll my eyes, because it’s like a tiger circling a defenseless bunny to let it know who’s boss.

  Tommy grins, grabbing one of the glasses of wine and downing it in one gulp. “Perfect, we were just leaving.” He stands and holds his hand out to me. When I don’t move, he huffs. “You’re coming with me, we just need to negotiate how big of a scene I need to cause before you agree.”