Damaged Elite (The Darlington Elite Book 2) Read online

  I brace myself for Patrick’s outburst, but I guess Everly has softened him some because the only thing he growls before he stomps away is, “Don’t let me hear you say another word and I’ll let you live.”

  I tug off my pads and head over to the section of the locker room we claimed freshman year when we were deemed the Elite. Back then, we had a more cordial relationship with the rest of the team, and all we cared about was hockey and parties, but we’ve always had a special bond that I’m convinced not even death will break.

  “Coach didn’t say a word to any of us,” I say as I strip down for the shower.

  “He’s not going to,” Tommy says, wrapping a towel around his hips and leaning back against the locker. “He kicked Miles off the ice because he didn’t want him drawing attention to everything that’s going on. He never kicks me off the ice because he knows he needs me to distract the other team. He let me go check on Miles.”

  “Whatever that fucker has planned, we’ll be ready for him,” Patrick barks, banging his locker shut. “Don’t you think it’s bizarre that nothing official has been mentioned about Beth or Cassandra?”

  “Specifically Cassandra,” I say. “She’s the Leary Princess, literally campus royalty and not one vigil? Service? Mention? He just shows up to work like his daughter isn’t fighting for her life.”

  “Keep that shit down,” Tommy chides me, nodding his head toward where Miles is already in the showers.

  On the way home, we’re all riding together except for Patrick and Everly. He said they had to go to the store or some shit, but I’m just thankful I’ve got the backseat for just me and Kennedy. I’m still reeling from the way I felt seeing her with that fucking professor, and that’s probably why I can’t keep my hands off of her. Her head jerks up from rifling through her backpack when I slide my arm around her, pulling her close to my side. I dip my head, breathing in the cinnamon scent of her hair.

  “I need you more than you could even imagine,” I say so quietly that I’m only certain that she’s heard me because of the small gasp that leaves her plump lips.

  “What do you need from me?” Her voice is so strong but so delicate, and I realize that right now, I have the power to shatter or validate the hope I hear in her voice, and my stomach twists at the thought. I’m fucking screwed no matter what I do. If I lie and say that all I need is her friendship, I’ll hurt her, and maybe even make her hate me for playing with her feelings. If I tell her what I want, what I need—it’s everything. I want everything she has to give. I want to fill her mind, hold her heart, possess her soul, and devour her body. I know what she feels like pressed up against me, but I can only imagine what she feels like writhing beneath me.

  I don’t get to answer her because I’m set on high alert when I hear Henry curse.

  “What’s wrong?” I sit up straighter in my seat, but I tighten my grip on Kennedy when I feel her start to move away from me. I’m not ready to lose the contact I so desperately crave from her.

  “Someone’s following us,” Henry says.

  “Learys?” Tommy is riding shotgun, letting Miles have the middle seat. I see him shift, trying to see out the passenger side mirror. We’re on a back road heading to the Elite House, it’s dark, and we’re the only two cars on the road.

  Henry only lets out a “hmm” and slams on the brakes. I hear screeching tires, and my instinct is to pull Kennedy on my lap, wrapping her in my arms and shielding her from whatever harm might come our way. I glance out the rear window quickly and instantly recognize the Escalade behind us. It stops just short of crashing into us, and everything goes eerily quiet. I hear the distinct click of the safety on a handgun, and I watch as Henry passes it to Tommy.

  “I’m scared,” Kennedy whispers into my neck, and I curse myself for the thousandth time for bringing her into a life where she has to deal with any of this shit. I can't even count how many times I’ve considered putting her in my car and driving her to her parents’ house, but the thought of leaving her somewhere without any of us to protect her makes me instantly bristle.

  “What the fuck are we doing, Henry?” I yell, because he might want a fucking gunfight in the middle of nowhere to end it all, but I’ve got a lot more at stake here than just my own life. I’ve got fucking everything in my hands right now. He doesn’t answer because in pure Henry fashion, he’s calm, coldly watching in the rearview mirror. He’s probably ten steps ahead of all of us, including the Learys, but I can’t take that chance when Kennedy’s precious life is hanging in the balance. I get that he’s the levelheaded one of the group, but I wish he’d fill us in on the fucking plan for once.

