Page 20 of Hide and Keep

“Like…” I follow his lead until I spy a dog bed in a corner. “Dog.”

His expression turns thoughtful. “Could be. Zeus is out back right now but he’s in here a lot.” He rounds the couch. “We must be nose blind to him. Is it bad?”

“Terrible,” I mumble as I stare at the bag hanging off his shoulder. “You don’t need any of that. I told you you’ll be back tonight.”

“This…” Using his thumb, he tugs on the thick strap. “…is just to get me started. We’ll come back and get more some other time.”

I chuckle. “Wewill not.”

“Yes,wewill. For the next three years,wewill be going everywhere together.”

“Three years?” I can’t keep the hope out of my voice. Did my father tell him that or did he just assume?

“Until you graduate. Your university is a four-year, isn’t it?”

He assumed. Of course.

One year of college—just enough to boast about, not enough to derail my father’s plans.

But Crue doesn’t know how temporary his job is. He should.

“I’m not graduating, Crue Brantley. You might as well walk away now.”

He doesn’t respond right away, just focuses on his phone, pressing a button that disarms the house’s alarm with another set of beeps. When he’s done, he looks up at me through dark lashes, and says, “I’m not walking away, Ever Munreaux. I will do everything in my power to make sure you fucking graduate.”

I have to swallow three times to get all the emotion clogging my throat down.

“You don’t have enough power to make that happen.” If I don’t, he definitely doesn’t.

He gives a huff of humorless laughter. “What makes you so fucking sure? You don’t even know me.”

Because power wraps its insidious limbs around people, changing them, poisoning them from the outside in, but your outsides match your insides which I know firsthand are pure because you asked for my permission, and the corrupt never, ever do.

“Because power stems from money, which clearly…” I hold out my hands, infusing a large dose of disgust into my expression. “…you don’t have.”

“I don’t need a dime to get you to graduation.”

I scoff. “You could certainly use it.”

“You know, I heard about you over the years…”

My chin lifts on its own. Blood, sweat, tears—I wish those were all it took to be as notorious as I’ve become. It wasn’t even the countless insane routines pulled off flawlessly in public. It was the sprains, the concussions, the bone bruises and breaks, along with the perfected smile accompanying itall. I’ve worked too hard not to be notable. If people are talking about me, I’ve either done something incredibly right, incredibly wrong…

“Awful is too nice a term for you.”

Or I was born to a man who did. My father’s influence is a perversion on my life. I hate it. I hate him.

And I hate myself for having to play into the perception, especially with Crue.

“You don’t know me either,” I let slip, some of my own frustration infusing my tone.

“I know enough.” He gives me an inspection that is nothing like the time he did it at Hide and Keep. “You hate me…just because I’m not rich.”

I don’t hate you.

I don’t want to hate you.

Please don’t make me hate you.

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