Page 81 of North

Blinding, relentless, one after another, and I held my hand in front of my face to protect my eyes. I felt the pantiesripped from my other hand and I blinked to find Liam holding them out, laughing hysterically.

It only took a few seconds, but I realized the flashes were from camera phones, and pictures were being taken. Laughter erupted around us. A group of kids—all the popular kids—emerged from the shadows, their phones held high, their faces twisted with glee.

“Oh my God,” one of the girls shrieked, doubling over with laughter. “She actually did it!”

“This is priceless,” another guy said, snapping more pictures as Liam waved my panties like a flag. “Liam, you’re a legend.”

The world tilted, the sound of their cackling mingling with the blood roaring in my ears. My stomach churned, bile rising in my throat as I stared at Liam, who was grinning like he’d just won the lottery.

“Why would you do that?” I croaked, my voice breaking.

He shrugged, holding up my panties like a trophy. “Why not? It was a bet and too good to pass up.” He turned to his friends. “Was I good or what?” he yelled, and they all cheered.

The laughter grew louder, and someone called out, “Smile, Farren! You’re famous now!”

I couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. The humiliation crashed over me in waves, and all I could do was stare at Liam, who no longer looked handsome but rather maniacally evil.

“Come on,” he said, his grin widening. “It was just ajoke.”

“A joke?” My voice cracked, tears blurring my vision. “You used me. Humiliated me. All to win a bet?”

“Don’t be so dramatic,” he said, rolling his eyes. “It’s not like anyone’s going to care tomorrow.”

But I cared. I cared more than I’d ever thought possible.

The laughter followed me as I bolted, tears streaming down my face. I didn’t stop running until I was outside, the cool night air biting at my skin. The humiliation and betrayal burned, carving deep wounds that I knew would never fully heal.

I had put my faith in him. And he had destroyed a young girl’s confidence and ability to trust.

I open my eyes to find Rafferty staring at me with murder in his expression. I’d recounted the story like a robot, afraid to succumb to the emotion of it. “And now you know, brother of mine.”

“Jesus,” Rafferty says, his voice sickened with sorrow.

“I hope you can understand how traumatic that was for me, and why it might have shaped my feelings about trusting men.”

“Your decision not to go to college?” he asks.

I nod. “I was afraid of people pretending to be my friend. I was afraid of being singled out, humiliated. College is all about growth and trying new things, and I wasn’t about to do that.”

Rafferty takes a few breaths. Opens his mouth to saysomething, then snaps it shut again. More breaths and then he pushes up from his chair and starts to pace.

Wheeling on me, he says, “First, I’m going to kill that fucker. Do you know where he is?”

I blink at Rafferty in surprise. “Um… last I heard, he’s still in Calgary. I saw on social media that he manages a tire store.”

“I bet I can weight his body down with a few heavy-duty brands and dump him in the Bow River.”

For all the heaviness of the past several minutes, this strikes me as hilarious and I can’t help but laugh. Rafferty isn’t amused though. He turns to face me, crossing his arms. “You cannot let that experience scare you away from relationships, Farren. You can’t believe all men are scum and untrustworthy.”

“Apparently, I can,” I mutter, referencing my habitual need to keep myself emotionally removed from the opposite sex.

“Do you believe I love Tempe?” he asks.

I blink in surprise, failing to see the relevance. “Of course I do.”

“Do you think I’d ever hurt her?”

“Never.” I see what he’s trying to do now. “But you’re different.”

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