  I shove her off my lap and onto the floor. “Lay down, and don’t sit up until I tell you.” I know she’s really frightened because she doesn’t give me an argument, but instead does as I tell her. I crouch down in the seat, letting her keep our fingers intertwined.

  “There’s two of them, a female and a male,” Tommy says to Henry, and I’m not sure how he can tell with the tinted windows in the dark, but he must be able to see something.

  I’m not sure what I’m expecting to happen, but it certainly isn’t for Henry to throw the vehicle into reverse and slam his foot on the gas, jerking our Escalade back into the Leary’s matching SUV.

  “What the fuck, man?!” Tommy yells, but Miles doesn’t make a sound.

  “They need to know we’re as unhinged as they are,” Henry says calmly, and the Learys back up, and it’s only seconds before they’re flying around us and down the dark road, leaving us alone. I shake my head because he’s as fucking psycho as Patrick, only with calm calculation added into the mix.

  “They’re the reason Cassandra is in a coma, whether they pulled the trigger or not. They better pray I don’t get my hands on them.” Miles’s voice is lethal, and I think if he had the chance, he would actually torture all three of the older Learys and Coach.

  I pull Kennedy up from the floor of the SUV, but when she scrambles to get in the seat next to me, I pull her on my lap, not caring about the complications or implications of the action. I just fucking want her, simple as that.

  She collapses against me, relief radiating off her as she wraps her arms around my shoulders and presses her face against my neck.

  “I’ll never let anyone hurt you,” I whisper against her hair as Henry puts the truck in drive, and we start our journey home again.

  Especially me.

  5

  Kennedy

  Later that night, after Henry decided to play bumper cars with the Learys and simultaneously scare the shit out of me, I’m woken up by the creaking of my bedroom door, but I’m not alarmed because I know exactly how this will play out.

  “Kenney?” Zach asks softly. He shuts the door behind him, but he doesn’t move over to the bed. Things have been weird since we moved into the Elite House. Before things got crazy, before he pulled me into his world, things had been pretty simple.

  Zach had liked exactly three things: hockey, banging random girls, and cuddling with me at night. It was pretty easy for me to let things slide before—when it wasn’t in my face, when I wasn’t actually watching him with the other girls. He’s cut that out completely, but I’m not sure if it’s because of everything we’ve been dealing with or because we’re sharing the same living space.

  But now that we are living in such close proximity, all those boundaries have become blurred. I should have told him as soon as I moved in that we needed to draw a line somewhere in our relationship, so neither one of us got hurt.

  So I didn’t get hurt.

  “I…uh…” he says, trailing off, and then I hear him sigh. It’s been a rough couple of weeks.

  “Are you okay?” I ask, leaning over to flick on the light on my nightstand. He’s only wearing sweatpants, slung low on his hips, and he’s rubbing a hand over his forearm nervously.

  “No.” He shakes his head. “Look, I know things are weird between us, and I know that’s one hundred percent my fault.” He moves ove
r to the bed, sitting down, but doesn’t touch me. “Can we just figure it out some other time?” His shoulders slump, and he reaches his hand out to circle around my bare leg, just below the knee.

  “Are you asking if you can sleep in here?” My whole body heats when his thumb softly strokes the hollow space at the back of my knee.

  “I’m telling you I don’t want to sleep anywhere else.” His hand moves higher. Now his thumb is on my knee, and his fingers are stroking the sensitive skin on the back of my thigh.

  I look at him for a moment, and I know letting him sleep in my bed is only making it impossible to keep my head clear. But in my heart, way deep down in my soul, I know none of it matters. I’m so in love with him, and that won’t change no matter how far away I push him.

  “Fine,” I huff, trying to pretend that the thought of cuddling with him isn’t something I lie in bed and think about every night.

