Page 52 of Deafened By Silence
My cock sinks faster than the Titanic. I bare my teeth as I glance sideways, and by whatever cruel trick of fate, there he is. The same shrewd blue eyes and same air of superiority. A navy suit is stretched perfectly over his aging frame. His hair is more gray than black now, but still styled within an inch of its life. Shiny black loafers gleam on the court, polished and out of place, like he’s allergic to the world the rest of us live in.
“Hello, Father,” I grind out. Harper stiffens against me, but her face is otherwise a mask of indifference. Smoothly withdrawing her hand from my shorts, she thrusts it straight out towards the man staring at us.
“Pleasure to meet you, Mr Waversea. I’m Harper Addams.” She holds her hand out, steady and sure, much to my delight. My father sneers at her cock-contagious hand, making absolutely no move to shake it.
Shrugging, Harper lowers her arm and links her fingers with mine instead. Hot damn. If the bastard who spawned me wasn’t standing right there, I’d be tempted to propose. This girl, this incredibly beautiful and ballsy girl, is the one. End of conversation.
“I see my son is doing a fine job mentoring you,” he finally says, voice laced with disgust. “I’m attending a meeting with the board, then we’re having lunch with the Kavanagh’s. Try to look presentable,” my father looks me up and down, clearly unimpressed.
“I have plans,” I grunt, tugging Harper in front of me and curling my arm around her shoulders.
“Send your plans out to get her nails done. Lunch is non-negotiable.”
I bristle, about to call him out for speaking about Harper as if she’s dispensable. To him, everything can be bought, and everyone has a price. It’s exactly why lunch with the Kavanagh’s is happening. I’m being sold to the highest bidder, my future mapped out by a man who has no idea I’m going to burn my own legacy to the ground before we get there.
Before a single word makes it past my lips, my father turns on his heel and strides away. Harper wiggles in my loosened grip, turning until her cheek rests against my chest. Here we go again with the hugging, but no one is around to see my street cred going up in flames. Regardless, my arms circle her, holding her against me whilst my pulse begins to ease.
“He didn’t look like the monster I pictured,” she murmurs, her voice threading into the quiet.
“They never do, Babygirl.” My hand drifts to the scar at my neck, fingers brushing over it as if to remind myself it’s real. That the nightmares were real, because sometimes, around her, I almost forget. Or more rather, I can buy into the fantasies Harper offers and pretend none of it happened.
Leaning forward to press a kiss to her head, I freeze halfway, horror ripping through me at the realization of what I was about to do. I wasn’t going to bite her or mark her or mock her. I was about to showaffection. My stomach twists. Fuck. With a sharp pull, I peel her away before my brain short-circuits completely.
“I’d better hit the showers. Come over tonight.” I just about manage to force some authority into my tone, pushing the balance of power back into place. Harper smirks, seeing straight through me but nodding anyway. My eyes track her to the bleachers, noting the slight skip in her step as if she’s the Queenof the court wearing her King’s jersey. She swings her bag onto her shoulder and leaves, every step echoing like the crack of a whip down my spine.
I refuse to think about where she’s going next, and with who. There’s only so much torture my brain can handle at once, and it seems my father is hellbent on taking the mantle today.
Chapter Thirty One
The hallway smells faintly of coffee and dashed hope, students dragging their feet away from the lure of the cafeteria. I’m amongst them, clinging to the strap of my backpack and trying to remember the reasons I left Aunt’s Marg’s dusty attic. Things were simpler there. Online coursework was easier, and my friendships were mostly virtual. I’ve never had to deal with walking into a room and wondering who is out to get me, and why.
Due to the ongoing investigation, Peterson’s classes have been moved to an adjacent building to be led by Professor Hargreaves. Rumor has it his lab and onsite apartment are being ransacked, the police becoming frantic in their search for the device that interfered with my implants.
I can’t believe Peterson has anything to do with it, even if he does think I’m merely a distraction to his class. It was too risky. There were too many witnesses who would have noticed his absence. No, whoever attacked me was able to disappear without being noticed. Someone who lives under the radar. Not for much longer, if I have anything to say about it.
Steadying myself, I push the door open because avoidance is no longer a luxury I can afford. The lecture hall is half-full, a scatter of hoodies and backpacks spread evenly across the faded blue seats. Rhys is lounging with the ease he wears like a second skin, one arm slung over the back of a chair no doubt intended for me. Clay is the opposite, rigid on the edge of his seat, all contained tension and careful eyes. My chest tightens at the sight of them near one another without fists between thrown and blood being spilled. Rhys appears more invested in his cuticles and Clay is jotting in his notebook.
Making my way through the aisles, I catalogue each student, on high alert for a hint of a sneer or feigned shock. This is my first class back, and someone amongst these masses didn’t want me here. Or perhaps it’s who isn’t present I should be focusing on. By the time I make it to my seat, I sag with deflation, my head swimming. I don’t know these people well enough. I was too content staying wrapped in my silent world, I didn’t bother to notice those around me.
Clayton nudges closer, the movement so small I almost miss it, but his heat at my shoulder is impossible to ignore. He slides a disposable cup of coffee into my hands and retreats before anyone notices. I smile then. It’s like our texted conversations each night. Private, secret, and solely ours. My fingers close around the cardboard, grateful for the warmth that seeps through me as I take a sip. Over the rim of the cup, I slyly watch Clay finish his notes. There is a new ease about him now I’m near, a softness in his eyes that betrays the monster everyone assumes he is. He says nothing as Hargreaves clears his throat and launches into a dry lecture about electrophysiology, but his presence is everything I need to get through it.
On my other side, Rhys’ knuckles brush the back of my chair, a ghost of contact to remind me that he’s there. As if I could forget. I turn my head to the side and drop my voice to a whisper.
“How was your lunch with the Kavanagh’s?”
Rhys rolls his tongue over his lip ring, just about covering up the bitterness that ripples through him.
“You’d know if you came over last night, as requested.”
“Oh, that was a request? I thought it was an order. I’ve never been very good dealing with authority.”
“I heard practice makes perfect. Let’s try again. Come over to mine tonight, or else.”
I lean back against the seat and let a grin spread slowly across my face, enjoying the small, wicked pleasure of riling him up so early in the morning. I half-expected him to chase me down last night and drag me back to his, kicking and screaming.
“I thought I should give you space, you know, in case Klara wanted to—” Rhys’ hand shoots from the chair to the back of my neck. A low growl emanates from his chest, startling a few nearby students. I simply chuckle beneath the firm hold at my nape.
“You want me to work harder, is that it? Send you flowers, little love notes under your door? Maybe I'll put a little apron on and bake you cupcakes?"