  He’s fast, standing up and flicking off the light. I start to roll over on my side, facing the wall, but his hand catches me, gripping my hip and keeping me on my back. I gasp at the contact—he’s never touched me so intimately, and the dominant way his fingers grip my bare skin has my legs falling open, telling him I’ll move whichever way he wants. Even though we’ve been known to spoon or for me to lie against his chest while he sleeps on his back, this is new territory. This isn’t platonic in the same way.

  Zach’s hand moves up my ribcage, and I feel him shift to his knees between my thighs.

  “What are you doing?” I whisper, and I know I sound on the verge of panic because I am. I’m not afraid of him, I’m afraid of where this will lead. I’ve wanted him for so long, but I can’t stand the thought of having him like this in my bed and then watching him with other girls.

  “Cuddling you,” he says against my ear as he moves his body to lie on top of mine. His hips lower to the mattress between my thighs, and his abdomen is pressed against the heated juncture there. I start to jerk away, trying to pull up into a sitting position because I’m afraid he’ll be able to feel how aroused I am through my thin cotton shorts.

  But he grips my side with both hands, and his elbows dig into the mattress as he presses his face into my abdomen just below my breasts, my worn t-shirt the only thing separating us.

  “You’ve never cuddled me like this before,” I say shakily when I feel the heat of his ab muscles pressing into my core. My face flushes with embarrassment because I know I’m so aroused I must have soaked through my panties and shorts at this point. At least when he’d spoon me in the past, none of that was evident.

  “I’ve always wanted to,” he says, and I feel him slowly lift my t-shirt up to just below my breasts. My breathing increases. Does he know what he’s doing to me?

  Of course, he does. This is Zach.

  “Friends don’t cuddle like this, Zach.” I feel like I’m panting out the words, trying my hardest to warn him before he takes things too far. Before we’re not friends anymore.

  Before I’m just another girl he’s screwed.

  “Friends can do a lot of things, Kennedy.” He presses his mouth against my stomach and I moan, my hips bucking up against him.

  “Zach,” I breathe, and his hand reaches down to grasp my thigh, pulling it up around him.

  He continues peppering kisses on my abdomen until he reaches my t-shirt and nudges it up further, exposing the bottoms of my breasts to his mouth. He moves up, and the friction against my sex is delicious. He presses open-mouthed kisses against the underside of my breasts.

  “We can’t take any of this back,” I say, and he grunts in either acknowledgment or protest, I’m not sure which.

  “I don’t fucking want to.” His voice sounds foreign. He’s no longer the soft, gentle friend he’s been for the last year. “Do you want me to stop, Kenney?” he asks against my skin, and I arch up against him in answer. He rubs his face against the part of my breasts still covered by my shirt.

  “Tell me what you want,” he groans.

  “You. I want you,” I tell him.

  When his mouth rubs over my hardened nipple, my thighs clench involuntarily around him and he moves up higher, his hardness finding solace against my heated, wet core. My body reacts before I can think of our ruined friendship, and I rock up, rolling my hips against him.

  His mouth latches onto my nipple, soaking the fabric of my t-shirt, and he bucks his hips against mine, groaning.

  “I’ve wanted to know what you feel like for so long,” he says, and the cool air in the room wafts over my wet nipple, making it even harder and more sensitive.

  I moan his name and I feel his body shake slightly with a chuckle, and I swat his shoulder because even in this intense moment, he’s still being Zach. I sober from the intoxication of his lips, opening my mouth to speak, to tell him that we might regret this in the morning.

  He might regret it, and that will crush me.

  But nothing comes out.

  He slides up and buries his face against my neck. Even though the layers of clothes, his hardness presses against my entrance, and my body is begging for more. More of him.

  “Once we do this, we can’t take it back,” I say again, rubbing my hand down his bare back, resting at the waistband of his sweatpants. I want him naked, I want to feel every part of him.

  “I’ll stop before it gets too far,” he whispers, but I can hear the apprehension in his voice, like he’s not sure what is too far.

  “I trust you,” I say, and that makes him groan against my neck.

  “Fuck,” he says, his hand coming up to cup one of my breasts, his thumb rubbing over the hardened peak at the center. “Let me get you off,” he says, and I can feel him breathing against my face, but I can’t see him in the darkness.

  His hand moves down my stomach, and he lifts his hips up off of me, so he’s on one side of my body.

  “What? I’m…” I stutter as his hand slides down my shorts and over my panties. I wasn’t expecting that. Not that I like hearing the stories, but girls talk—and Zach is not known for being a generous lover.

  “God, Kenney, do you always get this wet for me?” he whispers against my neck, his fingers rubbing across the wet lace.

  “Every night.” That’s all it takes, his fingers are beneath the lace, running up and down the slick skin. My hips arch off the bed when he slides a finger inside me.

  “Holy shit,” he grunts, pulling my shorts and panties off swiftly and then sliding his finger back inside, slowly, rhythmically stretching me. He tries to slide another finger in, but I’m too tight, clenching around the intrusion. He tenses, stilling, realization hitting him. “You’ve had sex before.” It’s not a question or a statement. He’s waiting for me to elaborate. He pulls his hand away, moving to cup my face, willing me to look at him in the darkness. I can’t see his face, but I can imagine his questioning expression.

  No. I haven’t.

  But I don’t have to tell him that. Divulging my sexual history is not a prerequisite for having sex with him. He’s only going to use the information to make things weird.

  Instead, I slide my hand down his chest and stomach, feeling his abdominal muscles clench under my touch. He presses his hips into my leg, needing the friction he lost when he moved off of me. I lower my hand, wanting to feel how hard I’m making him.

  Zach hisses when my fingers slip beneath his sweats, grasping the hardened flesh.

  “Kenney, stop. Stop trying to distract me.” His hand moves up to my neck, rubbing softly and his fingers tangling in my hair. “You’ve had boyfriends. A couple of them.” He lets his head fall forward, his forehead pressing against mine when I release him. I can feel the control he’s barely harnessing, and I like that I can have that effect on him.

  I groan, this time in frustration. He always does this. He always overthinks everything with me. I’m not going to placate him this time. How many boyfriends or lovers I’ve had isn’t anyone’s business, and I’m tired of him calling all the shots.

  I tu
rn away from him, quickly shimmying under the covers because I have no clue where he’s tossed my bottoms.

  “Just go,” I say, and I hear his sharp inhale when I jerk away from his touch. “Just pretend nothing happened, and I’ll do the same.”

  “Kenney,” he whispers, and I feel him lace his fingers with mine as he slides up behind me, the way we used to sleep before things became so complicated.

  I sigh tiredly, and I’m careful not to sink back into him. “It’s fine, Zach. You should probably go back to your room. Things will be fine in the morning.”

  Will they?

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” he asks, and I can’t discern the emotion coloring his voice. “I’m your best friend.”

  “It’s not a big deal.” I shrug because he can’t see my face. “It’s sex. You, of all people, should understand that concept.” He bristles, tightening his arm around me, keeping his fingers woven through mine.

  “It’s a very big deal.” I’m not used to the quiet calmness in his voice, and I wish we could just banter this out like we do most things.

  “To who? You? It’s not your body.” I laugh at the absurdity of this whole conversation. He doesn’t laugh, he doesn’t find anything about this funny, which is exactly why I didn’t want him to know in the first place.

  We lie there in awkward silence for what seems like hours, but only minutes pass. Finally, he pulls me back against him, silently pleading with me to melt into him like I used to. I can’t, not this time. He can’t keep playing with my emotions. We’re either friends or more than that.

  “Kenney,” he says, cupping my chin, nudging me to turn and face him—as if the gesture will somehow make me hear him better. “It should be with someone special.”

  You are someone special.

  “It’s fine. Tomorrow we’ll pretend none of this happened.” I say, but my voice sounds hollow. I nuzzle into him, careful not to press my lips against his chest.